#peacock affect

[shebandobsessed]

Adding up all the pain Left in your brain It's just another black day Sat indoors Feeling alone and full of decay Some skanky alchy's Looking at me in an understanding way Friends don't exist Friends don't exist No one's going to give you a kiss Who cares if you exist Friends don't exist When you're home alone You may as well be asleep for the week I'm so weak But some how I exist

[doppelganger-blog]

I’m stuck in this world

I’m bored of this life

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Some quickbits I made for fun (and a Lorna appearance because I love her)

[mikimeiko]

Poker Face | Season 2 (2025), Rian Johnson

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

I am unreasonably upset about the fact that I've been forced to accept that Gabriel was a Gerald.

For context, in An Inspector Calls, Gerald Croft is engaged to Sheila Birling when he meets a homeless, struggling Eva Smith in a bar, and essentially in return for a home and money he shows her affection (ahem), then gets rid of her once he no longer has a use for her. Now, obviously this isn't a direct translation, but the essentials are - a Gerald is a character who uses another character, in return for something they need, usually masking the fact that they're using them with affection and love.

And against my will I've had to accept that this is exactly what Gabriel does to Nathalie.

Did I want to think he had potential to be better? Did I think he genuinely cared for Nathalie?? Hell, did I just really really want somebody to care about Nathalie???

Probably all of the above but the point is: he's Gerald. And I cannot - I literally can't unsee it now. Their whole dynamic in S3 is like “oh boohoo I'm sorry I wish you didn't have to use the peacock Miraculous and kill yourself over it but uh I need to use your powers” “yeah no that's fine I'm all good”. Which, given the "Gerald" theorem, I'm assuming leads to the fact that what Nathalie needed, above all, was someone to care about her - and Gabriel came along, as Sheila Birling puts it, "like a fairytale prince", and was so caring and gentle and... Yeah. She fell for him. And. Yeah he genuinely did seem to care like twice. But so did Gerald. Gerald actually admits that he did care for Eva, just not the way that she cared for him, and, uh, not enough to not just dispose of her. So he discards her anyway when she stops being useful.

Leading me neatly to my point.

He starts using the peacock Miraculous the second it's fixed, the slimy bastard, HOWEVER. It runs way deeper than that. Assuming I'm right (which I almost DEFINITELY am), then Gabriel only needed Nathalie while she was useful. She didn't stop being useful in season three - she's still scheming for him, helping him with plan after plan. It's only partway through season 5 that she officially servers ties with him, and starts to actively hinder him.

Nathalie stops being useful when she fails as Safari. And I reckon that's when Gabriel and Tomoe decided she had to go.

(It's painfully, I-was-ugly-crying-over-it obvious in Conformation that Gabriel is fully prepared to let Nathalie die - in the original storyboard, her alliance was encouraging her to sleep, and he's very obviously prepared for this moment - I've made a separate post about it that I'll link if I can find it. However, onto the next bit)

With all of this, there's one thing that sticks out to me - Nathalie didn't see any of it until it was already too late. There could be many reasons for this. But you know who would have seen through it? Whose parents were all loving and perfect until she married the wrong man? Emilie. Emilie, who left behind those videos, which on the surface look innocent, but when you look deeper look like a (love confession???????) AHEM a warning. I reckon Emilie noticed what was going on and realised that Nathalie wouldn't see through Gabriel, so she left those videos addressed to Nathalie (not Gabriel, which surely they should have been - they were about him, after all - unless they were there...) as a warning. I don't think the videos were supposed to be about helping Gabriel, I think Emilie was warning Nathalie to get the fuck out of that house, and to take Adrien with her. Because Emilie knew it'd end like this.

Yes I'm still mad ok give me a break.

[soullessjack]

ive been thinking a lot about how adrien was supposed to be disabled during his concept development and how much of a missed opportunity the whole thing was, like. on one hand I honestly respect the writers for backing out of a topic they thought they wouldn’t be able to handle well; not to say the representation in miraculous is anything great but it shows they do care about it at the very least, which is more than most media can say. I also know this was a decision that came way before the show even started, but I feel like Tomoe Tsurugi is proof that they can write disabled characters and do it in a way that’s fairly decent, so i feel like they could still incorporate it in now since their prior concern is pretty much ruled out (they’re never gonna do this).

and narrative wise I think it would add very much to the entire Agreste family arc, like idk. you could have his disability be a result of the peacock’s damage, or damage to his Amok. have it be part of the reason why Gabriel is so controlling and isolating (ie; viewing his son as frail and made of glass now) and distant/abusive (viewing his son as now “less than perfect,” at least in terms of what he’d envisioned for a perfect child, and blaming Emilie’s sickness/death on it). Adrien’s modeling career is entirely just inspiration-sensationalism with a “hopeful ray of sunshine” public persona. it can even be important to cat noir, too! it’s still an escape from his home life and career, but it’s also a chance for adrien to show that he’s not as fragile as gabriel thinks. It’s his own way of having independence and autonomy and for once being someone that isn’t constantly pitied or made to pretend he’s a docile ray of sunshine constantly.

I’m also deeply autistic enough to say it could match with him being the holder of destruction; half of his life is centered around preserving him and, again, treating him like he’s made of glass. so why not give him the power to literally crack and shatter that glass? poetic cinema and all that. additionally it adds to both why he’s so unserious with his role as a superhero and why he values his partnership with ladybug so highly—he’s indulging in this new freedom while also recognizing that the partnership it comes with is about the only one where he’s genuinely treated as an equal and trusted to take his own part in something. that’s not to say I think all of his friends would instantly change personalities and baby him (especially not Nino) but let me tell you, even as someone who’s not physically disabled, the distinct feeling of being othered or unequal is there no matter how much support you have.

everybody knows this already but there’s just so much potential in everything that the writers don’t do reagghhhhhghhhh

[navydoves]

Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

[frostknaw]

Tag list

[corvus-frugilegus]

The real tragedy of the Dellamortes is how inevitable Illario's betrayal was.

Caterina's refusal to really see either of her grandsons for who they are sets all three of them on this path. Lucanis's mother was Caterina's favourite, she was probably the person Caterina had in mind to succeed her. That loss, the loss of so much of Caterina's legacy had to have been devastating. She'd built so much and it was all torn away in a single conflict. All she has left in the wake of it is two young boys and this tenacity that will not allow her to give up on what she's built.

So she puts it all on Lucanis. The son of her favourite (bonus angst if he looks like his mother). She's unable to see this sweet boy who loves wyverns and just had his life ripped apart for who he is. She just see's her legacy. The daughter she lost. She puts it all into him, he's pushed into the role of favourite.

Lucanis responds to this by shoving down the parts of himself she doesn't want to see- his gentle heart, his love of wyverns, the little boy who needs to be loved. If he's good enough, strong enough, the perfect crow, the perfect granson- then and only then will she love him, will he be safe.

And then you have Illario! There isn't as much to go on in the text about his family or what he was like as a boy but there's a few things we can pretty confidently infer. Like Lucanis, Illario violently loses everything he has at a very young age. All he has left are the other two Dellamorte's.

But he isn't the child of Caterina's favourite. She isn't automatically putting all of her legacy on his shoulders the way she does Lucanis. He still gets the training, and what we do see in the wigmaker job and the wake and even in the codex entires in the game is that Illario does become a comptent and capable crow. He has a level of skill that I suspect is broadly expected of house Dellamorte, he was trained by the first talon herself. But the Illario we meet as an adult has this laissez-faire affect and presents himself as a seducer and a bit of a peakcock. He also very overtly refers to himself as Dellamorte-the-lesser and at the end of the wigmaker job when they're discussing the title of first talon you can feel the resentment below the surface.

For Illario it's not about the power and the prestige that comes from the title of first talon. It's not even about having the title itself. It's about FINALLY earning Caterina's love and respect. Things he undoubtly never felt as a boy.

