#avoid this user

[endomentendo]

Please avoid this user. A friend of mine was verbally abused by them and even talked about r#ping them. Please avoid them at all cost for their vulgar behavior. I won’t tolerate the same thing again.

[webmoon134]

How to tell if a commissioner scamming you (with photos from one of my scammer commissioners as an example)

Looking at the conversation I had with a scammer below, you can clearly extract . hints how you know this person is a scammer.

Number 1: They are willing to pay more than the actual price.

This is red flag number 1# in every situation. Normal people would go for the lowest price ALWAYS. And who the heck in their right mind would turn down a 10$ COMMISSION? Do they realize how EXPENSIVE commissions are?? The artwork being a gift doesn't make it any less realistic that they'd want to pay extra. And the fact that I took many days to respond yet they still want to give me 50$ makes it even more unrealistic. And the fact that they said it was a BIRTHDAY present AND I'm taking my sweet time to reply (out of anxiety)... Like, are you not worried I'll be late to make the artwork?

Number 2: They ask for unnecessary information.

As you can see in the pictures of the conversation below, you can clearly see that the commissioner asked for my e-mail. This is unrequired. What this person actually intended to do with my e-mail was to send a phishing e-mail to me (which the commissioner kindly explains to us in one of the photos).

Number 3 (if you do get a phishing e-mail): The address ends with a personal mail service (gmail, hotmail, outlook, yahoo, proton, ect.)

Not only did the phishing address I got have a mysterious "91.co" at the end of the e-mail, but the end of the phishing e-mail was a personal and public mail service... GMAIL. A tip to NEVER click these e-mails as some may contain viruses or at least a link that contains a virus.

Number 4: If the person insists that the e-mail is in fact not a phishing e-mail despite how obvious it is.

I reassured this commissioner that this was a phishing e-mail and that I did not have to make a refund or whatever gibberish that e-mail has told me to do, and I even explained to them WHY it was a scam. But for whatever reason, they still said I needed to make a refund. But then they proceeded to say that their money was still pending, which means they did not send it and could still cancel it. So why did I have to make a refund with the money I didn't receive?

Number 5: They only have one strict payment method.

What I mean is that they ONLY pay with PayPal, or they ONLY use Cashapp, or they ONLY use Venmo... Or the most suspicious of all... BITCOIN. This doesn't fully apply to this conversation, as they were somewhat open to use Cashapp when I suggested it (I think?), but it applies to most scammers who pretend to be commissioners, so I just thought I'd put it here.

That was when I blocked them and proceeded to make this post.

Unfortunately, so others don't get scammed by this same person, I'll put their profile here. This is the scammer. If they ask for a commission, don't accept it from them. Of course you shouldn't harass them, you don't know their situation (they could be trying to raise as much money as possible to save their dying mother from cancer or something... hypothetically), but please don't accept commissions from them either. Just block them for your own sake.

Also wouldn't it be fun if I just had a whole trail of comments giving more tips on how to find a scammer commissioner?

[kficc]

some new stuff up in the patron exclusive store <3

[chiquilines]

Okay small confession to make. Im obsessed with rarijack

[vaintrdraws]

my little guy is stuck walking for a while with no way out, yay

[mishy-mashy]

Theory: some High-Ends use the corpses of past OFA users

There aren't tons of High-Ends. They can't be mass-produced so easily, and there's only one that's blatantly female, literally named Woman and with a tall, defined figure

Maybe Woman's original identity is already confirmed, but... she's similar to Nana in build, isn't she?

It's hinted that All For One actually kept Nana's corpse. How, 20+ years later, could he give Tenko his grandmother's pristine hand? Is he just keeping their hands? Or their actual corpses?

Also, when looking at corpses to give multiple Quirks to, One For All users are the best for this. Having inherited One For All, their bodies had maintained multiple Quirks when they were alive, even if they couldn't use more than their natural Quirk and One For All's physical ability. And to their bodies, One For All doesn't count as just one Quirk; the natural one, and Yoichi, are already too much for a human. But Shinomori shows that it counts each previous user's Quirk, on top of Yoichi's and one's own natural one.

Their bodies adjusted to holding multiple Quirks, and when they were alive, they didn't become deformed or lose brain function. They were perfectly fine, and only had shortened lives—but that doesn't matter as corpses.

Nomus go brain dead when they have multiple Quirks. But the past users didn't, being completely fine, making them perfect for Nomu development.

High-Ends can think. They're all physically powerful, and One For All users make the best basis, even from leftover embers and physique. So why not use that great base to make the best outcome Nomus (High-Ends)?

