#feels weird to be tagging posts with them

[bewitched-hours]

Hello! Yeah me again asking abt the noli and 07 yandere thing (lord I feel weird asking again I don’t want to be a bother) It’s just the last one you wrote was really and I mean really WELL written and I was hoping to ask for a part 2 of how things go? Hacking together, speaking, debating life—just quite cool! I already sent you the link of the past one I was talking about so I hope thats alright!

HI- YEAH- I SAW IT LOL I only saw it at school tbf so I'm starting it with this and have the story opened in another tab to make sure I don't forget anything (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

The reader's pronouns are once again She/They-

Pre-Forsaken

All three of you sat on opposite sides of 007 as you looked at the child in his arms.

"It's kinda cute..." You tried to end the silence comfortably as you could see the man soften. Noli didn't look so tough either for a change.

Though the red bundle of joy was giddy now, you knew it was only a matter of time until it got hungry...

"What are we meant to do with it..?" Noli asked quietly, watching as the baby held onto 007's fingers with glee. It honestly melted your heart a bit.

"I say we keep it." You state bluntly, surprised eyes meeting your own as you went to quickly explain yourself. "Think about it. If we drop it off somewhere else it would probably reach the same path as us if it survives anyways."

The two of them gave each other an unsure look before you gently lifted the child out of 7n7's arms with a huff. "I'm not saying we'd be great parents or anything but it'd definitely be better than the foster system or death." Your tone was firm but they could tell you were empathising with that little red face giggling up at you.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself. That you were better than your family? Maybe that you can actually take care of something meaningful?

Whatever, it wasn't like either of them could say no by the time you started cooing at the baby all motherly.

"Heh, guess you're right." 007 perked up first, getting you to smile a bit more.

Wether it was to make you happy or they actually liked the idea, you couldn't care less. What mattered was that this child was safe with you.

"We should totally call it after the c00lgui." You commented with a chuckle, having Noli cackling and 007 trying to suppress his laugh.

"Yeah- no- this is good- So c00lkidd?" He suggested, letting out a laugh at your grinning nod. It was silly, it was unusual...

It was perfect.

"It'll be the perfect addition! Plus, I have some experience back when I had a babysitting gig to save up some money as a kid myself. We'll just need to get a few things and c00lkidd is gonna be spoiled with love!" You practically beamed and placed a gentle kiss on the little one's head, going back to cooing at it as it giggled in your arms.

Being a family might just be easier than you thought...

Post-Forsaken

For once, 007 probably appreciated being an outsider.

It meant more time with you. More time with Noli.

You were quick to figure out a spot to all meet in where neither killers nor survivors would even hear you.

It was perfect, especially whenever Noli decided to bring along c00lkidd and you could just talk for a while.

CK loved you. He loved the idea of having a big family like this where you could be his mom. You played nice and fair and actually managed to tire him out at times.

Though he didn't understand why it was such a taboo to play tag outside of rounds, he trusted your explanation that it was because it was less fun with only you four and the other survivors wouldn't be willing to listen to you or 007.

And CK knew the other killers were even less willing so...

But you'd always promise that once you get back home, you'll be the best mother to c00lkidd. And he took it as a good promise to make before saying his goodbyes and waiting for the next round.

You were committed to being the mother c00lkidd needed and the 'wife' that 007n7 and Noli deserved...

A bit disappointed with how this turned out but I tried my best-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

CHAPTER I

Modern AU.

- Pairing: detective!Arthur x barista!Reader

- Summary: It's early autumn in Bozeman, Montana. The curtain rises on the daily lives of Arthur Morgan, a police lieutenant, and you, a barista in the café across the street. Impromptu returns of friends in your lives and a strange mystery could lead you to meet at last...

- Warnings/tags: (for this chapter) death, corpse, angst as grief and loneliness are mentioned.

- Words:6k

series info, warnings and disclaimer here. AO3 link here.

Arthur Morgan looks at his face in the mirror. Bags under his eyes. Scruffy stubble that grew in just one night, only God knows how. His short hair, with this golden brown color he never could describe himself, matches the caramel leaves of the trees outside his window. He grabs his razor, a vintage one, just a resealable blade. His shaving brush, his cream. He smears his face, blue pupils staring at his cheeks, and then his throat in the glass. That familiar, everyday smell fills his nostrils. The blade feels weird every time it passes on his chin, his scars oddly sensitive there. Damn he looks aweful. His nose, broken from a fight years ago. A cut, way lighter and fresher than his other wounds, provokes him on his cheek. The two big wrinkles digging into his cheeks on either side of his lips, that never cease to grow year after year. The sunspots staining his skin, marks that would never leave, no matter how hard he would wash his face.

At least he's always had the physique to impress: severe features, broad shoulders, a body strengthened by years of training and physical work. At least his ugliness served him well for his work, which was something to be taken for granted. He sighs for a few seconds.

Today is going to be a long, hard day.

His face roughly shaven and clean, he dresses without paying attention, slipping on a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and his eternal leather jacket; pockets filled with crushed cigarettes and empty packs of them. He adds his badge to his big belt, like a soldier adds his banner before going into battle. Like a condemned man holds the axe over his own head. But maybe, on some days, also like the crown of a man's pride.

His service weapon is waiting for him on the kitchen table, almost as loyal as Copper. The good boy is up and excited, thinking he's going on a walk with him, like every morning. And like every morning, Arthur takes a few minutes of his time to pat him and coo at him, the old German shepherd collapsing heavily on the ground with a blissful happiness, showing his belly for him to flatter. "That's my good boah." Both of his hands scratch him vigorously. "You're almost as old as me now, ain'tcha? Two old basterds we are."

A few last licks from his companion on his calloused hands and Arthur gets up, grunting, more from frustration than actual effort. He closes his door, taking his gun and leaving Copper behind.