How could he? When he's a child the only two people he has left in the world have this special bond that he never gets to be a part of. His only caretaker has a clear favourite and she shows it. He's lived his whole life in Lucanis's shadow, and a shadow that Lucanis never wanted to cast! Which if anything just adds insult to injury for Illario.

Lucanis has everything Illario wants and he doesn't even want it.

I imagine as a boy Illario tries SO HARD to win her love, her favour, he'll do anything to feel like he's loved and wanted and valued. And when after YEARS it doesn't work even though Lucanis clearly doesn't want the role he's been forced into? Illario gets resentful, he gets angry, he starts acting up. He becomes the suave peacock, the grandson who fucks up sometimes- probably not because he's bad at being a crow but because at least Caterina's ire is attention. It's a scrap of love.

Illario and Lucanis love each other. They're brothers. Illario resents Lucanis for being loved and favoured. Lucanis wants nothing more than to give it all to Illario. Illario doesn't want that he wants Caterina to love him on his own merit. At the same time (pre-inner demons) Lucanis will never actually give the title up because it means he's loved, he's valued, he matters.

The title of first talon has been synonymous with emotional safety and love for these two for their entire lives, and it's twisted them up so badly.

The real irony of it all is that this whole time Illario is so much more like the person Caterina wants Lucanis to be. Her heir, the Dellamorte best suited to be the next first talon has been right there infront of her all along, but she's so caught up in grief and legacy she misses it. She never really see's either of her grandsons for who they are.

I actually suspect that when it all comes to light, even though she's furious with him, Caterina finally starts to see what she's been overlooking in Illario all along. And Lucanis who's started to heal... well I think she's starting to see him too, and the truth of who he is is something she'll struggle to face.

When the day finally comes that Lucanis tells her he doesn't want the job, when him and Illario both accept that their lives have meaning outside of Caterina's opinion of them, is the day that the Dellamorte's can maybe start to really see each other.

[nekonaps0]

Natural flirt pt1

✦part2 part3

✦ characters: overbolt boys

✦ gn!reader

✦ reader has a naturally flirty personality, playful, charming, maybe a little teasing.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is not a fan of unnecessary drama but when it comes to you, his patience wears thin real fast. You’re a flirt. Unapologetically so. Your compliments roll off your tongue like silk, and your playful smiles never miss their mark even if they’re not always aimed at him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches. Quietly. Brooding. Eyes narrowed as you casually joke with another student, leaning in just a little too close.

But the moment you're alone?

“You sure have a way of making my blood boil,” he mutters, backing you into a wall.


“You gonna keep teasing me like that, or are you finally gonna give all that attention to the one who really matters?”

Possessive. Intense. But also…hot. He doesn’t want to tame your fire. He just wants to make sure you remember whose arms you crawl into at the end of the day.

And when you flirt with him?

It drives him wild. He pretends to scoff, but you see it, the twitch of his lips, the heat in his gaze.

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to remind you what happens when you rile up a lion.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is not equipped…

You flirting? In public?

Red. Immediate red, his face like a tomato. He’ll call you out probably with a flustered expression.

“Y/N! That kind of behavior is completely inappropriate!”

But then you turn your flirty charm on him, maybe a whispered compliment in the middle of class, a kiss just behind his ear and he becomes a stuttering mess.

He tries so hard to stay composed, but you’re his weakness. He gets adorably flushed, but you know the truth: he loves it when you focus all that teasing energy on him.

“You know you really not making things easier when you do this…”

His hands tremble when he takes yours. His voice shakes when he kisses you.

He acts like it’s improper.

But his heart? It’s yours.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul tries to play it cool. He tells himself your flirty nature is part of your charm, part of what drew him in to begin with.

But when he sees you batting your eyes at someone else?

It gnaws at him.

He doesn't get angry, not right away. Instead, he spirals. Overthinks. Doubts.

“Am I… not interesting enough? Is she bored?”

But when you turn your flirtation back to him, especially in private, whispering sweet little threats into his ear, teasing him with kisses and compliments, he snaps right back.

“You are really cruel my pearl. But please stay longer… everything feels better when you around.”


He’ll sweep you off your feet with silken words. He’s competitive when it comes to affection—and he won’t lose. He wants all your sweet words.

Jamil Viper

Jamil is composed. Controlled. He’s used to hiding what he feels. But you? You crash into his life like a sunflare. All playful winks, teasing remarks, and suggestive grins. You flirt like it’s second nature.

At first, he’s overwhelmed. Embarrassed. Flushed.

Especially if you flirt in public. His ears turn pink. His hands tremble just a bit. But he brushes it off with a muttered:

“You’re impossible…”

Still, the possessiveness is there. Quiet. Dangerous. His eyes darken just a bit when someone else laughs a little too loudly at your joke.

When you flirt with him, though? He becomes way more smoother.

“Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, fingers sliding around your waist,
“and you’re not leaving this room until you learn what happens to pretty little charmers like you.”

He’s not jealous.

He’s motivated.

Vil Schoenheit

You flirting? It’s like watching two peacocks in the same garden, too much beauty, too much shine, and enough confidence to start a fire.

Vil is not jealous. If anything, he expects people to admire you. You're his partner, after all why wouldn’t you be dazzling?

But flirt too much with others? He’ll raise a perfectly arched brow, lips twitching with restrained displeasure.

“You do love attention, don’t you?”

Still, he never doubts your loyalty. You’re his. He’s yours. But he will compete for your focus if he has to and when he does?

You’re the one left breathless.

“If you’re going to tease me like that,” he murmurs, “you better be prepared for what I’ll do when I get you alone.”

Vil flirts back with precision. Elegance. Power.

You're in for a luxurious, dangerously hot push-and-pull.

Idia Shroud

Idia has no idea how to handle a flirty partner.

You wink at him? He combusts.

You brush your hand against his and say something smooth? His hoodie practically sets on fire from the inside.

He freezes. Glitches. Eyes wide. Hair bright pink.

“I—uh—y-you—flirting—me—no wayyy…”

And if you flirt with others, even jokingly? He spirals fast. Ortho has to calm him down like:

“Brother, calm down. They’re just naturally like that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Still, once he’s reassured that you’re his and his alone… he actually starts to learn your rhythm. Your banter. Your moves. And he even tries to flirt back… badly at first. But adorably.

“You must be a rare drop… ‘cause I’ve been grinding my whole life for someone like you.”

And when you laugh?

He glows. Literally.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus finds your flirtiness... fascinating.

He watches you interact with others playful, sweet, dazzling and for a while, he thinks it’s a natural human behavior. But then he realizes your tone shifts when you talk to him.

Your touches linger. Your smiles soften. Your voice becomes silk.

“I flirt with others… Malleus, but with you? I mean it.”

He’s quiet. Staring. Processing.

And then?

He starts flirting back.

In the most poetic, old-world, heart-stopping way possible.

“If I am a prince of shadows, then you are the flame that lights my castle. If you seek to make me jealous, know this: you have already conquered me. There is no competition.”

If someone flirts with you in front of him? He doesn’t get mad.

He gets territorial.

You won’t notice until the room’s temperature drops and the poor soul walks away shivering.

Malleus doesn’t stop you from being flirty.

But he will remind everyone that you only belong to his heart.

..............................................................................................................................

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi! I wanna say that I love reading your work. They help me dealing with the burnout from exams. I wanted to ask that could you write a Part 7 to Freelance Inventor. Maybe Bruce getting jealous or whatever your creative mind comes up with. Thank you!

"Has anyone noticed that Dad's been acting off lately?" Dick says one afternoon around the grill. Jason raises a brow from where he's carefully watching the steaks cook, spatula in hand to flip it to the other side.

He always took his grilling duties seriously after Grandpa Jack took him aside and taught him the secret Fenton BBQ spice rubs. They were guaranteed to make anything on the grill taste heavy, and haven't failed Jason since.

His first girlfriend had fallen for his charms and the plate of steaming food he actively flaunted around her. The way to a heart really was through the stomach.

