#Am I kicked out of the fandom?

[penumbra-mayhem]

Do You Want to Leave? - Darlin’/Sam fic

“If there was any color left in Darlin’s face, it dissipated at the soft question. They’d fucked up. This was it. Time to go. Grab the bag and run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Ru—”

(I hc that Tank has a stutter; there's more on that here if you'd like. This takes place a couple months after Darlin’ moves into Sam’s place.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam hadn’t meant to find it. He wasn’t snooping, he’d just been cleaning. Between him and Darlin’, they didn’t own that much stuff, so stumbling across a black backpack shoved to the back of their closet peaked his curiosity.

He pulled it out, scanning over its nondescript exterior before unzipping the largest pocket. His brow furrowed. Clothes. Money. A knife.

A quiet, sharp inhale—Sam’s head shot up at the noise. Darlin’ stood frozen in the doorway, eyes fixed on the open bag in Sam’s hands.

“Darlin’,” Sam spoke, his voice low and laced with hesitation, “What’s this?”

They didn’t say anything. They couldn’t. Sam waited for a reply. When it appeared he wasn’t going to get one, he asked again,

“What is this?”

Darlin’s hands began to tingle. The doorway began to shrink around them. What could they say, besides the truth? Anything but the truth.

Sam looked back down at the bag. Clothes. Money. A knife. He didn’t want to ask. He already knew the answer.

“Is this a go-bag?”

If there was any color left in Darlin’s face, it dissipated at the soft question. They’d fucked up. This was it. Time to go. Grab the bag and run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Ru—

“—are you leavin’ me?”

Darlin’ finally resurfaced from the whirlpool of their thoughts. Sam’s countenance toed the line between despair and disbelief. He began to tremble. The distance between them was unfathomable, the bedroom stretching before their eyes.

“N-n-no,” Darlin’ replied, before weakly adding, “n-n-n-not unless y-y-y-you w-w-want me t-to.”

Sam shook his head, “What do you mean? Why would you think I’d want you to leave?”

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. R—

“—baby,” Sam pleaded, trying to pull Darlin’ out of the spiral he could see them sinking into, “talk to me…please.”

Darlin’ knew they couldn’t avoid this. Couldn’t avoid him, with his damned loving gaze and soft downturned lips. Yet they tried all the same, shaking their head and biting the inside of their cheek to keep from talking.

Sam set the bag down on their bed and slowly moved towards Darlin’. They resisted the instinct to flinch as he raised his hand towards their face. He wasn’t Quinn. He wouldn’t hurt them. Right? Run. Run. Run. Run.

His fingers brushed softly against their cheek—a motion like he was brushing away a tear. Were they crying? They were, fuck. They felt his other hand grasp one of theirs as he spoke again, “Darlin’, please. What’s goin’ on?”

They stared at his chest, unable to meet his gaze as they finally whispered, “It’s j-j-just in c-c-case.”

“In case what, love? In case…in case I hurt you?”

Darlin’ felt sick at the question. They gripped Sam’s hand tighter as they met his teary gaze and tried to quell his fear, “N-no! N-n-no, I kn-kn-know you’d n-n-never….you’re n-n-not….”

Not Quinn.

“It’s j-j-just….in case y-you w-w-w-want me t-t-to leave. In c-c-c-case I-I f-f-fuck this up.”

Sam’s jaw set. Something flashed in his eyes before he let go of Darlin’s hand and turned around, heading towards their bed. Darlin’ watched as he grabbed something from the bag. Clothes.

“W-w-what’re y-you d-d-doing?”

Sam didn’t reply as he opened their shared dresser, placing each article of clothing inside. He walked back to the bag. Money.

He grabbed Darlin’s wallet on their bedside table, stuffing the money inside before returning to the bag.

“Sam!” Darlin’ exclaimed, taking a step into their bedroom, “Wh-what are y-you d-doing?”

Sam turned to face them, his gaze firm, his voice resolute.