The cool autumn air swallows him up as soon as he leaves his apartment building. The streets, still almost deserted at this early hour, are quiet, as if on standby, the dead leaves on the trees gently falling in silent, forgotten dances. He heads for the police station, only a ten-minute walk from his place. He likes this little bit of peace and quiet before arriving at work. Before facing reality, and its demons.

He walks up his street, St Tracy Avenue, a heterogeneous mix of new family homes and apartments in Bozeman's typical red-brick buildings. He passes the little local church, St James, still asleep. The tall trees framing the road overlook dozens of cars and pick-ups lining the sidewalks. At the crossroads, he turns right onto Main Street. The rising sun illuminates the shiny windows of the post office, the US flag proudly raised, welcoming the workers, the only ones he usually meets on his way. Beyond the post office, dozens of stores, cafés, restaurants, and banks. The main street is flooded with them. Sometimes he wonders if they were there when the town was founded, when the first red bricks were laid on the ground. He makes a quick stop at number 117, The Treeline, mainly because it's one of the only ones already open at this hour, but also because he knows that the old manager will make him his espresso without making unnecessary conversation. Simple, efficient, silent. What he needs, especially in the morning.

Finally, right after the Comedy Club, he reaches the last crossroads. There, another café stands on the corner, much more welcoming than the Treeline. The window display, featuring a jovial otter drinking a cup of tea, reads “The Green Otter's Café” in round, amusing letters. He turns his head. He doesn't know why, but always does, every morning. Maybe it's the irresistible smell of baking pastries, butter croissants, cinnamon rolls, and loaves of all kinds. Maybe it's the one of coffee beans being roasted, or the energetic music he can faintly hear from inside. But mostly, and surely, it's because it's just about that time you are cleaning the counter. Your hair in a messy bun, your green and orange apron, the colors of your establishment, tight around your waist. Today, you're wearing a beige shirt underneath. He knows so little about you, like what your name is or where you're from; only that you're always there, at 6 a.m., and you always look up, showering him with your death-defying smile.

He smiles back. Tries not to think about his ugly teeth as he does, and grants you a two-finger salute before continuing his walk. You return his greeting, your cheeks so round and reddened by your smile, your eyes crinkled into two crescent moons. You're so beautiful. And you look so sweet, that by repeating this little ritual every morning, this esoteric habit between the two of you, he's ended up nicknaming you Peach —just like that, just in his head.

He knows this is the last peaceful moment before work, and he loves it. He turns left around the café, finally arriving on Rouse Avenue. The police station is only a few steps away, almost directly opposite the Green Otter's building. It was maybe, with the Hospital, one of the only buildings that never ever slept. The impressive brand-new building, large but flat with only two storeys, spans a long stretch of the street. He enters the beast's lair, clocking in his entrance out of sheer mechanical habit, and approaches the reception desk.

"Hello Miss Jackson. How're ya today?"

"Not bad, Arthur. Like a Monday, that is."

"Is Dutch here already?"

"Mmmh, I don't recall him checking in. Mr. Williamson's here, though."

"Fine. Thanks, Miss."

He walks past the civilian zone, leaving Tilly behind, and goes to the Crime and Investigation Unit department. Bozeman isn't a big city; therefore the place isn't as grandiloquent as the beautiful wooden offices there are in thriller films and series. The big room is shared by four of his colleagues, his own workspace in the back separated by a glass wall. The bare functional minimum, lack of budget. Reality. He passes between Micah and Javier's desks, the first one unkept and covered in layers of trash and soda cans, the second, clearly neater and tidier, with just a few discreet guitar picks still lying around. He stops between the other pair of desks, those of Hamish and Bill. The veteran's, always the neatest of all, probably some remnant of military rigidity, have recently had an annex added to accommodate the team's rookie, Lenny Summers. The poor kid had only been there a few months and had already seen more horrors than adults twice his age. At least it taught him a thing or two. He nods in Bill's direction, greeting him nonchalantly.

"Williamson. Remember our 8 a.m. appointment."

"I do, boss."

"Don't call me that." The blue-eyed officer sighs and enters his office.

At least he had the incomparably royal luxury of windows. He sits back in his chair, looking for a pen that works, and goddman how could this fucking place not have a single pen that does, rummaging through the dozens of files he hasn't yet sorted. His own desk is just a bit bigger, and a strange mix you could call an "organized mess". An ashtray that he hides in one of his drawers when a superior shows up. Several coffee cups, of which he throws away the cardboard ones. Files, files, more files, all colors, all sizes. Somewhere on top, the leather-covered journal in which he draws and writes all his thoughts, and never leaves him, especially when he's on a case. There's also a pencil for it, under all those papers, he's sure of it. There are a few elements of decoration too, mainly typical cowboy and rancher things. A horseshoe, some feathers, a wooden buck figurine Charles had offered him. On the wall behind him, a huge painting of Mount Helena. And next to his computer, whose slowness was like a snail in glue, a few framed photos.

The oldest shows him at eighteen with his high school diploma, not a single hair on his face, his features slimmer, more youthful. His lips are stretched in a smile as big and proud and ferocious as a tiger. Damn, he really didn't think he would actually get it, at the time. How he fucking hated maths. A spotty, pissed-off John stands next to him, and around both of them, a younger Dutch and Hosea look on, smiling.

Another one, three years later. His 21-year-old self is showing his police diploma, uniform on. He was so proud of it, too, that day. Yet, his smile is more reserved. It looks like he has aged much more, already. This time, there's just Dutch, only wearing a mustache, holding him around his back, a hand on his shoulder.