[goingferalapparently]

the jaidens on the can you hear it mini-event and we all know ab their chat shenanigans

but like. how about this one. (after the dungeon crawl, when they're at the ordo discussing theories)

they're so silly.... their friendship means so much to me

[jesncin]

whenever people talk about who John Constantine would take in as an apprentice and they bring up characters like Jason Todd or Xanthe Zhou because they've been re-animated from the dead or whatever I think these are foolish options. As an anti-legacy character, Johnstantine is supposed to lose his friends and loved ones so these non-committal nerds are out of the question. But you know who actually commits to the bit? Of being dead? And would be a perfect Johnstantine companion???

yeah that's right. He's so good at being dead that he was dead before he was even born. Which is to say he was never born. Goldie's not even an apprentice he just hangs out and haunts the guy. This is the only correct answer.

[dead-orange-club]

Cluster C Personality Disorder userboxes

Flags from this post!

Free to use!!

[heraldofbooks]

I fully back scruffy Palamedes but I also know in my heart that when he was going to Canaan house he cleaned up cause he knew Dulcie would be there and even though he had been rejected wanted to make a good first impression.

Aha! But what about when he was crawling around the house with Cam and got covered with dust and stuff for days I hear you ask! You forget he’s also a nerd and would have gotten caught up in the mystery. But I maintain my point that at least by Magnus and Abigail’s anniversary party he would have gotten cleaned up when he was acting the Victorian gentleman.

Then he got blown up (by himself the absolute icon) and was stuck as a revenant as how he looked last and in the river in Ht9 would have let himself go and be scruffy but he physically couldn’t change.

Then in Nt9 he cares too much about Cam to let himself be scruffy in her body, so I doubt any of the characters apart from Cam know how scruffy Pal really is.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk next I will-

[osteochondraldefect]

i love spreading misinformation about what happens in this podcast aka.: bunch of thangs i drew but didnt feel like posting separately

[neorouxls]

This is what the dumbass Flowey age discourse looks like to me

[warcrimesimulator]

Photography attracts special types of manchildren. I still remember some grown ass dude on Deviantart throwing a tantrum because some popular artist reblogged on Tumblr one of his photos that someone else posted without credit, and accused her of being the one who uploaded it and threatened to take legal action. Dude clearly did not understand how Tumblr works, but also wouldn't listen to anyone, and the DA photography community took his side.

I got blocked by a wildlife photographer on Flickr for favoriting a photo of a grizzly bear. I was very confused and then looked at his profile- he said he blocks non-photographers who favorite his work because they have nothing to offer him- as if favoriting is supposed to be a mutual transaction, and not a way to save a photo I like so I can look at it later.

Photographer spaces online are a foreign culture to me.

[the-silver-chronicles]

2025 Year Of The OTP March Prompts: "If Things Had Gone Differently..." [Boa Lurking In The Bliss]

Tagging @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather @noodlecupcakes @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @josephslittledeputy @belladelamorte @cassietrn @g0dspeeed @aceghosts @voidika @cloudofbutterflies92 @derelictheretic @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who'd like to join.

Managed to finish this March Prompts after being inspired by a post that recently came up on my feed and pissed me off so much.

Anyway, March Prompts based on this Year Of The OTP fandom event. Tackling the following prompts: Fresh Starts, "What are you doing with that?" & Florist/Tattoo Artist.

Sharing the March Oneshot here, but alternatively can be found on my AO3 here.

Minor mentioned character death for this one (forgive me, Joey). But, uh, mostly fluff and canon divergence for this. Admittedly, I'm not 100% satisfied with this one, but I'd feel more better once I begin the April prompts.

Anyway, you can read the oneshot below the cut or on my AO3 above. Enjoy!:

Title: If Things Had Gone Differently…

Series: The Silver Chronicles

Pairing: Boa Lurking In The Bliss (Silva Omar/Faith Seed)

Prompts: March – Fresh Starts, “What are you doing with that?” & Florist/Tattoo Artist.

Genre: Fluff.

Words: 4,519

It was rather bittersweet; surprisingly so, considering who she was bringing to the cruiser.

Faith didn’t fight, nor did she resist. She barely struggled. She was rather compliant, actually. As compliant as Joseph had been. Tracey would have probably said something along the lines of how this showed how eager her ex-best friend had been to adopt the Seed name, including their peculiar quirks, just to fit in. At least, if Silva were still on friendly terms with the Cougar’s leader.

Perhaps that would have been true for Rachel… the girl Faith had been before the former became Joseph’s sister, the one Tracey once knew.

Silva knew better though. No one can change their name and still be the expected to remain the same person afterwards.

She knew this as a fact. Paul had taught her this. And so had Alvarich.

Names were a powerful thing; they were fundamental to the identity of everyone. Names gave a person their life, and sometimes, their purpose. Names were key to finding you’re true self.

To have no name meant a person was lost, without purpose and without life. To have many names meant a person was untrue, to themselves and to others. Only an honest death could free them of such travesty.