If the Fentons didn't constantly bring their meals to life—accidentally—then Jason would swear to anyone who cares to listen that they were likely claimed by some Food Ancient. There was no other explanation.

"I have actually," Tim says from where he's sprawled across a nearby sun lounger. He's taken his favorite position, which never made sense to Jason. The teenager looks like a starfish, spread as far as his limbs can go, utterly boneless and content. His upper back hurts just from looking at Tim. "He keeps making up excuses to not see B."

"What did that man do this time?" Steph huffs, painting her toenails with her favorite sparkling purple shimmer nail polish. Beside her on the most plush sun lounger they own is Cass. The eldest girl was resting on her stomach, napping comfortably.

She just returned from a rather long and daunting mission, so everyone knew to let Cass claim the best spot around the pool. She has more than earned it.

"Probably something studpid" Dick sighs rubbing at his face. "I just hope it's not another Cesar Salad incident."

Jason winces alongside the rest of the people conscious. (Cass mutters slightly, burrowing further into the pillow pressed against her cheek.) The Cesar Salad incident was one of the darkest failures in getting Bruce and Danny together.

He doesn't like thinking about it, but it involves an overly flirty waiter, a confused inventor, a jealous billionaire, a rubber chicken, three singing Christmas trees, and the disgruntled mayor holding the Key to the City while covered in salad.

Had it not been for Damian bursting into tears and calling Danny for the first time—and only time—"Dad," they may never have seen Bruce again. It was a shame, but the siblings had long ago agreed they would have all gone with Danny if there had been a divorce.

"I don't think it's that bad." Jason cuts in, flipping over the steaks. The meat makes an appetizing sizzling sound as he waves his spatula around. "Honestly, if it were, we wouldn't see Dad as often as we have lately. He wasn't supposed to return from Japan until the end of the month, but he came back two weeks earlier, and I caught him staring at Bruce from the office doorway. "

"Did he look upset?" Steph asks, turning her attention away from her feet to pin Jason with a sharp stare.

He shakes his head, causing her to ease up her face. "No. He seemed almost... excited and nervous at once?"

"Dad? Nervous?" Tim scoffs, "That man created the zeta beams, won the award for most influential inventor, and once told Superman to his face that he wasn't his type. Dad doesn't do nervous."

"Well, that's what it looked like to me!" Jason defends hotly, hiding his embarrassment for even suggesting the emotion from the other two, by checking on the hot dogs.

"Danny only behaves this way because he finally realized he harbors affection for Father." Damian proclaims, bursting onto the scene with a large inflatable peacock pool floater. He throws into the water and then leaps feet first into the water.

They watch as he dives a little to loop upwards and uses the water to push his hair out of his face, just as Danny does whenever he goes swimming. Out of all of them, Damian copied Danny the most. The only thing he didn't allow the man to influence was his speech, but everything else? That was a free game.

Damian had even started to help Danny plan their Thanksgiving decorations, creating his decorations trunk for Dad's favorite holiday.

The boy climbs onto his flute, lounging like a king on a throne. "Father and Danny will finally be romantic partners this time tomorrow."

Dick opens his mouth only to be cut off once again by a shout. "Emergency! Emergency!Emergency!"

They all jump to attention, disrupting the relaxing atmosphere, and twist towards Duke, who is running from the side of the Manor, waving his arms frantically. Even Cass wakes in a second, limbs no coil, to leap into combat while Tim reaches for the hidden bo staff disguised as a table umbrella pole.

Jason untied his apron and reached for his waist hoist, only to realize he was in his swimming trunks and nothing else. No matter. Alfred lives here; firearms are bound to be near the pool, hidden in plain sight somewhere.

"Duke! Report!" Dick doesn't quite bark, but it's a sharp enough command to make all of them mentally shift to him being the one who would lead this emergency without question.

"Dad..." Duke gasps, hands on his knees, as he tries to catch his breath. He must have been running for a while. After all, Duke has some of the best stamina out of them.

It's then that Jason notices the kid is still wearing his school uniform. He had volunteered to help at the Gotham pre-school this summer as part of his mandatory volunteer hours for the Honors Society, so that means he ran from clear across the city.

"What happened to Dad?" Dick demands when all Duke does is pant and gasp for breath. "Duke, where is Dad? "

"He....he has a....boyfriend" The daytime hero finally gets out, though his words chill everyone gathered. "He's....dating that ghost hero....Phantom....and B found out. He's upstairs crying."

"What?" Damian's voice is flat, but Jason doesn't have time to find out why because Dick is barking out orders on how to proceed with a never-before-observed encounter.

A love rival who actually had Dad's attention. Jason has no idea what to do if they can't get him to break up with Phantom. Gods, what must B be feeling.

"I'll check on B." He proclaims as Tim, Steph, and Cass rush to find out everything they can about the elusive hero Phantom. It will be hard since the ghost was such an old and powerful being; he was a god in his own right. And gods are often not recorded as accurately as they hope, since humans tend to change the myths over time.

"I'll track down Dad and keep him away from the homewrecker! Duke goes with Jason to talk to B to think clearly. " Dick throws up a fist, twisting around to regard everyone with every inch that made up the undaunting Nightwing. "You have your assignments. Go. Do not fail!"

"Wait-" Jason runs before Damian can finish his sentence, rushing into the manor towards the muffled sobbing.

They won't let this stand—not after a decade of waiting, hoping, wishing, and planning. Phantom will never get his Dad.

[hiwaaranit]

I should have known if I brought up wc I’d have to talk about. But it includes of a lot of issues with feral/furry designs that use feathers in hair. I don’t necessarily know why the conversation only started and stayed in the wc fandom when horse/wolf/lion feral fandoms are still doing the same thing.

Now having feathers in the design isn’t a racial attack first thing off because there’s a lot of context around what feather’s are used, the shape, and where they are placed. If the look is anything like "rave Coachella looking tribal fantasy feathers and beads" it’s probably insensitive. I’m not to sure why it has to be feathers, I honestly think the wc fandom are holding themselves back when it comes to forwarding designs in a unique way. Tail feathers are also left out in this conversation as well, one or two feathers or feathers in the shape of a birds tail are fine but bunched together feathers are leaning to close to how we have our horses wear feathers. This is in the context of the design already looking like a "medicine cat" already its bad. it’s like those yt girls wear feather head bands but animal addition.

I’ve talked about this before but silhouettes are so important, like Native American stereotypes are on the global scale you cannot escape this silhouette you just have to avoid it. There’s no "but it’s in so many other cultures" no it’s not it’s totally unique to our people that’s why people flock to it because it’s so "mysterious, sacred" whatever their weird twisted up reason is. There’s so many unique ways to break this silhouette you just gotta be more creative. And I feel like instead of being more creative and coming up with totally different ideas it’s just easier to lean on these visual native stereotypes to get across "wild mythical nature fantasy"

I could get into the horse fandom and the weird situations they’re doing over there but that’s another crazy thing. I should say because someone will ask, ostrich feathers on like show horses or knights or puss in boots style is fine not the same thing (breaking the silhouette) they’re not related.

And it comes down to understanding what you are drawing and where this imagery comes from, I’m not gonna get my feelings hurt because of your design but I’ll question why are you drawing stuff like that. You cant remove that cultural/stereotypical imagery, and if you don’t care about it then you don’t care about the history or how it looks on your character and art.

I made it this far on the internet but if you want to be conscious about these things good on yea it doesn’t take much☺️👍

Edit: can’t believe I gotta say this but yes other cultures utilize feathers, if people are using feathers that are used in their culture then don’t harass them. That’s weird have some common sense. Ostrich feathers, peacock feathers it’s actually so interesting how native birds to an area affect the culture there.

[helluvapoison]

Could I get Adam, Lute and Lucifer and how they 'court' the reader? Like how birds with court each other, little gifts, wing 'dances', nesting, etc...