And of course, a portrait of him and Mary. The picture frame is pink, kitsch and frilly, with glitter and red hearts, but she chose it for him. So he kept it. And even after all this time, the photo still sits there. It was just a year after the last one, if he recalls right. Mary had bored him into visiting her parents, who couldn't stand him, in San Francisco. At least he'd been able to see the bridge, he who rarely left the Middle West. The photo showed them standing right in front of it, Mary beaming so sweetly as she was wont to do, holding the camera. He, laughing because she had just pinched him to make him smile for the photo. She had managed to capture that rare moment. And for that alone, the picture and its hideous frame would never leave the desk.

He signs some papers, reads others, tries to go and check his mails, but the goddman computer is once again too slow. A few hours pass, call after call. He painfully writes a report from a previous case he had just finished a few days ago, saluting Javier through the glass when he arrives at his post. How he hated writing that kind of formal stuff. Eevery sentence and word had to be thought through. Sometimes, holding back from writing what came from his heart as he did with his diary made his fingers burn and his computer mouse clench. His chore finally done, he searches for his lighter and a cigarette in his pockets, and quickly smokes one. He lets the fume burn all the way from his mouth to the back of his throat, then his nose, almost tickling his eyes. He tries to imbibe this sensation, this familiar and relaxing burning feeling, to remember it later. He knows he will have to dig deep into his roots. 

"Bill. Let's go." He throws at his subordinate, closing his office door.

"A shame the kid isn't here yet, could learn a lot this mornin'."

"Yeah. Or maybe get that final warning that this job really is a shitty one."

Just a few meters away from there, a stove is burning. And not in the metaphorical way of describing that it was functioning. No no. A wreath of flames is shooting out all around the door, like a literal window to Hell, plumes of black, charred-smelling smoke filling the entire space.

"Beau! Quick, hand me the fire extinguisher!"

"Here!"

"Alright, alright, it's fine." You ease him, and yourself, and maybe try to ease the fire too thanks to the Holy Spirit. You quickly turn the stove off completely, before splashing the creamy substance a first time all around the door, and a second time inside it.

The stove turns silent, beaten, having burned as brightly as it could, and now exhausted, out of action, as if it'd given the best performance of its short life on stage. You sigh heavily, pearls of sweat on your forehead from the warmth inside the little kitchen. You turn to your employee, an only eighteen-year-old boy, brown locks falling on his face as he looks bashfully at the ground.

"What were you doing, Beau?!"

"Well, you see, there's this girl, Penelope, and she really likes to write letters, and t-to receive some, not texting or stuff, so I started-"

"Stop, stop." You cut him, a hand on your hip, the other hanging in the air towards him. "Were you watching the muffins? Yes or no? I want a simple answer."

"… N-no."

"Alright. You understand we've got a problem, here?" You try to modulate your voice.

"I understand, I… I won't do that again, I promise."

"Go and take care of the tables for a few minutes, will you?"

He complies without another word, leaving the kitchen, the door squeaking. You look at the state of the infernal device in front of you. The whole thing had turned entirely black, and you're sure the smoky scent will stick to your pastries for at least a month. This isn't ideal. At all. As you grab a few towels and cleaning products to try and save what is left of it, your thoughts are focused on your little café's bank account.

A stove, especially an industrial one, is way too pricey for you to buy right now. And yet, how you wish you could. Just like the dishwasher that threatened to explode with each new use, or the fridges that were starting to date and for which you prayed every morning that they wouldn't let you down. Or the croaky kitchen door, those scratches on the worktops...

Yes, the Green Otter's Café really needed a little refreshment. And yet he had been standing, since its very creation the day your grandpa had decided to quit everything and open his own place. Initially a restaurant and a bar, it had quickly become a renowned city venue with a loyal following and an excellent reputation. Now that it was yours, even though its face and appearance had changed, the beers replaced by your coffee or tea creations, the French fries dinner trays by delicious and appetizing pastries, the clientele was as loyal as ever. And you had been able to keep the spirit and heart of this place so dear to you, but also to all the inhabitants of the neighborhood; through your own will, the values of sharing, conviviality and joy wanted by your grandfather were persisting. Almost like a lighthouse that would guide people through time instead of the waves.

As you scrub the burnt from the stove, muffins turned into charcoals shoved in the trash, you silently brood over your frustration. This place deserved all the love and money in the world. Unfortunately, the debts were starting to pile up. The cost of living was getting high for everyone. Raw materials were harder and harder to find, and prices were rising. As for the poor inhabitants, wages didn't always keep pace. It was the beginning of a difficult period, and you hoped more than anything that your small local business could withstand it; how could you, when you wanted to guarantee products that were always as good for the same price, while competing with big chains that produced quintuple your work much more quickly and for much less…? It's like fighting a full-armed knight with a toothpick.

"Miss, there's someone here for you!" You hear Beau call from the big room, pulling you out of your worrying thoughts.

You leave your cleaning there, some foam mixed with dirt on your gloves and forearms. In this job, you can't be fussy about the state of your clothes.

The sun had finally risen outside. It was one of those very crisp fall mornings, blinding sun but fresh wind balancing the temperature. At the door, a figure from your past is waiting, dark hair in a braid, ultramarine eyes shining in this golden-brown atmosphere, simple but elegant dress highlighting her slim figure.

"Abigail!" You scream in both joy and surprise, walking to hear to hold her in your arms.

The young woman reciprocates the hug, and chuckles a bit a she notices you've let your hands hang in the air not to dirty her clothes.

"It's been a while! You're in town for a few days?" You ask out of curiosity, but her face isn't one of someone who's there on holiday for tourism.

"It's, uh… It's more complicated than that." She looks happy to see you, but her tired gaze holds so many silent things. You feel like there's something more serious stopping her smile from being genuine. Without thinking about it, you do as you would have with any of your friends in need: A hand on her shoulder, you look right at her face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She nods, you smile gently, happy she's letting you help. "Still into teas? I just received a wonderful blend of spices for a Chai Latte…"

She nods once more, grateful. As you quickly prepare her comforting beverage, you order Beau to finish the cleaning of the consequences of his lack of attention and to bake another batch of blueberry muffins. He doesn't complain even once.