She heard the stories of Jannah. Even read the old scriptures. How Jannah, before she became the Tumultite Idealist, was born with no name gifted to her; just referred to as ‘girl’, ‘slave’, ‘servant’, nouns of how others saw her, what they made her. She was less than no one, not even close to a something.

Then she spoke. She wrote. She fought. She defied. No longer what others saw her to be.

She did what no others in her community were expected to do, had been expected to do long since the tribes that predated them were cowed into submission by the marauders that conquered the isla they inhabited.

She had named herself. “Jannah”. And in doing so, she changed; and brought with her change as well.

It was not uncommon for Tumultites to change their names, though whenever one did so, it called for celebration. For they’ve embraced the traditions of their ancestors and defied the oppression of the marauders and their descendants. It signified change within themselves, something the Congregation could never understand.

Silva, too, had been amongst those who changed; adopted into the Tumultite community as sweet and timid Sylvester, but had slowly transformed into a strong, ferocious and protective leader, accepting the nickname they had so lovingly called her for all those years as her true name, after the death of Persephone.

Maybe that’s why she gravitated towards companionship with someone as enigmatic as Faith, in contrast to her brothers. Perhaps she couldn’t help but jump at the chance to befriend someone who experienced such wonderful and dreadful change like she had, even if that person was supposed to be her enemy?

Silva never once referred the other woman as “Rachel”; after all, how could she? It would have been redundant. She was Faith now, far from the descriptions of who Tracey reminisced about when she had too much to drink, and Faith told Silva herself that she “left Rachel in the dark” a long time ago.

Although the circumstances behind how she gained her new name and identity were FAR from ideal and neither was it something Silva was comfortable with… Faith seemed at peace with her choice. Happy with who she was. So she left it be. Accepted her words as truth, for once.

To Silva, she was just Faith. And that was that.

It didn’t stop Silva from kicking Joseph’s teeth in almost two weeks ago in the very same centre square of the compound she walked Faith down. A little vengeance for the “sisters” he threw away.

The woman she had her arms on still wore her signature white dress, though tattered and ripped in certain areas, attempts to sew them close clearly demonstrated the herald’s inexperience and the deputy’s expertise, with messily loose and perfectly closed stitches respectively.

Faith had refused her recommendation for a fresh change of clothes. At the very least, she managed to convince Faith from going out barefoot. It was a tough sell, but the deputy had gotten her to wear sandals instead.

Silva guided Faith to the rear doors of the cruiser, glancing to the officers waiting patiently in the front seats.

“I guess this is goodbye, then?” Faith had queried just as Silva reached for the door handle. Curiously, she glanced back at the deputy so her green eyes could focus on Silva’s expression.

Silva mulled over a response to Faith’s question. It seemed the appropriate answer would be a flat “yes” before stuffing the herald into the cruiser’s suspect transport enclosure. See her be driven off, out of sight, out of mind, just like her brothers.

That didn’t sit right with Silva though. Not when it was Faith. Call her crazy, or perhaps blissed, but unlike the Seed brothers, she liked Faith. More than she should, especially after everything she’s done.

Eventually, Silva simply replied, “For now.”

The response wasn’t concrete, but it did invite an openness that seemed to surprise Faith.

To her unfortunate delight, Faith grinned with confidence.

“You do know they won’t keep me for long, right?”

It wasn’t a response a perp should be sharing with the deputy arresting her. Then again, she doubted she was going to remain a deputy for much longer anyway.

One thing Silva knew was certain. Faith was right.

“I’m counting on it.”

And that excited her.

Faith seemed to share the same sentiment, asking, “Will you still be here?”

Silva hadn’t expected to be asked that, though. Especially not by Faith. In fact, she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to think much on the question.

After everything she’s experienced in Hope County, would she really stay?

There were good people here, certainly, and they treated her like she was one of them; something she hadn’t had for many years now.

But she lost so much here as well. Her hermana, her hija, and most recently, she’s ousted Kamski from her life. After what he did to all those people in John’s Bunker, the excuses he made, she couldn’t stand the idea of him staying anywhere close to him.

…She still needs to attend Hudson’s funeral. And more, after that. Could she continue to live in a place where more of her amigas and familia have been buried?

Can she really be expected to go about a normal life in a place that she’s spilled more blood for than spared?

“…I’m not sure I can,” she answered honestly, glancing away from Faith, as the cruiser’s door handle clicked.

Dejection crossed Faith’s expression, but it was brief as it returned to the same serene confidence that the Father wore.

Silva opened the cruiser’s door wide open, waiting for Faith to enter. The Seed sister took a step and two forward but stopped just short of entering. Those enchanting green eyes locked with Silva’s dull grey. Her cut lips parted, to speak.

“Will you wait?” she asked softly, voice brimming close to a desperate plea, “Just for a little while?”

Silva felt as if her body froze as she processed those words; Faith looked at her with the sincerest gaze she’s seen her display. The image embedded itself in her mind’s eye. Perhaps she was still under the Siren’s influence after all.