Also, could I be your 🐌 anon? <3<3<3

Birds of a Feather

Adam, Lute and Lucifer courting you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Peacocking has nothing on The First Man

• His personality is amped up to the highest level when he sees you walk in a room

• (Overcompensation for how fucking nervous you make him)

• Adam gets cocky when he knows he has your attention

• Tossing grapes high in the air and catching them in his mouth, bragging louder than usual about something or the other

• Heaven forbid you laugh at any of his antics, (His smirk is dangerous, “Oh you like that?”) he’ll start singling you out in front of everyone, calling your name before he acts up

• Performances include inviting you to watch his band play and miraculously getting more energy

• Casually tosses guitar picks in your direction— and when he finds out you kept one!? He’s over the moon

• He won’t go out of his way to get you food but he’ll order you something if he goes somewhere

• Adam hates nesting. He doesn’t like being stressed in general and nesting is really fucking stressful!

• The very fact seeing you pricks the urge in him to nest drives him insane

• (AKA, he likes you a lot more than he thought he did!)

• Seeing you in his space does something he doesn’t particularly hate though

• “It’s whatever if you don’t like it.” Adam shrugs

• “No, I think it looks nice! Very you. Tell me about these pictures?”

• He’s fucking done for

˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Like they have a mind of their own, her wings stretch out and audibly fluff up when she makes eye contact with you

• Mortifying is an understatement

• She picks out trinkets to give to you at first, something small that could be waved off as insignificant

• Later, when Lute realizes her affections are returned, she brings useful offerings or something you offhandedly mentioned needing

• She wishes she could tell you about the exterminations solely to brag

• See how fierce she is, how skilled she is, how good of a protector she could be for you

• Lute will ask you to arm wrestle as a compromise. She gets to hold you hand and show off her strength!

• Nesting was fine, it was the judgment part that drove her up a wall

• Watching your eyes roam over her apartment, deciding whether or not it was good enough for you? Gah!

• “What, uh—“ Lute clears her throat, she’ll hate herself for even asking later, “What do you think?”

• You smile knowingly, something else that makes her absolutely mad, “It’s perfect.”

• Lute beams with pride like she’s won a great victory

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Never before has he felt the need to actually flaunt.. anything?

• With you it hits him like a fucking train and it’s even harder to supress it

• He’s Lucifer! That’s supposed to be self explanatory, that’s supposed to be enough

• Suddenly he’s checking every mirror on his way to you, making sure he looks better than he feels

• He tries to find other ways to steal your attention or show that he would be a worthy partner

• …But showing off his wings couldn’t hurt, right? He has six after all. If you needed to get to the other side of town he’d be more than happy to fly you over!

• Nothings too good for you! If Lucifer thinks you’ll want or like something, he’s buying it!

• Did you notice he can make things too? He’ll make you something— or fix something for you!

• Quick, break that so he can show you he can fix it!

• Lucifer pulls all the stops trying to prove himself, nesting is no exception… he’s just not great at it

• He starts! However a little after beginning he realizes just how big his mansion is and gets overwhelmed so he closes all the doors and focuses his energy on the only room that matters; his

• “I mainly stay in here,” Lucifer explains while squishing a duck in his fist, watching you explore his room, “I cleaned it up for you! N-Not for you, not for that— I mean not that I’m opposed! I just meant so that you could, uh, see?”

• “I see why you like it, I’d never wanna leave.”

• You’re gonna kill him saying shit like that

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ 🐌 CAN I GIVE YOU A KITH BECAUSE THIS WAS SO FUN!!!!!

[cookies-after-dark]

ok but imagine pv smilk and reader having something going, relationship going steady, freak is on™, people kinda get the hint that this is a committed poly relationship

but! some poor soul makes a pass on the reader (thinking that the relationship is open and they're up for grabs)

you cannot tell me these two mfkers aren't the most possessive ass bitches (pv undercover) when it comes to each other and their partner (i'm hinting at possessive sex bro it would be so good)

pv 🤝 smilk

"that's my boyfriend and my partner and if u look too much im gonna bite."

they live in my mind rent free i need to write an eviction notice- i am so so sorry if this is nonsensical

(additional tags: possessiveness, unhealthy dynamics, beast x ancient

ships: Pure Vanilla Cookie x gender neutral!reader x Shadow Milk Cookie)

Okay so this ask resonated within my soul. I've wanted to write about just how willing Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk are willing to share the one that holds their affections, across many different dynamics (yandere suitors sharing vs. normal poly relationship between three mostly stable individuals, etc.)

But I really, really like the thought of the two of them just closing the relationship after they include you in it. Because I love to see Shadow Milk when he's a snarling, spitting animal and PV needs to be possessive over his belongings friends and family more because I said so and it brings me joy.

I think they both would handle it quite differently, their jealousy. Shadow Milk Cookie is all external force, his hackles raise when he sees another cookie rub their hands over your back when they hug you. Shadow Milk Cookie is insecure desperate and clingy enough to shoot first ask questions later if he feels you're drifting away from him.

You're not, you tell him that when he's curled around you like some type of hissing weasel.

He believes you, but he just wouldn't feel better if he didn't teach that other cookie a little lesson! One should know better than to enroach on his territory.

Shadow Milk Cookie feels nonthreatened only when it's Pure Vanilla Cookie (and his other Beast friends, as he has expressed to the two of you eagerly). He doesn't mind it, loves it even when he finds their scent on you as he wraps himself around you. It's quite comforting.

But a stranger's touch on you feels wrong, like a sin. Shadow Milk Cookie actually gets very antsy until he's at least sniffed out this foolish doughbrain and assure himself that this won't happen twice.

You and Pure Vanilla Cookie have helped a lot on this regard; Shadow Milk's wrath used to mean something serious. Well, relentlessly stalking a cookie and pulling meanspirited "pranks" on them still is quite serious. Baby steps, everyone!

Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not nearly as unhinged and unstable as his Beast partner is. In fact, I think it would take a much bigger push to feel like Pure Vanilla had to step in. He's patient, kind, and understanding.

But Pure Vanilla also feels jealousy, like any other cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't puff out his chest and start strutting around like a peacock when someone flirts with you. Actually, he thinks it's quite flattering that his partner is attractive enough for such a positive response!

(But if I just left it at that and didn't find some way to make Pure Vanilla Cookie's hackles rise then we wouldn't be here right now.)

I think the thing that gets Pure Vanilla's eyes to snap open is when someone persists with you. Fair enough, anyone with a partner would feel the need to smile a bit more tightly and wander over to put a comforting hand on yltheir shoulder while making subtle eye contact with the pursuer, it's totally normal!

Just a little sign, y'know? A quick nuzzle to your cheek will do the trick.

Unbeknownst to you - there's the faintest reflection of alitted pupils in Pure Vanilla's eyes when his gaze flits towards your increasingly unwelcome guest. Shadow Milk Cookie has been a really good influence, huh?

I think PV would process this internally, more than anything else. You notice he kind of anxiously prowls around you a little bit more, but he goes back to acting like his merry self a day or two later.

Although, his insecurities ring like a bell through his souljam, which Shadow Milk Cookie can feel. They're both watching you much more often than you would think.

And isn't that so sweet? So romantic? You have not one, but two ultra powerful cookies with stable emotions watching your every move, making extra sure that you're safe and sound in their arms, and their arms only! You're in good hands, here.

[fawnwilde]

Taboo II Relief .𖥔 ݁ ˖

john marston x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

You've become acquainted with every member of the Van Der Linde gang, especially Dutch Van Der Linde...

But there is one member of the gang you're not aware of. A handsome, yet scarred man who catches your attention very quickly.

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, strangers to lovers, self esteem issues, slightly unwanted advances at one point, drunkenness, mention of scars, piv smut, oral m receiving, john marston needy n whiny agenda ;)

word count: 6.8k

It’s a peaceful day at Clemons Point.

You’re sitting on the grass, sharpening your knife while you enjoy the morning sun, the voices of the Van Der Linde gang members humming around you.

It's been five days since the events at the O'driscoll camp, since you were shot trying to help complete strangers. Four days of being integrated into the Van Der Linde gang.