“This is your house. Your home. You’re not leavin' unless you want to leave. Do you want to leave?”

Stunned by the blunt question, Darlin’ didn’t respond. The silence carved anguish into Sam’s face, causing panic to rise again within Darlin’. Run. Run. Run.

After a moment, they whispered, “N-n-no.”

The answer covered the floor between them like a varnish and slowly dried as they stared at each other. Sam reached back into the bag, murmuring, “C’mere.”

Darlin’ hesitated, then closed the distance. Sam held out his hand. The knife.

“Go on,” he urged quietly.

Darlin’ took the knife from Sam’s shaking hand. They placed it in the drawer of their bedside table before glancing at him and whispering, “I’m s-sorry.”

Sam shook his head slightly. His fingers trailed up Darlin’s arms and caressed their cheeks.

“Oh sweet thing…” He placed a gentle kiss on their forehead. “It’s ok…” A kiss on their nose. “I understand….” A kiss on their lips.

“You want to leave?”

“N-no. N-n-never.”

[giselles-dumping-hat]

Doodle of the little guy ever as this game takes over my waking thought

[narwhalcasserole]

This is late but I got hit by the plague during the holidays, so anyways future Leo says Merry Christmas

[aroaceleovaldez]

i think the thing i'm most disappointed about with riordanverse fandom now versus like 2014 is not only has the fandom not gotten any less racist or queerphobic or ableist (in fact in some regards its gotten worse!) but now it's just boring too. like there's no fandom infrastructure anymore - the community these days is almost entirely source material-driven - and you deviate from canon even slightly people get weird about it. whatever happened to the post-HoO fanon boom. the fandom needs to get weirder again. and self-sufficient. and less offensive.

[k0nanharv3y]

I think is my fault

I love writing angst I FEED ON ANGST, I'm allergic to happiness of any kind/j. But as such I'm good at writing angst. But hell no, I don't see Tim as a kicked dog who cries his way out of his problems or relies on coffee to survive. God no, I've read the comics, I know my son. And Tim is fucking WILD, literally the kid could be about to be killed by a man in tights and he'd still laugh at him because "Haha I'm better than you, fuck you"

I like to write him panicking and crying (sometimes) but that's because I'm good at describing people breaking down, and I think some of those moments are justified, Tim needed it, of course. But give me time, an idea, and a lot of fucking Delaware Punch and I'll write you the whole journey of Tim screwing Ra's over without giving a shit about anything. Give me some mac n cheese and I'll give you the correct way to interpret YJ comics. I KNOW TIM, AND THE TIM I KNOW CAN DESTROY SOMEONE WITH WORDS JUST BECAUSE HE'S HAVING A BAD DAY

Yeah, well. I'm too tired for this

[tashatoons]

Part 2: Hisoka meets Halford.

[bougiebutchbinch]

it was actually sooooooo cute and funny of Buggy to kill all those people.... it was adorably babygirl brat-coded of him to torture that entire town and force them to cheer and clap for him on pain of death!! it was silly and whimsical of him to try to hunt down and kill a kid who pissed him off because he reminded him of his ex!

shanks agrees btw. you can die mad about it xxx

[welcome-leon]

what if I said Piers is 5'6" what then

[acowardinmordor]

Wayne Munson never graduated high school. Neither did his piece of shit brother, but unlike Al, Wayne had the good sense to keep his nose out of trouble. That wasn’t to say he’d let something bad happen in front of him, but he didn’t grab a flashlight and go looking if he heard something strange in the trees.

He tried to teach Eddie any of that common sense, but his kid loved the idea of adventure too much for it to stick. Since there wasn’t any stopping the kid going looking, best Wayne could do was teach him how to handle himself.

Simple stuff like rewiring a lamp and how to patch and sew. More complex stuff like repairing his van and how to play the guitar. And since the kid always wanted fodder for those games he played, Wayne taught him bits and pieces that he learned in the war. Some first aid, basics of camping and getting yourself un-lost. Taught him the start of morse code, but the kid liked learning that elf language more.