…She didn’t quite mind it.

A small smile tugged up her lips, and she replied with her voice lowered yet certain, “Of course.”

And with that, Faith entered the cruiser’s backseats, destination towards a long trial awaiting her. As soon as Silva closed the door, the cruiser didn’t waste any more time at the Compound and began transporting the herald to join her brothers.

She stood and watched it leave; even stayed long after it turned out of her sight. She let out an exhale and glanced around the white buildings preceding the white chapel where Joseph spoke poison to his family and followers, spreading the delusion of a Collapse that she knew had long since passed.

Silva walked away from the compound, and towards the nearby lake. Treading along the deck as the wind blew past her, her braid of dark hair loosening, allowing strands of dyed silver to fall behind her shoulder, she stopped at the end, overlooking the water and the blue sky.

At the very least, Silva found herself glad about one thing. Joseph was wrong about his vision.

Not a mushroom cloud in the sky.

---

The bell dinged upon being disturbed by the opening door, though that was fine with Silva. It brought a small thrill to her, in a silly sort of way.

Every time she turned around or glanced over to see who it was, she’d be faced with someone new. A new person to talk to. Someone with a story to tell.

Entering the two-story store, her newest customer was an older bald man with a scruffy beard, his complexion darker than hers, wearing a green hoody and baggy pants, browsing at the various pots of plants and flowers throughout her shop.

Silva dusted off her gloved hands of the soil she was setting in the pot she was working on, wiping the dirt on the apron she wore over her dress, a change that deviated from her usual attire as a former deputy, and proceeded to approach her customer with a kind smile.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and her customer expressed the plants he was seeking; a bouquet of peony flowers for a date with his partner of seven years. Silva noticed he seemed kind of nervous about it, and from the way he was described it, she deduced he had intentions to bend the knee and ask “THE Question” as she’s heard it commonly be referred to.

Her smile tugged up a little further as she gathered the pink-tinted peonies her customer sought; whether it was intentional or not, the flowers he wanted held a symbolization that was rather fitting for the occasion.

It wasn’t her place to pry though, only to wish him the best of luck once she gave him the bouquet of peonies, the purchase complete.

Once the bell rung with his exit, Silva let out a low exhale. She always saw new faces. She didn’t get to encounter as many that were familiar.

Especially those she knew in Hope County, Montana.

She let out a little mirthless laugh. It’s been three years since we started fresh over here in Maryland, and I’m still thinking back to a place that holds so much tragedy.

Although, to the county’s credit, not all the time she spent there had been inherently tragic. There were quite a lot of good moments too, thinking back on it.

Though admittedly there were more… complicated feelings surrounding the place as well. Especially after the Eden’s Gate debacle in 2018.

She shook her head to rid herself the reminder of those months of utter chaos. Although it had felt like longer at the time.

However, just as countless times before, once Silva was caught in the memory of her former home, she would always end up trapped back in that short and surprisingly impactful period of her life.

She’d remember the apprehension, standing before the fraudulent prophet for his arrest, back when she was a junior deputy two months in the job, following the orders of a Marshal who was way in over his head. The terror of the chopper coming down as his followers went to great costly lengths to keep their shepherd. The disgusting taste of the river water that had almost become her grave.

She’d try to shake away the recollections by tending to the bountiful batches of flowers she had in her shop. Though such memories were not easily deterred.

No, such memories brought forth others; the countless nights of exhaustion, the sting of a burning needle against her exposed flesh, days of being starved and dehydrated, the guilt, the fear, the wrath and the heartbreak. Personally the worst of it came when she broke all connection with the one person she trusted like family, whom she never expected to go behind her back to commit an act so heinous and vile, in spite of everything they’d been through together, that only she and him would carry for the rest of their days.

Silva huffed, a small frown sloping down her lips as she recalled the events that led up to her estrangement with who was possibly her oldest remaining friend from her time before settling in America. Brushing the pink-tinted petals of the camellia flower with tender gloved finger, she shook her head abruptly, stepping back as she refused to stare at the yellow anthers inside the plant.

Her brows furrowed as flashes of a dangerous smog that obscured her already restricted sight came to life before her very eyes.

Her breathing quickening through the mask’s filters as she rushed through an unfamiliar bunker’s multiple corridors, passing body after body of people either unconscious or suffocated trying to reach the same destination she was now; the room that controls the ventilation system spewing out such vile poisons on the unsuspecting inhabitants of the bunker, an action she only believed the despicable late-Mistress of Poisons herself was capable of committing.

Wondering if she’d be too late to save the families, the noncombatants and imprisoned allies that resided in John’s Bunker. Including that of her fellow deputy and friend, Joey Hudson.

Only freezing when she came across the still and slumped body of a dark-haired woman wearing the familiar green vest she previously wore throughout the Sheriff’s Department.