Both sitting at one of the wooden tables, you give her the Chai and listen, careful, empathetic. She's curled up in her chair, looking like she's about to boil over. Abigail had always been strong; a vase into which too much water had kept being poured. Still, she'd managed to grow the most beautiful and precious sprout in it. Today she was going to let the water spill out. And you listen. You listen when she talks about life, about Billings, the big city where everything was supposed to change. About John, and Jack. About how the so-called father of her child was unable to take any responsibility for her and him. To build a normal and stable life for them. About the utter bastard he had been, how her hopes of him becoming a better man now that they had a child had soon vanished. The apartment they couldn't afford. The wasted savings. The tears on Jack's face when she said they weren't coming back to their beautiful place. How she ended up kicking John out, trying once and for all to make him understand. An ultimatum. You catch the little sparkles gathering on her eyelashes, and grab a few towels from the counter. She loves him still, it's obvious. Maybe it's what makes her that angry, most of all.

"Did you find a place here?" You ask, more and more worried for her and the boy.

"Yeah, don't worry, a nice small apartment." She wipes her eyes and some of her beautiful dark makeup smudges on her cheeks, a witness of her lonely tears in her rage. She continues with difficulty, her words sometimes interrupted by little hiccups and sniffles. "But I need to find a j-job if I want to keep it and provide for Jack on my own." Her eyes look up from her half-empty cup to look at yours. Her pained but still gorgeous face now looks embarrassed. "That's also why I'm here -I wanted to ask if you... Maybe had something for me, here?"

You don't answer right away, but still grab her hands in yours. Thoughts rush and collide in your brain. You're hesitant. Not because you think she isn't good enough. All the contrary, you had already worked with Abigail when you were younger, and what a great worker she was. No, the problem was once again the money. Would you be able to pay her a decent wage? Was it really the better option in your current situation? You think for a few more seconds and remember the stove. The burned batch. Beau is an adorable boy, and you don't have the heart to fire him even if he has his head in the clouds most of the time. One more actually experienced worker wouldn't go amiss. You could even change the opening hours and guarantee more rest time for everyone.

It's decided.

Abigail's face lights up and her whole body melts in a wave of relief when you present her a green apron, embroidered with a familiar tea-sipping otter. The delicious, wonderful smell of perfectly baked blueberry muffins emanates from the oven.

Arthur and Bill are standing beside a corpse.

A corpse that used to be a teenage boy.

For now, hidden under a sheet, its waiting for its moment of glory.

The weird white lights from the neon lights glow surrealistically, illuminating its curves, shaping the human form with shadows and brightness. Why on earth do mortuaries always have to be sordid places? The white and grey tiles on the floor, the horrible smell of naphtalene, the coldness, the lockers stretching across the walls, neatly lined up on top of each other, standing at attention like soldiers... On the other hand, would making the place more welcoming really help? He could hardly see himself right now in a room decorated with balloons and bright colors, McDonald's children's birthday party mode. The Death's call is both immaterial and material. The rhythmic gait of Dr. Strauss's little legs snapped him out of his reflexion. He's accompanied by a second person, heels clicking on the floor, breaking the macabre silence of the gloomy room.

The mother.

Strauss, wearing his white coat and usual small round glasses, walks a few more steps and stands behind the body lying on the long table reserved for it. The three men remain silent, facing the woman. In her forties, her hair flowing around her shoulders, a gray suit holds her in place, maintaining her in an expectation that was as burdensome for her as it was for the other three.

Arthur greets her silently, nodding solemnly. It's not the first time he's witnessed this kind of thing. Not the first time he'd heard the cries of a mother torn apart by the one thing a parent cannot endure. Nor the last time, surely.

Arthur knows all this.

And yet.

His heart tears apart as Strauss lifts the sheet, still in the most terrible silence. The few seconds of shock, the poor woman's face twisting in slow motion like in a bad action movie. His bones boil, he doesn't really know from what, rage, sadness, frustration, at this unbearable spectacle. Yet his face remains impassive. He has learned to stay that way. He has learned to keep this bubbling inside him, this fire that consumes and burns and makes his guts writhe. He thought he'd put it out; he thought he'd hardened himself. In most areas, he remained coldhearted. But God forbid, when it came to a kid… He couldn't help but feel it rekindling.

There is, in the screams of this woman facing him, this mother who had just recognized her 14-year-old son on a hospital table in a seedy morgue, an inevitable resonance that reverberates in every cell of his being. Arthur knows exactly how she feels right now.

He closes his eyes for just a few short seconds, invoking for help the sensation of the cigarette burning his lungs from earlier. He focuses on the smoke dulling his senses, his chest, then his throat, his mouth and nose and eyes. The feelings are hidden behind, the bubbling fire masked by this smoke that blended with his own in a perfect decoy. He's ready.

"Mrs Anderson. Do you recognize today, October 1, this body as that of your son, Joshua Anderson?"

He hates doing this so much. It's obvious she does. Or else she wouldn't be crying the premature loss of her own flesh. Another goddamn formality. Arthur slowly takes a step closer to her. He pulls out a few tissues from his leather jacket and hands them to her.

"You can simply nod, Ma'am."

She does.

Arthur's shoulders fall down. He wants to say something else, something comforting, but she suddenly snaps her head to him, eyes accusing, murderous.

"How did he die?"

"He's been shot in the chest, we think by-"

"We all know who did this. And it's all your fault!" She accuses, finger pointing successively Arthur, then Bill. "You, and the joke you call a colleague! You are all supposed to protect us, you knew this gang was prowling around in our neighborhood, we've warned you a hundred times!!"