Wayne knew there was something strange about Hawkins, and would have worried about Eddie snooping around it, but his eyes were on the highway, ready to get gone. Soon as the kid got his diploma, Wayne would hand him the money he’d been saving all these years, and he could stop worrying about Ed’s being too damn curious.

There was never a second where Wayne thought his nephew hurt that girl. Even if it had looked like something a human being could do, Eddie never would. And it certainly didn’t look like anything human. Wayne wasn’t one to go looking in the woods when he heard something. He spent his days trying to find his kid, and hoping that some grain of good sense had stuck, and Eddie wasn’t getting involved in it.

By the time that Henderson kid talked to him, Wayne had already thought it. Didn’t like it. Didn’t acknowledge it. But Wayne had had the thought. The earthquake wasn’t too bad, some feds had announced a copy cat killer and the not as dead as they thought chief of police cleared Eddie’s name.

Eddie would have shown back up by now.

So the kid handed over that guitar pick and told him a story, and Wayne couldn’t say it was a shock. Hearing that his boy was a hero wasn’t a shock either. Eddie always wanted to be the kind of person that protected others.

The feds brought Wayne some paperwork and an offer of compensation. They wanted the trailer, the whole damn thing. Wayne politely told them they could have it when he had the cash in hand. Compensation and restitution. He’d been lied to by the United States government before, and he wouldn’t trust them again.

They said it would take a few days. Wayne didn’t budge.

Now, Wayne knew what a broken heart could do. He knew that it wasn’t just romance and sweethearts that could break a man’s heart. He’d seen his buddies come back haunted, hearing whispers no one else could, jumping at shadows.

The first time the phone rang, Wayne reminded himself of those buddies, and that he was imagining what he wanted to hear.

The second time. Well.

Wayne knew that the Henderson kid was telling what he thought was truth, so he wasn’t going to go yell at him about it. He wasn’t going to go to the damn feds since they would hide his body before they gave him an answer. Henderson wasn’t the only name he heard on the phone though, and Wayne had not a single damn problem yelling at Richard Harrington’s kid. Eddie’s told some gossip the last few years, so maybe Steve wasn’t as much an asshole as his daddy, but that wasn’t going to matter.

Wayne wanted answers.

He didn’t expect the Harrington kid to listen, definitely didn’t expect him to grab a walkie talkie and a go-bag and a weapon as soon as Wayne finished speaking.

Wayne didn’t chase after the weird noises he heard coming from between the trees. Too much sense for that. He wasn’t the curious sort, needing an explanation for everything. Heartbreak did odd things to a man. He knew that lots of folk imagined a bit of hope when they were desperate. Wayne wasn’t one of those.

He was a simple, sensible man, kept his head down and lived his life. He didn’t go chasing adventures and mysteries. He wasn’t like his nephew in almost any measure or mark.

But for Eddie, he would do much stupider things than put aside his common sense.

[marshmallowwitharubberband]

I'm in the middle of watching the new season of Daddy Issues: The Mystery of Zaddy (a.k.a. Aaravos) and I've got an opinion that will get me kicked out of the fandom, but it's kinda spoilery, so it'll be under the cut.

While I'm loving the new season (at least the few chapters I've seen) it seems very hypocritical of the show —from my humble meta POV— to have Rayla doing a whole moralist speech to that moon elf about how continuing the cycle of violence and pain will not bring your dead loved ones back (kinda like Callum tried to do with Ezran) and how he should just let it go, while SHE *JUST* BROUGHT HER LOVED ONE BACK FROM THE DEAD. It's the entire reason she can even face that trial in the first place!! She is lecturing people for being bitter about something SHE got the privilege to revert and they didn't! And the narrative rewarded her for it?!

It honestly feels like an upper-class guy lecturing a waiter on how "if you are so fixated on earning more money all the time, you'll never get to enjoy the simple pleasures of life! The best moments are free!" or a neurotypical person telling their neurospicy friend that "it's all in your head! you just need to buckle up and learn discipline!"