Silva snapped herself out of the rumination of what amounted to traumatizing moment added in a mountain of bad memories in her life. Her decision to cut off Kamski from her life was completely justified.

Even if, admittedly, she hoped he was still doing well, even after everything.

But despite all the bad, she’d get a resurgence of something else; the light moments of cheers, the successes and speeches that empowered her with a hope she was afraid would slip away back then. She remembered celebrations that spread from Holland Valley to the Whitetail Mountains and all the way down into the Henbane River each time she helped liberate a region. She smiled with warmth at the moment Kim entrusted her with holding her blanketed goddaughter, knowing that, in spite of the brutality Silva’s put her hands through, she’d hold pequeña Carmina with loving tenderness.

And she remembered the exhilarated satisfaction upon clicking those cuffs over the wrists of Joseph Seed’s beaten form, this time with no cultists to get him out.

She felt the same with most of his siblings, especially his brothers, John and Jacob. The only exception to this victory was his last sibling…

Faith Seed. The reminder of her name sent a pleasant chill down her spine; like dainty soft fingers trailing up her stiff back.

Confronting her had been a tumultuous affair; fighting her wasn’t as easy as bringing down John, nor had she been as unrestrained in her violence when gunning for Jacob after Eli’s assassination.

She faltered when it came to Faith; the woman had that effect on her. Beginning all the way back to when she opened up to the woman during a moment of weakness. The fighting and war had brought back times she would rather leave forgotten. Unfortunately, Faith had been the only person present at the time to listen.

And call it foolish, but she felt as if Faith understood her, in a way that felt eerily similar to how she felt with Irene. And just like Irene, she felt as if she managed to understand Faith.

Tracey had wanted her dead, though. Just like Virgil had. Just like Silva herself was willing to do when Dutch saved her life.

Instead, in the end, she let her live; all because she played friends with her enemy. Grew closer to her. Felt things she shouldn’t have felt, especially with all Faith had done to hurt the people of the county with the weaponisation of her Bliss.

The fight had been long and brutal for both women, but eventually Silva managed to tire the Siren out.

Slapping the cuffs on Faith hadn’t felt as triumphant to Silva as she would have liked. Despite this, she felt more relieved that she hadn’t killed Faith; even if the decision costed her friendship with Tracey and skewered her reputation with some of the Cougars who were justifiably critical of her sparing Faith, especially with the grief of Virgil’s death on everyone’s minds.

Silva thought back to her final moments with Faith Seed in Hope County, escorting the herald to the police cruiser at Joseph’s Compound, signifying the end of their short time together. Their parting words a silent promise to reunite. She sighed though, shaking her head.

She hadn’t paid much attention to the proceeding of the trial, mostly because she hadn’t had the tools at her disposal to keep track; especially after what remained of Eden’s Gate performed one last “fuck you” to the Resistance after Joseph was arrested by screwing with power grid.

She heard that a couple people, mostly press, tried seeking her out, although the more worrisome was the legal team representing the Seed brothers. Probably sent by John, she’d hazard a guess. Thankfully Gavin cashed in a favour to keep any legal teams from wrangling her into a courtroom, giving her the chance to pack up and bail as soon as her stay in Hope County was no longer necessary.

It had been a rather long wait for Faith’s return. Silva wondered if the former herald would have forgiven her for leaving, if the press had been more insistent. Silva huffed at such thoughts. Why am I doing this to myself?

In spite of everything Faith had done, despite knowing what kind of person she was; Faith had affected her in a way that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Her heart thrums at the thought of the other woman, which is something that had only ever been possible with Irene.

Silva had accepted the conclusion she spent too much time in the Bliss and had gone mad at some point. Unsurprising, considering her life.

Just as she returned to behind the counter, the bell rung once more, signalling the arrival of another customer entering her floristry.

Glancing back to get a glimpse of her newest customer, she only caught the end of a ponytail bob as her customer browsed from behind the large batch of flowers that sat on the table in the middle of the shop in pots for display.

With a raised brow, Silva went around her counter and decided to meet her customer on the other side of the display table.

She could hear light humming from the other side, something that scratched at her brain with an ignited eagerness. Silva slowed her steps as she took a breath. With the greeting recited in her head, she turned the corner of the room.

But words were lost on her tongue when she recognized who entered her shop; her only regular visitor. Here she was, with light brown hair tied in a ponytail, those alluring green eyes that inspected a tool Silva had left out.

Faith. Faith was here, came an excited thought. A bit early too, something that shouldn’t be the case. Strands of Faith’s light brown hair were dyed a lovely pink colour, and she had three small hoops pierced along her ear lobe. Her attire had long since been changed, replacing the dress Joseph passed down to her with a white button-up dress shirt, a brown jacket wrapped around her waist, in addition to grey jeans. And if any of Hope County’s residents were present in her shop now, they would have done a double-take at the fact Faith was wearing sneakers.