Three of getting to know Dutch Van Der Linde, himself.

He’s been surprisingly kind to you, and increasingly affectionate the longer the two of you spend wrapped up together. Your nights in his bed have been nothing short of euphoric, your mornings waking up in his arms are intoxicating.

While you knew you should find the whole situation odd, you greatly enjoy being cared for by another person. And with his affections towards you, the rest of the gang seems happy to keep you around.

You never thought you would find friends out here, especially not amongst a gang of outlaws. But you’re not complaining. It’s nice to feel like you belong somewhere, for once.

A warm hand touches your shoulder, startling you from your thoughts.

Dutch smiles down at you, the crows feet around his eyes creasing handsomely, “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You smile up at him, taking Dutch’s extended hand and letting him pull you up. He links your arm with his, leading you through the tents in a gentlemanly manner.

One thing you had discovered about Dutch Van Der Linde is that he is proud. He saw himself as the king of his own little kingdom, head held high as he walked through the camp full of outlaws he leads.

He is a peacock, with his styled hair and luxurious clothes, oozing confidence and superiority.

You know that he is showing you off now, the wild girl he saved and tamed.

And you know that, from the vicious words snarled by Micah Bell, you’re probably just Dutch’s new obsession. His new, pretty little thing to make him feel good about himself. “He’ll tire of you, eventually”, Bell had said. But you don't mind. Once Dutch tires of you, you'll disappear into the woods again.

Nothing is holding you to this place.

Though, you are finding yourself growing attached to the people here.

Other members of camp greet you both as you walk, most of which you knew the names of, and some of which had even begun to consider friends. Mary-Beth waves at you from across camp, Lenny greets you warmly, Javier offers you a courteous smile.

Oh, to have people seem happy to see you.

Dutch leads you to sit at a table with Hosea and Arthur. They are sat in companionable silence, with Hosea reading a newspaper and Arthur cleaning his gun.

“Good morning, my dear.” Hosea greets, looking over at you from behind his paper.

“Ma’am.” Arthur nods, sliding over a tin of coffee in your direction.

“Morning.” You smile, accepting the steaming cup. You sip at your coffee, feeling Dutch run his hand over your shoulder as he speaks quietly to his closest friends.

The topic of their conversation flies over your head, something about a train they plan on robbing. You enjoy the feeling of Dutch rubbing the nape of your neck with his thumb.

It’s nice to feel wanted, just as you are.

Heads turn as a horse gallops into camp, and the cheerful atmosphere changes when people notice the rider. You take no notice until Arthur's eyes narrow, a stormy expression crossing over his face.

“Ah, hell.” He mumbles, rising and storming towards the hitching posts.

You turn to look at the rider. He’s a disheveled man, clothes dirty and crumpled, his hat over his face. He sways on top of his horse, grumbling to himself as his foot gets tangled in the stirrups and he slides sideways.

Arthur is there to catch the man as he falls. The man grips onto him and gives him a dazed smile, which Arthur does not return.

“He’s back.” Hosea muses, and Dutch hums with a frown, “And he’s drunk.”

“It’s been a week.” Dutch sighs, fingers tensing on your shoulders as he stares at the man, deep in thought, “Thought that maybe he wouldn't come back, this time.”

You stay quiet as you look between them, taking notice of their expressions.

Dutch’s face remains pensive, but there's a calculating anger that simmers in his eyes. Hosea looks sorrowful and worried, his eyes soft as he regards the man, as he is pulled away from his horse and into camp.

Whoever the man is, he’s cared for by these men. You wonder who he is as his staggering figure disappears amongst the tents.

Something tells you there is more to him than just a drunken member of the gang.

Afternoon breaks, and the new man has been deposited against a tree, his head hanging as he weaves in and out of consciousness.

You watch as Arthur berates him, his voice echoing around camp as he tries to argue some sense into his friend, if that’s what they are. You cannot tell, not from afar.

Standing at Pearson’s wagon, you help him skin some rabbits Charles had brought in that morning. But your gaze wavers as you watch Arthur storm off, cursing the drunken man out underneath his breath.

Said man laughs, a deep sound that shakes his whole body, and he pulls out a flask. Hosea stands a few feet away from him, his hands on hips hips, looking all the disappointed father figure he was in that moment.

“Goddammit. John, Get a grip of yourself.” The older man signs, shaking his head at the pitiful sight.

The man in question waved his hand dismissively, slumping further against the tree.

With a huff, Hosea leaves as well, sitting at a nearby table and pointedly ignoring the other man.

John, as you have learned, sits alone, head bobbing slightly, his hand shaking as he takes a swig from his flask.

You give Pearson your skinned rabbit with a smile, before wiping your hands as you approach Mr Marston, as you had heard Miss Grimshaw refer to him earlier.

He’s a tall, slender man, his long legs stretched out in a heap below him. Even through being covered in dirt and drunken sweat, he has a handsome face hidden below his greasy hair.

You wonder how good looking he would be if he bathed, and wasn't stinking drunk.

He looks up as you approach, squinting slightly to figure out who you are. He’s got dark eyes, ones which you’re sure are beautiful when they are not glazed over in an alcohol induced haze.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, tilting your head to the side.

John stares at you, blinking in confusion. The two of you have yet to be introduced, with him being too drunk to hold a conversation and the others in camp creating excuses to keep you away from him. But he smiles up at you, all the same.

“I’m always okay, darlin’” John slurs, waving his flask about in a casual manner that causes whiskey to spill out of it. The amber liquid stains his shirt, but he pays no mind to it.

“You’re drunk.” You say softly.

“Nothing gets past you.” He chuckles, patting the ground beside him, “Come, sit with me.”

You hesitate, wondering if that would be a good decision.

You’ve met plenty of drunk men before, even out in the uncivilised world men will still find a way to get drunk and be a nuisance. This John fella is cute, but the last thing you need right now is to eget grope and be forced to knock some sense into him.

Though, from the way everyone acts around him, you think that you would be thanked for doing so.

Looking around, you spot Bill and Javier sitting by the campfire a few feet away. Hosea sits at a table close by, and Lenny and Sean are laughing together on the outskirts of camp.

Surely, with all these men around, you’ll be fine. And so will John.

Crossing your legs underneath you, you sit down beside him. Not close enough to touch him, but reasonably nearby for him to talk to you.

“I ain’t met you before.” He muses, looking you over, shifting to get an inch closer to you, “And I think I would remember such a pretty face.”

“Hands where I can see them, Marston.” Hosea warns from his table nearby, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“I’m just making an observation, old man. What’s wrong with admiring the view?” John asks with a half-smile, looking you over.

His eyes wander over you, paying attention to the skin exposed by your shorter sleeves. He looks down at your chest, and you cross your arms over you to discourage him.

John blinks and has the decency to look slightly ashamed, looking away and clearing his throat. He lifts his flask to take another drink.

“I think you’ve had enough.” You advise, keeping your voice light as to not overstep, but you worry as he misses his mouth and spills liquor down his chin.

“Aw, you worried about me, darlin’?”

“I’m worried about poor Tilly and Mary-Beth, dark rum like that will be a bastard to get out your white shirt.”

John chuckles, dropping his head back against the tree. He rolls his head to the side, giving you an appraising look.

“Pretty and funny. Ooh, where’d they find you?”

You smile at the compliment, your eyebrows raising as John lifts his other hand to tuck a strand of hair away from your face.

You can see Hosea look up out of the corner of his eye, his mouth opening to admonish John before someone else beats him to the punch.

“John I swear I’m gonna throw you in the nearest river if you don’t get a grip.” Arthur grumbles coming to a stop beside the two of you, “Leave her alone, you fool.”

“It’s okay, Arthur. He doesn't mean me no harm.” You smile, trying to reassure the camp's enforcer.

He looks about ready to grab John by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving kitten, but sighs and gives you a look.

You nod, understanding he wants you to come with him so he doesn’t have to drag John away from you.

You hope it won’t come to that.