And I feel like the show is treating it like she is right and it honestly feels too close to Miraculous' levels of hypocritical MarySue-ing. Which is odd, since so far the show has been great about presenting morally complicated stances and situations in a very tactful way, for the most part, so this felt extra jarring.

And let's not even get started on how some characters are talking about the importance of family bonds while literally minutes earlier Callum just left behind his own brother, a child, to deal with the rebuilding of an entire kingdom and reliving the grief of the death of their father. All to chase tail, basically.

It may have been morally correct to avoid Runan's incarceration and help him go back home, yes, but, again from a meta point of view, praising certain values in the dialogue then having the main characters go against said values and frame it as a good thing is...confusing.

Idk. It all left a bitter taste in my mouth that didn't let me enjoy the rest of the episode.

I'll continue the series tomorrow and hopefully future chapters will shed some light on those bizarre writing decisions. Please don't spoil anything.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

I just finished chapter 15 of 'Love, Death and Rollerskates' and Oh Damn

This post will contain slight spoilers so beware

Guys we already know that Sun also has his memories wiped by Afton but has anyone picked up on the fact that Afton also manipulates both Sun and Moon to hate each other?

I mean listen.

They are both so deeply convinced that the other is a monster. It's not just some manipulative tactic to keep the reader for themselves (as I thought for Sun in the beginning tbh). They really do think it's the truth. But how did they end up thinking this way, and why?

Welp those are very interesting questions but they're not exactly the right ones. What we have to ask here is who does this hatred profit to?

And here we have an answer, and this answer is William Afton.

Why? Because as long as they hate each other, they 1) forget that he's the one controlling them because they both have a scapegoat to blame for their situation and 2) can't team up to beat him, leaving them isolated and powerless.

Which is so damn clever to be honest.

So yes Afton erases their memories, but I also believe he takes this opportunity to fill in the blanks with some made up stories and/or manipulate the truth to nourish their hatred.

The worst part is the fact that he doesn't have to participate that much in it: all he has to do is twist the facts just enough for them to drift apart and stop communicating, and the rest is only a vicious circle of misunderstandings, negative emotions and lack of communication, that will never stop unless they actively seek to break that pattern and communicate.

For now I think Moon is the one who would recognise this pattern the most easily, because he's the most logical one of the two, and he already knows that Sun is being manipulated as well and experiences memory losses, he just doesn't know to what extent this affects his counterpart. Whereas Sun is in complete denial of it all, covering it with some sort of toxic positivity, and the narrative he gives is incredibly self-centred and based on his feelings rather than the facts, making it impossible for him to see the whole picture.

Reader have a crucial role in this dynamic, because both Sun and Moon care about them deeply, making them more keen on listening to y/n and taking their words into account. This is both a disadvantage and a good news: reader can aggravate this circle if they start picking sides and talking negatively about one of them to the other, but on the other hand, they could be able to push through the mutual hatred and get them to talk together again, with a common goal for the two of them: keeping y/n safe, and maybe, break free from Afton's emprise.

Anyway thank you for listening to my rants, I had to type this WHOLE SHIT twice because Tumblr didn't save my first draft lmao

[lustrecannon]

hella/adaire/adelaide retail workers au. they're all employed at a fancy department store and adaire keeps the receipts from really weird purchases so she can smack-talk them later with her girlfriends

secret samol piece for @theunacceptablepylades !!!!! this was so much fun - it's the first secret samol i've ever been in, and drawing these three was a delight :]

[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.”

[narwhalcasserole]

Hi Happy Holidays almost a month late. :)

[dcbutinamrev]

Does anyone in the Outsiders fandom 18+ want to rp with me on discord? If so, please feel free to dm me or ask me. I’m always down to rp with someone in this fandom. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[paradisepoisoned]

I also drew Near and Mello’s grandmothers for no reason other than I am seriously ill.

Cookie to whoever can guess which country Near’s grandma is from