On her bare arms were two tattoos on each; on the left was a Bliss flower with vines spread across her appendage, the vines overlapping what used to be a tattoo of some kind of chemical component Silva hadn’t been capable of working out, and on the right was a bird; detailed and intricately designed to stand out. At first, Silva had thought it to be a dove surrounded by feathers, but when she got a closer look at it, later realized it was a phoenix emerging from flames.

However, her shock wore off and was replaced with curiosity, observing Faith who held her branch cutters with evident familiarity.

She watched as the cogs in Faith’s head seemed to turn, and swiftly felt abject horror as Faith brought her cutters to the stem of one of the flower buds of her nicer daffodils.

Without further hesitance, Silva finally spoke to deter Faith from her actions.

“What are you doing with that?” she questioned firmly.

Faith jumped at Silva’s unexpected voice, turning her head to fully face Silva.

The look on Faith’s face shifted from surprise to something more joyful and bright, a genuine grin spread across her lips.

That didn’t cease her grip on the branch cutters she held, causing the blades to pinch close together. Due to the angle Faith was carelessly holding the branch cutters in, the blades merely crushed the stem of the bud between the sharp blades instead of outright decapitating it.

The damage to her daffodils were enough to snap Silva out of her reverie of the other woman’s sudden appearance, and she rushed forward to save what she could of one of her shop’s selling products.

“Do you mind explaining what compelled you to do such a thing?” She questioned Faith as she effortlessly removed the cutters from the Seed sister’s hand, keeping it far from her damaged daffodils and Faith herself.

Faith merely pouted in response, though her focus appeared to be on what Silva was wearing.

It was easy to understand why though; Faith had only ever known Silva to wear the most practical of attire like the deputy’s uniform, a preference that was rooted in pragmatism born from survival, as such clothing left room for manoeuvrability, especially during emergencies like the Reaping. Even in Maryland, Faith rarely saw Silva dabble in more traditionally feminine clothing.

Honestly, if Faith had chosen to drop by now just to see the former deputy in her working apparel, then Silva would have to commend her, as her floristry was just about the only time she ever wore dresses.

Though from the way Faith was eyeing her, Silva could tell that the former herald was not unappreciative of such change. Likewise for Silva, as she glanced appreciatively down Faith’s tattooed arms.

But ogling could come later.

Silva raised of an expectant brow, which shook Faith out of her daze, smiling sheepishly, “Sorry, force of habit from tending to the Bliss flowers. We usually cut off the smaller buds as to ensure the seeds from the bigger ones could pass on to the next batch.”

Silva cradled the pot of her injured daffodils close to her chest, tenderly nudging the limp bud with her fingers, pointedly looking at Faith as she replied, “Your Bliss flowers were a selectively manufactured crop engineered for multiple purposes in Eden’s Gate, illicit drug potency notwithstanding. My daffodils are meant to look pretty and be sold.”

Shaking her head, she couldn’t help but snort.

“Not even a few minutes unsupervised in my shop and you’ve attempted to kill my business.”

Faith huffed and rolled her gorgeous green eyes, crossing her arms as she stated, “You’re being as dramatic as John-”

“Please don’t compare me to that brother-”

“-and I only partially damaged one flower,” Faith playfully pouted, “Besides, I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

Silva lips tugged into small smile, though, as she made her way back to the store’s counter, she did ask, “Speaking of which, why are you back home so early? No, better question; how did you manage to slip out of work this time?”

“Got a lunch break after a particularly long session inking a certain client,” Faith stated as she followed Silva to the counter, leaning forwards on the top as she added, “I probably have less than ten minutes here, roughly, before I need to head back.”

Placing the potted daffodils onto the countertop, Silva brought her gaze solely on the woman before her. Opening the draw underneath her counter, she asked while reaching inside, “And where is your lunch, might I ask?”

Faith paused, then grinned sheepishly, wringing at her wrists as she admitted, “Well, I kind of forgot about it on the rush here…”

“What luck-” Silva remarked dryly, to which Faith mirthlessly chuckled in response. Only for Silva to pull out a contained from the counter draws, finishing with, “-that you’re just in time to have a share of mine.”

Opening the lid, Silva revealed the contents that were separated in three distinct sections; one was wide enough to fit the crispy patatas bravas, with the remaining sections small yet sizeable enough to fit the sliced-up peaches and, best of all, la mantecados.

Faith’s green eyes brightened immediately upon noticing the small cakes, and without a moment hesitation, snagged herself one.

Silva removed the gloves from her hands, the scarred texture spread intricately across her palms and on the back of her hands, the burns starting from the tips of her fingers, all around and down to just a little over her wrists, an unending reminder of a childhood cut too short.