The blue-eyed detective doesn't say any other words. Dry-mouthed, he takes it in. He'd rather take it than watch her contort helplessly from pain before him. If at least taking the brunt of it would help her in some way, so be it.

He was used to taking it.

"You're all going to rot in hell for this!! You bastards!" She goes on, her curses turning into cries and groans of despair mixed with anger. With injustice. She's the flag-bearer for all these broken families. All the ones they could never save. Through her, Arthur, Bill and even Strauss, usually detached, feel the full wrath of the human race.

"Fuck you!" She screams again and suddenly words aren't enough, and her hand flies directly to Arthur's cheek, wanting to slap him with all her might. 

He stops her in mid-swing with a firm but benevolent grip, the two others hissing in surprise and shock. He hasn't moved an inch, barely disturbed. Face stoic, he must be the rock on which she can lean, even if it's to destroy him, even if she hates him with every fiber of her being right now. His tired, sad eyes stare intently at her, deep blue reflections shining like the waves of the Styx. Bearer of Death he was.

"I'm sorry Ma'am... I really am."

His only words to her, before saying Bill's last name, ordering him to take care of her. He takes her away, trying to stay gentle but he's not the best at treating people carefully. He grabs Mrs. Anderson by the shoulders to pull her out of the morgue. Strauss sighs loudly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his coat and handing one to Arthur. The lieutenant looks at the poor woman and his colleague one last time as they walk along the glassed corridor.

"Are you going to p-

"Of course I ain't going to press any charges, Strauss." Arthur anticipates his question, rubbing his temples with his right hand, cigarette still in it. The coroner lights his own and holds his lighter for Arthur to light his. "Ya know am a lieutenant now, doc'. We're not supposed to smoke like that in a morgue."

"You're not supposed to let a woman take it out on you with impunity either." The red ashes reflect in Strauss's glasses, his long mouth stretched out like a frog's in a grimace of disapproval, devoid of all compassion. Mortuaries attract strange morticians.

"I know."

The two men smoke in silence for a few more moments, the intensity of what just happened still hanging in the air. The dark atmosphere is only pierced by the burning of their cigarettes and the medical glow of the neon lights. Strauss pulls the sheet back on Joshua Anderson's body.

At lunchtime, Arthur munches on a club sandwich with a chemical taste. In the "machine room", as he likes to call it, these good old steel companions deliver life-saving coffees and industrial foodstuffs to all and sundry, just like they feed cattle in those big intensive livestock farms. The smell of old carpet and sweaty cops is omnipresent. He's up at a stand-up table, insipid espresso already graciously purchased by Sadie, standing next to him. On Mondays, she pays. He listens to her talk about her morning in the patrol division, something about an altercation in the Valley West neighborhood. Her uniform, slightly different from the ones of the crime investigation department, with short sleeves instead of long, but still a very dark blue, contrasts nicely with her blond hair hung in a ponytail. Arthur has always liked Sadie. Since the first day they met at the police academy. He can still remember her beating the shit out of most of the guys there, and smiles when he sees their terrified faces. She was simple and direct, unadorned, like him. He had the impression that fewer and fewer people were nowadays.

Right now, Sadie is tired of hearing him crunch the dry crumbs of what he has the audacity to call his meal, her nose scrunching between her freckled cheeks. She cuts her speech, "Hey, why don'ya go to the Green's like everyone?"

"The Green Otter's Café?" Peach's coffee shop, he thinks to himself. "I don' know, why don' you?" He asks back almost defensively with a nod of his chin in her direction.

"Because you're always there eating this shit and I wanna spent my goddamn breaks with you, dummy."

Arthur snorts as he folds the plastic wrapper of his sandwich without thinking about it. He then takes the tiny little cardboard cup from the machine and brings it to his lips, the taste as disappointing as ever.

"Well, y'know what? We could eat there tomorrow. There, ya happy?"

"Very much, thank you kind sir."

Arthur grumbles as all final words before noticing the rest of his team eating together at the other side of the little restroom. Javier, Lenny, Hamish, Bill and Micah, all in uniform. What catches his eye is the way Bill behaves, silent and withdrawn, while his voice usually carries around the room.

"Wait a sec." He asks Sadie. He approaches them, greeting those he hadn't seen already. A good old handshake for Hamish, a pat on the back for Lenny. Nothing but a cold stare for Micah.

"Bell, I want you in my office in twenty minutes. Williamson, come here a bit." He commands, the tallest of all men walking to him. Arthur brings him to the less crowded part of the room.

Arthur's gaze settles on him, not wavering for a bit. "Are ya alright?"

There are a few seconds before his answer. "It's uh… It's Mrs Anderson, y'know. Made me feel real bad and shit this mornin'."

"Did ya bring her back to the reception?"

"Yes, boss."

"Did ya explain the procedure and advise her to see our psychologist?"

"Y-yes, boss."

"Ya did treat her kindly, right?"

He nods slowly, visibly nervous.

"Then you have nothing to blame yourself for, Bill. We have bad days, but we have good days too, right? Remember when ya saved that little girl from the fire last year, with that Irish MacGuire boy from the fire department?"

The tall bearded officer nods once more, as a child listening in silence to a parent comforting him. He was one of the few people Arthur had to look up to catch his gaze, which he always did with everyone. Some say his eye contact is what made him so good at interrogation, sometimes making the worst criminals break under a punishing silence and the weight of that gaze.

"You saved a child that day. Y'see, that's the thing; we do bad things, sometimes. We screw up. But most of the time, we do what's right, Bill. We do what most wouldn't, to protect people." Arthur reaches for his subordinate's shoulder, palm settling on it. He delivers his words slowly, eyes deep into his."That poor woman's pain isn't yours to carry."