“You never introduced yourself, sweet thing.” John murmurs, catching your attention. His face is close enough for you to feel his warm breath against your cheek, and Arthur takes a step forward.

“Ain't got one. Call me what you want.” You say in an equally soft voice, flashing him a quick smile before you stand, putting space between the both of you.

Arthur whisks you away, sending a warning glare to John as the both of you pass him. He whispers at you to keep your distance from John when he’s like this, but you wave him off.

But John pays no mind to Arthur, his eyes trained on your retreating figure, a dopey smile on his lips.

Hours have passed since your first introduction to John Marston, and the man has escaped the camp and your attention for a while.

As the sun disappears below the horizon, you find yourself sitting at a table with Hosea and Herr Strauss, the two men being grand company at present as they were both comfortable with silence, their noses buried in worn pages.

You sit knee to knee with Hosea, winding rope around your hand. You aimed to fix your makeshift reins for Bo, but Dutch was keen on getting you proper riding gear. So you’re left with a foot of old, useless twine, twisting it and pulling into a braid. There would be some use for it, perhaps for hunting.

It's nice to just wind your fingers around the damaged rope. Hosea would occasionally offer helpful comments or a humourful comment, but apart from that, you are left to your wandering mind.

You definitely weren’t thinking about Dutch Van Der Linde.

And you most assuredly weren't thinking about John Marston.

You were definitely only having very pure thoughts.

Definitely.

Movement causes your eyes to refocus, twisting your head to make out a shape coming out from the treeline.

Your brows furrow as you spot John stumbling back into camp, approaching through the trees like the undead. You watch him as he struggles to walk across camp without losing his footing, his face flushed and eyes half closed in a drunken haze.

Beside you, Hosea sighs as he sees him too, closing his book with a haggard expression, “That boy…”

“What's wrong with him?” You ask, hoping to learn more about the poor sod.

“He’s had a rough time of it lately.” Hosea explains, keeping his voice quiet, “He fell for a woman who lived in our camp, but she left when she had the chance at a better life. She's got a family now, a nice ranch and a husband, and a little one on the way.”

“Sounds nice.” Smiling gently, you notice the fondness in Hosea’s eyes when he thinks about the departed woman thriving.

“It is. It's what Abigail deserves.” Hosea muses, somberly, “But John’s hurt. He cared for her, and she chose a life without him in it. To top it off, he’s gotten some really bad scars recently, as you probably noticed. He went to see Abigail to get her back and found her happier than ever, poor fool.”

“He’s not coping well with that, I imagine.”

“No.” Hosea sighs, “No he’s not.”

John stumbles past Dutch's tent, and the man in question tries to talk to him, only to be ignored.

With a sigh of your own, you rise from your seat, rope abandoned. You go to Dutch's side, the both of you watching John as he trips over a log and tries to regain his footing.

People frown at the sight of him, either with sympathy or poorly concealed annoyance.

Even Reverend Swanson watches him with pity. Which, coming from an alcoholic, disgraced man of the cloth, shows just how bad John has gotten.

Dutch absentmindedly runs a hand over your hair, calculating eyes moving to your face as he offers you a smile, “Will you do me a favour, angel?”

“Of course.” You find yourself saying.

“Can you get John to his tent and get him to try to rest?"

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re one tough girl, he won't get past you. Not with your skills.” Dutch smiles, but it falters, “And he's been this way for so long everyone else has lost faith in him turning his life around. There's only so much people can do to help someone who doesn't want it.”

You turn your eyes back to John, who leers at Karen and Tilly when they try to stop him from falling over. Miss Grimshaw yells at him, but he waves her off dismissively.

All three women look down cast as he wanders off, aimlessly. Like an untethered boat in a storm.

“I've seen you with the worst of us, you’re decent to everyone without judgement.” Dutch continues, “Bill, Swanson. Hell, you’re kind to Kieran and he’s an O’driscoll.”

“He’s not an O'driscoll.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Dutch chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “John needs someone to set him right. You’re new and that might be what he needs.”

You nod, and Dutch brings you close to press a kiss to your temple, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He nudges you forward, and you head in the drunk man's direction with a shrug. You can try, at least.

“Put a boulder on his chest if you have to!” Hosea calls out.

John is searching Pearson’s wagon when you come to his side.

His fingers are less than nimble as they search through empty bottles, clearly looking for another drink. You roll your eyes, placing your hands on your hips.

“I think you’ve had enough, Mr Marston.”

“Pfft, how would you know?” John rasps, not sparing you a glance, “And what's with this Mr Marston crap? Call me John, for the love of god, before I start feeling old.”

“Aright, John.” You sigh, taking his shaking hands in yours to pull him from the wagon, “You need to sleep it off, can you come with me?"

“Where we goin’?” He slurs, blinking down at you.

“Your tent, you need to sleep.”

“You’re taking me to my tent?” John smirks, looking you up and down, “Well, ain't that a nice proposition?”

“I ain't propositioning ya.” You roll your eyes, keeping his hands in yours as you pull him along to the tents. It’s dark, and John manages to trip on every rock and twig in his way, making the journey to his sleeping quarters thrice as hard as it usually would be.

By the time the both of you reach the tent, John has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, using you as a crutch. For a guy with a slender build, and a waist you’re envious of, he’s not light.

You huff and puff as you push him past the threshold of his meager little home, depositing him onto his bedroll like a sack of potatoes.

Nodding to yourself, you turn to leave, when you feel a hand grasp onto your wrist. John smiles wolfishly up at you, biting his lip as he looks over your body.

“It’s real lonely in here, why don’t you stay a while?” He rasps, hand trailing up your arm.

“A kind offer, but I must refuse.” You roll your eyes slightly, but John just chuckles.

“Come on, pretty girl. Show a sad fella some compassion, ‘been a while since I had a beautiful woman payin’ me so much attention.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips as his hands wander and try to grab your hips. It’s a shame he’s drunk and ridiculously emotionally unavailable. If he were sober you wouldn't be so against spending time alone with him.

But you’re reminded of his inebriation as he tries to lift up your skirt, his eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

“Enough, John.” You warn.

“Please, baby…” He murmurs, unrelenting, hands grabbing. His puppy dog eyes are worryingly convincing, but you have to put an end to this.

A log lies at your feet, and you inwardly sigh, knowing what you have to do. Picking the hefty piece of wood up, you pat John’s head with your other hand.

“I’ll apologise for this in the morning.” You say softly.

“Wha-”

You smack the log on the side of his head, hitting him right in the temple. He slumps down, knocked cold. With him limp, you manoeuvre I'm into a more comfortable position on his bedroll, covering him with a blanket so he’s not cold.

Tossing the log back out the tent, you frown back down at the unconscious man. A less than ideal way of getting him down, but clearly nothing else was gonna work. Especially with how eager he was to get you into bed with him.

With another sigh, you lean forward and kiss his temple, right over where the log had smacked him, “G’night, Mr Marston.”

The next morning, you hope John will forgive you, as you wake up to the sound of birds.

It’s early, you gather by the lack of sound surrounding you, but the sun has begun to rise.

In all your years living out in the wilderness, you learnt to wake up with the day. If a bear hadn't made a meal of your guts in your sleep, then whatever higher power gave you another day to live. No time to waste, not when you’re desperate.

Though, you're not really desperate now, are you?

Dutch snores beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist from where your back is pressed to his side. Even in his sleep, he likes to keep you close to him.

His own wild thing.

You extract yourself gently, stretching your arms above you to wake your joints.

A groan from outside Dutch’s tent catches your attention, and you rise out of the cot silently so as to not wake up the fearless leader.

Peeking out through the canvas walls, you spot John sitting on a chair beside the unlit campfire, his hands in his head.

He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure, but he seems to not be drunk anymore. The sleep did him some good, but you want to apologise to him before he goes around telling everyone about how you had to get him to rest.

You may be a wild woman but you’re not needlessly violent… most of the time.