She picked herself out a peach slice, the cool sensation jolting a signal through her sensitive nerves, as she watched Faith’s face grow in delight upon munching on the mantecados. She took a bite out of her peach slice, humming in satisfaction as the fruit’s sweetness.

“I owe you one,” Faith stated after swallowing the cinnamon cake, adding, “I owe you… a lot, actually. If you want, I could get you a freebie tattooing, or even say, take you out to that place you like…”

Seeing Faith trail her words out, Silva tenderly reached her free hand grasp Faith’s unoccupied hand, grounding the other woman. The sensation of her hand over her partner’s tingled at her scarred nerves, but she found she didn’t mind it.

Grey and green mirrored each other, a soft smile tugging at Silva’s lips as she replied, “I’d like any one of those. Just as long as you’re here with me.”

Faith let out a little ‘heh’ as she glanced from Silva’s face to their interlocked hands. Letting out an exhale, she returned a smile to Silva, thumb gently grazing over her flor de loto’s scarred knuckles.

A physical reminder of a time before Silva met her, and by extension her brothers. It was something Silva wasn’t ready to tell Faith about just yet. But that was for a different day.

“Yeah,” Faith replied, fingers relaxing in Silva’s trusting grip, echoing, “Of course.”

[leikeliscomet]

Last time I tried to call out a popular white queer tumblr user for antiblackness and/or general reactionary antics them niggas accused me of sending death threats so I'm keeping my mouth SHUT from now on lmaooooooo

[wreathedwith]

Beautiful Possibilities: The Abbey’s ‘Beautiful Possibility’ series through a fandom studies lens

I’ve been reading Faith Current’s Beautiful Possibility series, a new serialised piece of writing – also available in audiobook/podcast format – on accepting the possibility of an explicitly romantic relationship between John Lennon and Paul McCartney, and an assertion of the wider ramifications for our culture at large that the acceptance of this could possibility offer.

This series has not yet concluded, and my writing here is offering neither a line-by-line critique nor an examination of the plausibility of the series’ central premise. Rather, what I want to consider at this point in time comes from a perspective different to that of the series’ author: that of a long-time active participator in fandom.

The Beautiful Possibility series’ interplay with mythology intrigued me, especially in part 1:3 (which is the part I will be focusing on here) because of my interest in fandom studies. Unlike most stories that we would consider ‘folklore myths’, two members of The Beatles are currently living real human people (and the other two aren’t exactly denizens of ancient history). For those four men, and for a relatively small inner circle of other people, The Beatles is a deeply personal story. The Beatles is also, of course, a shared story retold endlessly, well-known – at least in its fundamentals – by millions the world over.

What’s also a shared story? Absolutely anything fandom gets its hands on. By the author’s own admission, she “[doesn’t] really fit into either” (Part 1:3) mainstream Beatles studies or the fandom side of things, and so, naturally, Beautiful Possibility is not written from a fandom studies or fandom participant perspective – nor does it claim to be.

There are several aspects Beautiful Possibility that caught my attention from the perspective of a participant in fandom. The first is its anonymising and obscurating citation of fandom, by referring to it as “countercultural Beatles studies”. This is protective of fandom in a way that I personally appreciate (i.e. from those who are in no way familiar, immediately dismissive, and would come by on any clickable link solely to gawp and laugh), yet also serves the purpose of protecting (that is, legitimising) the author’s own work, primarily by reducing any even very hazy link between Beautiful Possibility and works clearly delineated as fiction – even if those same writers are also digging up genuinely new information and factual analysis.

It was also a pretty surprising approach to me: the general concept of ‘fandom’ has massively mainstreamed and, to a degree, commercialised over the past decade or so. Although RPF continues to often receive (and/or require) special or additional protection, perspectives on RPF have continued to shift. (For an up-to-date overview of the history of RPF and the state of things today, read The RPF Question by Sacha Judd (Fansplaining).)

To be clear, the majority of my active fandom participation has been RPF, and I’m personally very much of the ‘lock it all down and keep it solely to its intended audience’ school. And yet I’m also buoyed by the increased accessibility of fandom, and the kind of genuinely exciting and vital research that is being carried out by fans: not only am I thinking here of the Beatles RPF crowd fitting things together that have previously remained unjoined, but also the fandom-to-scholarship pipeline (with academic community engagement!) and getting to experience other fan’s original research that I enjoyed as part of the fandom for AMC’s The Terror and its attached true story.

A second example of something I found distinctly ‘unfandomy’ in Beautiful Possibility 1:3 was this commentary on edited photographs of John and Paul together:

Unlike writing about the lovers possibility, the fake “kissing photos” are without question unethical… The fake photos hurt John and Paul and the ability of serious researchers to prove the credibility of the lovers possibility.