"You… You're right, boss." Bills sighs, shifting from one foot to another, shaking his nervousness out of him. "I guess I… I just forget it sometimes, y'know?"

"I know, I know. I do too." Arthur concedes, patting Bill's shoulder a few times. He then walks away, going back to Sadie, adding an annoyed, "And stop calling me boss for Christ's sake," as he does.

"Sorry boss -Shit!- I mean Morgan!"

Arthur walks up the stairs to his apartment. It's already late. For a normal person, at least. Goddamn Micah. He's still reeling from the discussion he had with him, locked in his office. This incompetent, filthy snake. If it were only up to him, he would have fired this scumbag a long time ago. He screws up an investigation, doesn't do what's necessary to protect a family that should have been placed under protection. Hell, he didn't even know about the whole thing until Strauss called him at the morgue the day before. What is he even paid to do, for God's sake, other than degrade the profession and pollute the air Arthur breathes?

He has just turned the key in the door, and already hears the only one who can bring him a little comfort on a day like this. Ecstatic barks already ringing through the walls. A furry, drooling form jumps out at him instantly.

Copper is so delighted that his old bones don't even seem to hurt anymore. Arthur cuddles him, caresses him all over, on his head, on his sides, his belly. Every time it's like he's been gone for ages. Dogs don't care if you're good or bad as long as you're theirs. Words whispered just for him fill his happy ears. "That's my good boy." A few more scratches. "Must have been bored t'death all day, huh? Sure did."

Hungry, he walks to his open-plan kitchen and looks inside his fridge. He doesn't know why. The damn thing couldn't have magically filled up on its own while he was out. He didn't really like cooking, even less for himself. The solitary pickle jar sadly returns his gaze, desperately surviving between a few slices of cheese and abandoned bears."You wanna go for a walk, buddy?" The dog's ears perk up at the word. He closes his fridge, swaps the satchel he uses for work for a smaller leather one. He slides his journal and a pencil inside. He looks up around his apartment, chest tight. There's only one pull-out chair, only one cushion hollowed out on his sofa. Only one plate, on the rare occasions when he eats here. Only one toothbrush in the bathroom cup, only a used spot in his bed. Only a sad man in it.

When Mary left him, the night before their wedding day, Arthur was hit twice; once in the heart and once by the weight of his failures.

It's been eight years now.

It's so odd; this feeling. Those days seem so long ago, and yet so vivid. It feels like a juvenile lifetime. A very long yesterday. He could still remember the color of her favorite lipstick. But not the one of their sheets, in their old house. The caress of her lips on his forehead. But not how it felt to have her fingertips on his palm. It's all like a paradox; an everlasting, immaterial presence. A painful absence.

He hasn't stayed ten minutes inside his flat, and he's already walking down the stairs, Copper happily running next to him.

In this quiet piece of forest at the edge of town, Arthur is sitting on a bench. A plastic plate of greasy French fries on his side, he pecks at a few from time to time between drawings and writing. Journal on his thigh, the dog chasing after some moths or an unknown bug, he draws what he can remember of Mrs Anderson. The dawning night forces his eyes to adapt to the darkness, so that he can make out the exact contours of the lines he draws. He remembers her perfect suit had ended up disheveled at the end of their encounter. Her eyes, crinkled and thin, then so red and gaping, filled with such terror...

Arthur's buzzing phone in his jacket makes him look away from the drawing. He pulls it out, checks the name.

John

That was unexpected. John had stopped giving him news some time ago, when he had left with Abigail and Jack, his child he didn't want to take on, his bullshit piling up endlessly.

He picks up.

"Hey."

"Arthur," The raspy voice of her brother at heart tickles his ears from the phone's speaker. "How you doin'?"

"I'm fine Johnny-boy, as always." He answers, his own tone a bit annoyed, holding back a sight he knows is coming really soon. He plays with his pencil in his other hand. "What d'you want?"

"What, you think I can't jus' call my old friend to… Check up on him?"

"No."

"Shit you're right." John's words come out more directly now, free from politeness and manners. Arthur can hear him fidgeting on the other end of the line. "Listen, Arthur, I need ya help."

"For God's sake John, what have you done again?" Arthur lets out the sigh he had been holding back since the start of the conversation, his hand tightening on his pencil he stopped twirling in his hand. That phrase. That phrase he'd heard a hundred times after John's bullshit. Arthur, I need you to hide my weed. Arthur, I need you to lend me $500. Arthur, I need your help to take down these guys. Arthur, I need you to cover for me so I can take a chance on Abigail.

"I… I screwed up things with Abigail and the… the boy. She kicked me out and moved back to Bozeman."

"Really? This woman definitely has more balls than you've ever had." His unhurried voice lingers on the words in that pungent tone he so often has towards his little brother.

"Shu'up, would ya?" John hustles; he's clearly doing something while calling. "So, can I stay at your place for a while? Not for long. Just long enough for me to win back Abigail's heart."

"Yeah, so basically an eternity then."

"Shut up!"

There's another silence, and the older brother spins and twirls his pencil between his fingers again.

"So? Arthur"

"Yes." His eyes close slowly as he speaks those words. "Yes, of course ya can."

"Great. Cause I'm on the way already."

"Jesu- Don't fucking tell me you're driving right now."

"Naw, never."

"Hang up that phone or I'll hang you up, John."

"Copy that, sir." He sarcastically answers, as if Arthur were his mother telling him to stop climbing up the girls' balconies.

Alone again in the newborn night, Arthur let his mind get used to this new reality and to all the habits that John's presence would destroy. That boy had always been more chaotic than a raccoon.

"Well, at least old boy," Arthur tells Copper, "We won't be as much alone at home anymore."

In the trees, somewhere.

Not far from a lived place.

There is a moving shadow.