John looks up as you approach, his eyelids low as the morning sun burns his reddened eyes. Upon recognising your face, he huffs, glaring.

“You hit me.” He rasps, sulking like a child.

“I did.” You smile, shrugging, “Told you I’d apologise for it in the morning. So, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” John sighs, rubbing the slight bump on his temple, “Was quite a swing. But, I guess I deserved it.”

“I don't know about all that.” You laugh, walking past him to Pearson's tent to start the coffee, “You just weren't going to sleep. Had to think outside the box, you know?”

“You certainly did that.” He laughs, standing to stumble over to the pile of firewood, setting the campfire alight as you bring over the pot to boil.

John sits back down, and you sit beside him on the log. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the coffee to finish boiling, and John begins fidgeting.

“Look, I’d… I’d like to apologise for how I acted last night.” He mumbles sheepishly.

“You remember?”

“Kind of.” John sighs, scratching his stubbled cheek, “I remember you helping me back to my tent. And… Well, I guess I was trying to get you to stay with me. I reckon I was being quite adamant, which was wrong of me.”

“Mhm.” You agree, shrugging, “You were very drunk. It wasn’t okay, the way you acted, but I handled you.”

“You sure did.” John says, looking over at you with a small smile, “You’re a real tough one. Where’d you come from again?”

“Out there.” You nod to the trees at the edge of camp, “I lived in the woods.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. Just me and my horse.”

“That’s a real lonely way o’ living” John states.

“Didn't have much of a choice. Lost my mama, and the O’driscolls took my home. I’ve just been… surviving ever since.”

“And the gang found you?”

“I found y’all.” Chuckling, you recount the story of saving Arthur and the others from the O’driscoll boys, and how you got shot in Arthur’s place. You tell John about how Dutch found you, and the gang put you back together.

You leave out the details of what convinced you to stay a little longer. John certainly didn't need to hear all about Dutch Van Der Linde’s convincing skills in the bedroom.

Once you’re finished with your story, John watches you for a moment. You ignore his pensive look and continue making coffee, handing John a cup before you sit back down with your own.

“You… you gonna stay here long?” John asks, looking down at his drink.

Thinking, you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t know. I like it here. But we’re all still strangers. Strangers go their own way, at the end of the day.”

“I suppose.”

With that, the two of you go back to drinking your coffee.

John disappears when everyone starts waking up.

You try to not think about him, talking with the others and getting on with chores. But after a few hours, you begin to worry when you don’t see him lurking about.

Other members of the gang mention they’ve seen him when you ask, which makes you worried that John is simply avoiding you.

There’s only so much washing and chopping vegetables you can do before you decide to go looking for him. His tent is silent when you approach, but the canvas door is closed.

“John?” You call outside, not wanting to interrupt his peace but worried if he’s disappeared again.

Apparently he does it a lot, according to Dutch and Hosea, and you worry that he won’t be here if you decide to leave anytime soon. You’d like to at least say goodbye if you plan on leaving.

You wonder why you’re so attached to him so quickly…

“I’m here.” John answers, making you sigh in relief.

“Can I come in?”

“...Sure.”

You enter, finding John sat on a crate. He looks sad, looking down at his hands. A crate next to him is covered in shaving supplies, though they look unused.

He avoids your eyes as you enter, staring down at his fingernails.

“Hey, darlin’.” He greets, quietly.

“Hey.” You reply, taking a seat next to him, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinkin.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He remains quiet for a beat, eyebrows furrowed like he is weighing out his options. With a sigh, he looks up at you

“I wanted to shave.” John says, his voice unusually quiet, “I… I haven't looked in the mirror much since…”

A sorrowed, frustrated expression takes over his face, his eyes going downcast once again.

You know he’s talking about his scars.

Hosea told you he had gained them recently enough. They look new, still pink around the edges, not yet fully scarred flesh.

They’re jagged and deep, two on one cheek, a third on the other side. The skin on his nose has also been disrupted, a continuation of a deep line across his face.

You wonder what happened. You wonder a lot of things about the man sat in front of you. You wonder if it’s your place to ask.

Biting the bullet, you go for it, “What happened?”

John goes stiff, eyes dropping from your face down to the grass underfoot.

For a second, you worry you overstepped, as John sits silently. His face is somber, eyes distant as he remembers what happened to him. You open your mouth to apologise, before he murmurs out, “Wolves.”

“Wolves?” You ask, your face scrunching in concern.

You sit beside him on the crate, wanting to talk more personal than just hovering at the threshold.

“Got me real bad, back when we were travelling to Colter, after Blackwater. Just one bad thing after the other.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, “I wasn’t the prettiest princess before it happened, but I’m one ugly bastard now.”

It surprises you to hear him say that. How could he not know how handsome he is? With his soulful eyes and strong jaw, he looks like the ideal man.

Even with his disheveled, rugged clothes and his scars, he looks like a fantasy come to life.

“How can you think that?” You ask, voice soft and unbelieving, not accusing or demeaning.

“Well…” John shrugs, avoiding your intense gaze, “What do you mean? Look at me.”

“I am.”

“And you don’t see anything wrong?” He laughs, though it’s hollow, “I’m surprised you can shoot anything with that poor eyesight, you strange girl.”

You huff out a breath, looking away in thought. How a man as handsome as he can be so oblivious to his looks is beyond you. You want him to understand how others see him.

A thought occurs to you, and with a sigh, you push back the hair covering your ear.

John’s eyes widened slightly as he sees a long scar stretch from your upper cheekbone across your ear, contorting the cartridge into a warped shape. The scar disappears into your hair, with a noticeable parting of the strands showing the tail end of the scar.

“Got this from a mountain lion who didn’t appreciate me wandering into its territory.” She keeps her hair behind her ear, proudly showing her scar, “Felt like my head was on fire. But it was the best possible outcome. It could have taken my head clean off.”

John looks at the scar, his hand rising as if he was going to touch it, before he remembers himself and his hand drops back into his lap.

“I have this scar, and it’s not going anywhere.” You shrug, tucking your hair so the scar stays visible, “I got it because I survived. You got yours because you survived. That’s plenty impressive, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know…” John mumbles.

“Do you think it makes me an ugly bastard?”

John laughs, shaking his head as he looks at you, his eyes soft.

“With all due respect, darlin’, it would take one hell of a scar to make you any less than gorgeous.”

“I think it would take a lot to ruin your face, Mr Marston.” You murmur, “You’re handsome. The wolves couldn't take that from you.”

John stares at you, searching your eyes for deception, or jest. You stare right back, hoping that your face displayed how earnest you are.

He seems to grow shy, looking away from you as his face flushes slightly.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift a hand up. John goes stock still, eyes widening though he does not look at you. With all the gentleness you can muster, you place your hand on his cheek.

His face is warm to the touch, his stubble stretchy where it covered coarse skin. You drag your thumb over the scar running along his cheekbone, the flesh of it surprisingly soft.

John stares into your eyes, his face removed of it’s usual scowl and grumpiness, a look of vulnerability replacing it.

“Handsome.” You whisper.

John takes a shaky breath, nudging your palm with his nose as he stares into your eyes.

And then it all happened suddenly, like lightning striking the ground in front of you.

John’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his body; as his lips press feverishly to yours.

A surprised sound, before you welcome his warmth, wrapping your own arms around his neck, fingers carding through his scruffy hair.

John groans, tightening his grip around your waist as he slides his lips over yours, diving his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

It's passionate, and messy, and you enjoy every second of it.

Your hands card through his hair, tangled and greasy but you revel in the feeling. He’s wild and unkempt, unlike Dutch, more like you.

Your fingers run down his scalp to scratch along his neck, nails running over the skin around his collar.

“Fuck, darlin’ girl…” John mumbles against your lips.

You hum appreciatively, trailing kisses along his face, paying special attention to the harsh lines he despises.

He stiffens for a moment, before leaning into her affections, letting out soft hums and grunts like a purring cat accepting affection.

John’s hands resume their exploration of your body, slender fingers kneading and tugging at your flesh to press you as close as possible, trying to mold your body to his.

