#i like this one a lot actually

[tee-dohrnii]

Hair washing day - coloured

[sealsssss]

gatwo agere hc :3 hi

[habakos]

And they lived🤧🤧🤧 happily ever after😭😭😭

[ya-boi-alex]

vex peral preal pearl pls

She's a little deranged. Hihi <3

[bangobeep]

make a little birdhouse in your soul :)

[marcirose]

Soriku week day 5

Happy soriku day everyone!

[ask-elite-four-rika]

also 🐟 as a mermaid go ham

Oh Clodsire of the pond what is your wisdom?

[elliewritessometimes]

[swirly-pink-lemonade]

Wip time because by not

[anotherpapercut]

I don't really think it's fair to dismiss the idea that that guy might have been framed for killing the CEO as like an unfounded conspiracy theory when NYPD has a proven history of planting/fabricating evidence on people. in 2011 there was a massive investigation of the NYPD and hundreds of cases against people were dismissed after a former police officer testified that they literally have a name for planting evidence on people: flaking. you cannot be out here acting like considering the possibility that cops who do this shit under normal circumstances might possibly also do it when they're under intense global pressure and scrutiny is the same as republicans thinking democrats run a secret pedophile ring in the basement of a pizza restaurant

[canisalbus]

✦ Pebble ✦

[vandermorgans]

The firelight flickers. The gang is quiet. The night hums with cicadas, the soft rustle of leaves, the distant cry of some lone coyote.

Dutch sits in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. He’s listening, but his expression is unreadable, half-shadowed by the lamplight.

Abigail stands before him, arms crossed, eyes red-rimmed. She ain’t yelling— she’s past yelling. Her voice is tight, raw with frustration.

“He don’t help. He don’t do nothin’. Jack needs a father.” She sniffs, wipes at her cheek. “You tell him, Dutch. You tell him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Dutch exhales, slow and measured. “I’ll talk to him.”

Abigail nods, but it’s an exhausted nod. She’s heard too many promises, seen too little change.

She swipes at her nose, mutters something under her breath, then turns and walks off into the night.

Dutch watches her go.

Then he sighs, rubs his temple, and leans back in his chair.

John is sitting outside, elbows on his knees, whittling a piece of wood down to shavings. He looks up when Dutch approaches, already tense, like he knows what’s coming.

Dutch doesn’t sit. Doesn’t crouch. Just stands, looking down at him, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“You need to sort yourself out, son.”

John lets out a short, humorless laugh. Flicks his knife closed.

“You here to give me the speech again, huh?”

Dutch’s mouth twitches— not quite a smile. “I shouldn’t have to.” John clenches his jaw. “Your woman’s been cryin’ to me. Said you ain’t worth the bullets we spent gettin’ you back.”

That lands. John’s face flickers with something— hurt, shame, anger, all rolled up into one tight knot in his chest.

Dutch watches him, waits.

John exhales through his nose, looks away.

“Fine.”

Dutch raises an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“I’ll do better. I’ll— I’ll step up, alright? Ain’t that what you want?”

Dutch studies him a moment longer. Then he nods, satisfied. “Good.”

And that’s the end of that.

John does step up. He’s there for Jack— carrying him on his shoulders, bringing him back little trinkets from jobs.

He’s helping Abigail without being asked, fetching water, making himself useful.

And Dutch notices.

But Dutch also notices something else.

John’s scarce.

John don’t linger by his tent like he used to, don’t wait for Dutch’s orders with that eager, reckless look in his eye.

He don’t hover close during meetings, don’t come to Dutch’s side when they ride.

Don’t spend the night with him anymore.

Dutch don’t like it.

At first, he tells himself it’s because John is neglecting his duties. But the more time passes, the more Dutch starts to feel something.

Irritation coil tight in his chest, a strange, simmering sort of annoyance he don’t care to examine too closely.

Then one evening, John rides in late— dusty, tired, barely looking up as he ties his horse to the hitching post. Dutch watches from his tent, arms crossed.

Waits.

When John finally comes near, Dutch steps into his path.

“What the hell’s got into you?”

John blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re runnin’ ‘round, playin’ house, but you’re still part of my gang, boy. You got responsibilities beyond Abigail and the kid.”

John bristles. “You told me to step up.”

“I didn’t tell you to leave me!”

John freezes.

Dutch exhales, frustrated, running a hand down his face. He don’t meet John’s eyes right away, like he hadn’t meant to say it, like it came out all wrong. Raw.

John stares at him, something flickering behind his eyes.

Then— hesitant, careful—

“…You miss me, Dutch?”

Dutch lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “You always need me to spell it out for you, do you?”

John’s pulse is in his throat. He licks his lips. “Well. You ain’t exactly subtle yourself.”

Dutch finally looks at him, and for a moment, it’s just them— the noise of the gang, the crackle of the fire, the wind through the trees, all of it fading to nothing.

Then Dutch reaches out.

His hand curls around the back of John’s neck, gentle— too gentle, for a man like him.

His thumb brushes warm against John’s skin, and John melts, like all that irritation and stubbornness just unspooled in his chest, turned into something raw and warm.

Dutch tilts his head, looking at him like he’s something interesting again, something precious. “You gonna stay, or you gonna make me chase you?”

John exhales, slow. Then he smiles. “Dunno. How bad you wanna catch me?”

Dutch chuckles, shakes his head, but he don’t let go.

And John don’t pull away.

[ikam177]

Some lovely people have tried to inform me that real hedgies can have clicky purrs and I am very much aware of that. I just think Shadow is built different.

Like, louder.

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[bean-spring]

Hot take and not to be a killjoy or the shipping police but people treating Viktor or Jinx's aroace headcanons as if they were canon is not the revolutionary take people think it is.

Headcanons are always all right but we have to acknowledge that they are somehow damaging when they apply to stereotypes. It might not be the case for everyone but most of the time people unconsciously assume that disability/mental illness=asexuality. These headcanons erase the freedom of attraction from people who are already seen as unable to have sexual/romantic experiences/desires, when it's completely untrue and harmful.

You can headcanon Viktor and Jinx as aroace, but I have seen people changing their minds once Viktor is no longer disabled (s2 with all of his other forms) and Jinx is no longer as mentally ill (alternate universe Powder). And it speaks wonders of how people see these characters.

"I never thought about Jinx being able to feel romantic/sexual attraction until s2!" To believe she's actually only capable of that when she's not "damaged" is incredibly disturbing. Especially since Jinx has always had a bit of a flirty personality too.

"I've always seen Viktor as asexual, I don't know why!" That's fine. You can headcanon him as ace. But I believe there is a reason behind it, most of the time, if for some inexplicable reason the "vibes" of the disabled character are making you think he's ace.

I say all of this being aroaspec myself, by the way. Headcanon all you want but going to people's posts commenting how "it's weird for you that they have romantic/sexual plots when they're clearly aroace" is not a win at all. It's a headcanon, after all, and it should be treated as such, and that's fine. But it also is damaging to spread stereotypes like these.

Of course the disabled character is asexual. Of course the mentally ill character is aromantic. It's not as revolutionary as you might think, tbh.

Fandom is not activism and it's all right to have any headcanons you want BUT some of them are filled with damaging stuff and perhaps we should look into ourselves more before treating these assumptions as something canon.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Suddenly, bell bottoms aren't so bad

Bonus sketch, because I had to vv

"Stop checking out my assistant, Stanley."