It's discreet at first. Just a few rustles in the thicket.

A crack of a branch.

It is a now moonless night. The kind where, in the old times, children would have been warned not to go out and men not to come home too late. A night when even the cattle get nervous, when the dogs bark and howl with the coyotes, like a horn blown before a hunt. When all the light vanishes, and all the silhouettes of objects, animals, humans, and nature become so black and shapeless that they appear to blend into an impenetrable ebony fog.

It waits.

Its presence is odd. The sheep can feel it. It shouldn't be there. What is it, exactly? They can't recognize its smell. They can't really distinguish its form. They don't hear a single sound coming from it. All that they can understand is that it isn't normal. How could it be so big and be as silent as a graveyard? And why is it… hiding?

One of the sheep moves away from the edge of the forest, on instinct, perhaps? It doesn't take much for all the others to follow. But there are, as always, stragglers.

A few more naive individuals. Or inattentive.

It's getting closer. Slowly, silently. The dark form is now bigger than the bushes. Way bigger. Like a massive cloud would blind the sun, its abyssal mass spreads throughout the forest's edge.

It chooses.

The prey is casually grazing. Unaware. Until the very last second.

Large claws shine as they're drawn…

And it jumps from the bushes. Blood falls on the grass. A screeching cry of pain and death, then suddenly cut out in the night, making every other animal go silent.

Too silent.

The shadow leaves just as silently as a cold breeze.

a/n: yeaaaah so a lot going on in this first chapter. I wanted to introduce a lot of stuff, and I'm really sorry if it's too much info. I hope I'll get you all as interested into this story that I'm excited to write it!

(as alwasy I'm relying on @/papaue00 for this gorgeous Arthur's pic)

tag list: @sadieadlersnecktie @cloudywithachanceofcrisis, @redwritr, @stottlemorgan, @arthurmorganist (please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!)

[deebidabidoo]

At this point I've really got to ask for your top 5 (or top whatever you prefer) wacklin moments. I'm ready to be enlightened by your superior knowledge🫶🏻

i am no where close to having a superior wacklin knowledge i'm just chronically online and insane about them but thank you for thinking so alfjdfjdfj

i went with top 10 because we got so much stuff over the season actually:

the most obvious answer out of these i think but the mack hat trick game has to be on here for me. idk just something very very romantic to me about will having an assist on every mack goal and mack having one on will's game tying. and sharks still lost. something about that too.

mack crowning will as a pregame-handhsake-ritual-whatever-thingy - the cunties thing they have done to this day and no i will not be taking criticism on this thank you very much. they need to bring this back. the handshake thingy they did at the end of the season was cute i guess but this was CUNT

this video - something something mack being the biggest goof ever and celebrating that goal like it was a gwg in game 7 of stanley cup finals to make will smile and the little fist bump at the end. yeah.

the smelling salt on the bench - why is it so intimate??? mack smile??? will actually only making faces after smelling the salt to make mack laugh and its proven bc we have video evidence of him not being affected by it at all. i can't, they make me sick.

celly after macklin scores his first goal on a line with will - from being pissed off at the camp for not playing together to trying so hard to built some chemistry and it not kinda working and not playing on the same lines and then it kinda does click and mack's smile here and the way he only has eyes for will here and will's smile too and-

the shoulder bump on the bench - knowing will wasn't in the best mood for some time, mack giving him space at practice and then this happens and it feels like hey im not 100% okay still but im better now and i want you in my space even then. also will made kostin move away from mack so he can sit beside him on the bench before this too so that's that.

whatever domestic ass shit this was - you all better hide your kids away from them because they will come and steal them from you so they can live their domestic ass dream of raising 3 kids together with 2 dogs and a cat in the mixture in their love nest.

the pregame thingy before the boston game - this was just the juciest for the narrative i fear.

this celly - mack really said im not going in for the fist bump let me get my arm all the way around you and the way his hand also stays around will too. yeah.

let's breath into each others mouths while on the bench - just something so disgustingly tender how they keep seeking out one another at any given moment. its you. and its me. and its us.

and gonna cheat and add this one too but whatever this weird courting ritual this was - mack looooooves being manhandled by will jot that down. if will gets even a little bit bulked up over the off season mack is D O N E.

now before you come at me i tried to not say some of the obvious stuff like the whole never offside pod, the rookie lap, the let me take will to jr sharks game after will got benched the day before and let him wear my warriors hoodie and will tagging mack on his ig post, the whole 4nations break thingy, the nhl video of their debut game, the awards video, the worlds greeting each other video, the emergency call video, every single private sewer ball shit they do, the stuff we got from practice (im forever thinking about you mack in the goal and will leaning over it and macking mack giggle so loudly), the not everything is a two man job video (my GOD how many are there) and many many MANY more because obviously those are the golden mines too but i tried going for a little more niche things i guess? idk if i succeeded in that but yeah. sorry this got so long im a yapper and a wacklin lover first human second.

[elvensorceress]

fuck it friday, have some ridiculous Buck for OS and Buck's birthday from a brand new, post s8 Jenwyn fic that was meant for 911 pride week but will probably not be finished in time 🫠 oh well happy bisexual 🩷💜💙 buck to everyoneeee

tagging anyone who wants to share something 💕 @tizniz @hippolotamus @glorious-spoon @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks @sofa-king-lame @sergeantchenford @exhuastedpigeon @kejfeblintz @damnikindaship @capseycartwright @dangerpronebuddie @livinginsunnyhell @mangonadaeddie @lover-of-mine @drmellking @beyourownanchor6 @saveahorserideaneddie @deluludiaz @sazanahashi @singitforthegirls 💕

It is not Buck’s fault. 