Gently, he moves you around, holding onto you as he slides off the crate and onto the ground. He settles you against his bedroll, covering your body with his. His weight is comforting, settling over you like a warm wave as you lie against a sand covered embankment.

His kiss resumes in all its previous ferocity, ravaging your mouth before his lips move down to your jaw.

You moan as he moves his attention to your neck, sucking marks that you’ll definitely need to cover up tomorrow.

John hesitates for a second, lifting his head up to look at you. You cup his cheek, smiling affectionately and he returns it, kissing your finger tips.

“Need ya.” He murmurs.

You smile, “Have me, then.”

Dangerous words to say to a man so desperate.

John sits back on his heels to hastily unbutton his shirt. You follow suit, grabbing the hem of your oversized blouse and pulling it over your head.

Once the fabric is removed, John is on you again, pushing you back with the force of his lips on yours. He swallows your moans, his teeth clashing against yours as he presses you down into his bedroll.

You feel his fingers roam over your exposed chest, cupping your breasts and groping at your stomach.

The both of you are panting into each others mouths as he grips the waist of your skirt, pulling it down your legs along with your underthings.

John looks down at your bare body, lips caught between his teeth as he regards you with pure lust.You shiver at the look in his eyes, spreading your legs to show him just how much you need him.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen…” He mutters.

Wasting no time, John rises again to unbuckle his belt, tearing open his trousers with the force of a man insane with desire.

His hands push his jeans down far enough to pull out his cock, spitting into his palm to run his hand over his throbbing length.

You lick your lips at the sight of his member. Hard and blushing red, leaking pearly drops at the top. It curves slightly upwards, like it's trying to show off.

You look up at him, biting your lip, “Can I…?”

“What, darlin’?”

“I want to put you in my mouth.” You state, leaving shame at the door.

You’d done this once before with Dutch, and seeing how a man can unravel when you suck them off has you gnawing at the bit to do it again.

John pauses for a second, his cock twitching at the words you said.

“Oh, fuck yes.” He exhales, crawling forwards until he's straddling your chest.

He pants as he looks down at you, chest heaving while he brings a hand up to cup your cheek reverently.

You drag your hands up his sturdy thighs, before wrapping a fist around his base and leaning forward to kiss his leaking tip.

John gasps and his eyelids flutter, shuddering as you take him into your mouth,”Tha-that’s it, babydoll. That’s it…”

You push your head forward to take more of him in, hollowing your cheeks out to provide the suction Dutch taught you. The rewarding moan John makes your cunt clench, he sounds like pure sin above you.

He grows desperate, gently pressing on your lips to remove himself before he hastily shuffles back, kicking off his trousers and settling between your thighs.

“Gotta fuck you now, gotta feel you around me.” He rambles, his voice coming out as panting breaths.

John holds the back of your knees apart, looking down as he lines with your entrance. You watch his face, enamoured with the debased look of him.

Covered in sweat and cheeks ruddy, hair in his face and eyes shining with lust. You don't care what he looks like clean, he’s definitely more handsome when he’s messy. He could never bathe again and you’d be content.

You gasp as he pushes the first inch in, finding no resistance and sliding home. Every inch makes you sigh happily until his hips are pressed against yours, his member twitching inside you.

It’s enough to make him lose it.

He begins fucking you in ernest, quick thrusts sending you sliding up and down the bedroll like a doll. You hold onto him for dear life, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes roll back.

The curve of him has ever thrust of John’s cock hits that perfect spot inside you. You wonder how anything in the world could feel this good.

It's a feeling you could become addicted to.

John seems just as enraptured, choked groans and gasps escape his parted lips as he watches your face, your bouncing chest, your cunt swallowing him up.

“God, you feel so- fucking- good, darlin’.” John grunts, making sure to thrust hard with every word said. It makes you curse out, bringing your hand down to bite on your knuckles to prevent a scream from escaping you.

He's like a man possessed, his hands moving from your hips to your waist, to your breast to your neck, over and over again like he's obsessed with the feeling of your skin.

He presses his forehead to yours, kissing you feverishly as his hips piston back and forth, smacking against your thighs quickly and loudly.

Suddenly, John stops as he grabs the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest to adjust the angle.

You keen as he resumes his quick, shallow thrusts, fucking into you fast and hard. His pelvis brushes your clit with every entrance, sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

John’s own groans and grunts turn into whines and curses as you tighten around him, his head hanging as his eyes screw up in pleasure.

“Fu-uck, that’s it, just like that. God, darlin’, you’re so tight-” John moans out, cutting himself off with a whine as he gets closer.

“John!” You cry out, gripping onto the sheet below you as stares appear behind your eyes, “I’m gonna-”

It’s the only warning you can offer him before you’re falling over the edge, body contorting as you cum around him.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, bringing his head down so you can bite down on his shoulder, muffling your cry of ecstasy.

The feeling of your cunt tightening and gushing around him, along with your teeth burying into his shoulder has John letting out a choked gasp, hastily pulling out of you to push his cock against the skin in the crux of your thigh and hip.

“God, oh fuck-” He cums with a whine, his spend is warm against your sweaty skin, and he collapses against you with a shiver.

Lying there, naked and spent, the two of you try to catch your breath, grasping onto one another in the afterglow.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, carding your fingers through his hair.

You get no response, feeling John’s breath come out in even pants against your exposed shoulder. He’s fallen asleep.

Laughing softly, you gently move him onto his side. He goes without resistance, and you reach over to grab his blanket to cover both of you up.

Pressing close to him, he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close until you’re nose to nose. You watch his face, noting the absence of his furrowed brows and scowl. He looked peaceful, for the first time since you met him.

You remain awake as the night grows darker, wrapped up in John’s embrace, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You start leaving an hour later, throwing on your clothes hastily, making sure to press a kiss to his cheek before you go.

Johns hand seeks you out again, blindly trying to pull you back, but you slip away before he can.

You need to get back to Dutch before he wonders where you’ve gone. Or worse, if he goes looking for you.

When you arrive at Dutch’s tent, finding him awake and reading a battered book. He raises an eyebrow at your appearance, a smile on his face.

“And where, might I ask, have you been?”

You bite your lip, shrugging. Worry courses through you. Will Dutch be mad? Will he be jealous and angry at John? Will he call you a whore, and send you away from camp?

You don't know if you want to leave anymore…

“With John?” Dutch asks, answering for you, and you balk realising he already knew.

“Yeah…” You mumble, hanging your head, “I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast-”

“What are you apologising for, angel?” Dutch asks, extending his hand. You take it, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, “I told you to look after him. Whatever we have is all fun, and I’d like it to continue. But it would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself.”

You’re shocked, but relieved. You feel yourself relax, intertwining Dutch’s fingers with your own.

“I’d like us to… keep doing what we’re doing.” You say quietly, “And I’d like to keep seeing John, too.”

“That’s a wonderful plan.” Dutch grins, pulling you down to kiss you before playfully pushing you away, “Now go on, back to John you go. I want to be able to stretch out on my bed again.”

You exit with his laugh following you, practically skipping back to John’s tent. You can't fight the smile on your face.

John is sat up when you return, looking pensive and like an abandoned dog. He startles when you appear at the entryway of his tent, surprised to see you back.

But he covers it up with a nonchalant look.

“You staying?” John asks, like he couldn't care less.

“If you'll let me.”

He slumps with relief, “Oh thank god, get back here.”

You giggle as you slide in the cot, feeling John pull you close until he is half on top of you, pressing his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around him, keeping the two of you pressed snugly together. Just like he likes.

Now you have two reasons to stick around…

AN / so so sorry it took so long to update! i found out last week that i won't have a job by the end of the month, call me miss made redundant 🤭 but hey, more free time to write fan fiction about cowboys xoxo

i've got a few one shots i'll be making as per requests, then i'll continue posting for this!

thank you everyone for all your lovely support <3

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee

[aventurineswife]

Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”