I would say that it is of course helpful for these to be clearly labelled as manips (aka “fake photos”) just as fic is identified in its own context as a fictional work – to help me build my own personal narrative interpretation and understanding, I want to know if a photo is real or not. However, I don’t agree with the sentiment expressed above. I understand that we are far beyond the days of photoshops posted to LiveJournal and well into the horrifying era of GenAI infecting everywhere, but providing that the manip is labelled as such it in no way hurts “the ability of serious researchers” to prove anything, at least any more so than lines from fanfiction breaking containment and being presented as genuine quotations from real people (which sometimes happens). This sentence also results in a strongly implied separation of fans and “serious researchers” into two entirely separate categories, when they can often be one and the same. (For more on The Beatles RPF in a fandom context specifically, both now and then, check out The Beatles Live! by Allegra Rosenberg, also on Fansplaining.)

Sources that are especially potent for fannish interpretation and transformative works also require an absence or some remaining ambiguity, but that absence is not a necessarily a “wound” (as the distorting of John and Paul’s story and the refusal to acknowledge the damage of this distortion is characterised by Beautiful Possibility). That absence is something to be filled in, elevated – marquetry, kintsugi – something that for whatever reason the source material didn’t include but did (probably unintentionally) nevertheless leave space for.

The part of Beautiful Possibility 1:3 where I most acutely felt the absence of a fandom perspective is the following:

As I opened myself to the possibility of John and Paul as a romantic couple, I could feel a part of me that had been numb for as long as I could remember come alive with a new sense of hope and creative energy and a deep effervescent joy — not unlike the feeling of falling in love. The possibility of a romantic affair between John and Paul quite simply set my life and my soul on fire, and this feeling has stayed with me for over three years and counting with no sign of fading away.

To me, this glow is what I’d call ‘fandom’ – it is not unique to John and Paul and by now I’ve felt it many times over. I, and many others, have also felt (and made) the comparison between how one feels falling headfirst into a new fandom and falling head over heels in love with someone.

The author does not need to be all things to all people, and of course one person’s unique perspective yields a unique body of work. But it is this section where it feels most relevant to bring in a fandom-familiar perspective, because the near-total uniqueness of John and Paul and The Beatles and their impact on the world is a central pillar to Beautiful Possibility’s thesis. The wonderful feeling the author has written about experiencing is felt by many – about John and Paul, but also about many other narratives and other characters.

Myth and folklore aren’t important because of what percentage of the total characters or story may or may not be real. They’re important because they tell us stories that have stuck around and been reinterpreted many times over. Antimatter was theorised to exist before it was proven because it explained a gap, because nothing else would make as much sense as its existence. There isn’t even that level of a leap of faith here, because the love between John and Paul on at least some level is clearly evidenced, but the attraction of proving the veracity of romantic feelings is often that there is nothing else that is as good or as all-encompassing an explanation. It can’t heal the world, it can’t conquer death, but it can heal those affected, it can make sense.

Even if you believe John and Paul were in romantic love that was in some way consummated, even if this is somehow one day proven beyond reasonable doubt, it is already far too late: they cannot be joined back together. It’s a mystery that can only be solved after the fact, with a modern lens: and therefore it’s not John and Paul that’s helping. Like many mythical protagonists, John and Paul are, and will only become more so, archetypes newly reinterpreted in the light of our own times.

Fanworks can bring John and Paul together, and that is in order to heal our fannish hurt and satiate our desires, but reality is left untroubled. And that’s okay. The noticing in and of itself is to heal more widely in some sense – to convince the sceptics, to satisfy through the resolution of a mystery – but only up to a (lance tip) point.

Beautiful Possibility’s perspective proclaims John and Paul, the ultra-famous white male geniuses, as the “lifeforce love” source – transgressive but subversive – forming the foundation of a myth that, should we recognise its reality, can offer salvation for us all. The fandom studies perspective, and probably the folklore studies perspective too, would say that it is our veneration and continued reinterpretation of the story that gives it its continuous power, whether or not the events within that story ever really happened.

The Beatles without their attendant cultural veneration would have remained in the past as echoing music in an empty room. The ruinous nature of the fruitless quest for the Holy Grail for those who come to believe in its genuine, literal existence is to be found in that definite article: ‘the’. Only one. How could it ever be possible to find one small object in the entire world? What if the belief that there is one best or ultimate source of anything as important as world-healing love is just as limiting?

Modern-day fandom as it stands would barely exist without the modern consumerist culture it centres around and interacts with, and yet (as per good old Henry Jenkins) by its very nature fanfiction also counteracts, is “repairing the damage” of corporations’ control of contemporary myths, thereby intrinsically rejecting the assertion that there is one single correct, centrally-controlled, true narrative. There are many, simultaneously. All of them can feel true. Or none of them. And then you can go and write your own.

Of the thousands of fandoms that there are, every fandom has its source – a novel, a movie, the publicly available personas of a group of real people – but finding one of these sources is not the end of our quests. It’s the start.