He’s trying. Okay? He is absolutely, one thousand percent, sort of, for the most part, more or less, at least once a week, semi-heartedly trying. He’s looked at tons of places. He applied to… maybe one? Or two? Maybe zero. But again. Not his fault. All the apartments in the greater whole of Los Angeles have something wrong with them. All of them! Not Buck’s fault he is still, technically homeless. 

The place near the station didn’t have an elevator and it was on the fifth floor. That’s not disability friendly. Sure, Buck could manage. On good days. But it’s inconsiderate to other people. Like Chris. How would Chris visit him?

The place out south had a really short shower and Buck isn’t short. Or small. And he wants to get bigger. It’s time to bulk up again. He’s been slacking lately. Actually, he hasn’t exactly been slacking. He’s been working out a lot. That’s what you do when you need some physical activity and relief. Eddie said so. Hen also said so. Ravi started making a suggestion about other physical activities that bring relief but Chim cut him off and made him go scrub all the tires on all the trucks. But anyway. Small shower? Also doesn’t work. 

The apartment he looked at out near San Bernadino was okay and everything but it’s really far away from people he likes to hang out with. He would bet at least ten dollars that the whole building on Yucca Street is haunted. Legit, verified, super haunted. It gave him weird, unsettling vibes even if Eddie blamed it on the questionable take out Buck got for breakfast.

The new-ish high-rise building with pristine, empty rooms was the exact opposite of haunted. It was soulless. Buck ended up actually wishing he could find a scuff mark or a dent or a chip in the paint just to say that creepy place had something of a personality. But it didn’t. 

The one with the decent bathroom had a terrible kitchen and the one with the amazing chef’s kitchen was way out of his price range and also too much like his loft. Not that the loft sucked or anything. It was great when he was there. 

Buck just doesn’t want to be there anymore. He doesn’t want to be at any of these places. 

What does it matter if he spends a few more months couch surfing? He did it for years. A lot of years. About seven of them. Which is almost as long as he’s lived in LA. It’s fine if he doesn’t have his own place for a while. Eddie keeps telling him it’s fine. And when Buck argues that he should give them space because the house is Eddie and Chris’ and not Buck’s, then both Diazes get a really sad, heartbroken look on their faces that Buck cannot handle looking at.

Why would Buck want to live in a place that isn’t right for him when he’s perfectly content where he is even if it is a couch as a bed and most of his things in storage? He doesn’t actually need much. He wants to wait for the perfect place. He can wait. Something will come up eventually. No need to be moving somewhere that he knows won’t make him happy. He is happy where he is. You know. For now. He’s fine. Great even. 

Maddie’s jaw clenches and she sighs like she’s aggravated. Even though she just stares at him with a tense, squished face and radiates annoyance. 

It gets very uncomfortable feeling her look at him that way, and that can’t be good for the baby currently asleep in Buck’s arms. He turns his body as if it will shield his little nephew from his mother’s weird, pinched judgy face. 

[shellsstardew]

you made me ship shelliot so hard it's not even funny 😭 like normally im not super into rarepairs bc it seems ppl ship them just to ship them but i legit see where you're coming from, especially in the same context as your comic where their story begins after elliot moves in. i actually love your comic i cannot wait for the next part (not trying to pressure you obv). ive never gotten too many hearts with either of them but your characterization just feels so accurate like i feel like I could see your story with their dialogue happening in the game and it wouldn't feel out of place at all. and also finally (oops ive been rambling), your art style isn't overly detailed but the facial expressions/body language/like perspective i guess of the characters, especially shane and elliot on the dock is so well done, the small changes in positioning work so well to communicate the change in their body language and its just really impressive.

sorry i yapped or if it was weird or something i promise i was not trying to come off weird 😭😭😭 i just really admire good fanworks such as yours and it's important to tell authors/creators that they're doing well and yeah

also if you (or anyone else) has any shelliot fic recommendations i would loveee to hear them :>

No but seriously it's so funny that your like "I hope I'm not being weird" meanwhile I reread over and over your super thoughtful message to keep me going 😭

YOU GUYS DON'T REALIZE I NEED THOSE HYPER DETAILED COMPLIMENT or my stupid brain will go like "Okay time to think you're worthless and that what you're doing doesn't matter"

No I can point at the screen and say "See? 👉📱 SEE?! 👉👉📱?" and it's putting another coin in the machine hehe

Anyway, thank you so much 😭

AND YES I HAVE FICS TO RECOMMEND! ONCE AGAIN, @cutethulu you know the drill hehe

Camellia Station, by Awdrey (Explicit - but it's only one short smut scene in the last chapter for now)

Now it's still in progress (updating once a month) and they still didn't smooch yet, but that's what you get when you fall into the Shelliott rabbit hole, hehe, you can't be picky

It's really well written and the author and I have a lot of similarities in our interpretations of Shane and Elliott :) Go give it some love!

Also some one shots by @mongoosingisme that I really love :

Untitled Shelliott Ranch Project

Herding cats (Explicit - Shane/Elliott/fem!farmer)

And UHHH maybe you've seen it already but I wrote one about Shells, it's an alternate ending to part 34 (it's my first one and I'm really proud of it teehee)

Shells, alternate ending, by shells_stardew (Explicit)

Also @visionofthebees wrote this one for me on the same concept :

One Shell of a Night, by Visionofthebees (Explicit)

Be warned it's EXTREMELLY SILLY and she didn't even reread it before posting, but I love it with all my heart it's so so funny hahaha

I love her so imma also recommend her Clint x Elliott fic too (yes yes you read that right, she's 10 degrees further than me on the crack ship scene) :

Falling Ore You (Explicit) (46 chapters, completed)

LISTEN SHE MAKES IT WORK OKAY! SHE REALLY DOES!

And also, check my bookmarks! They are some non-Shelliott stuff that I absolutely love in there! (BUT always ALWAYS check the tags before reading, there is also some dark stuff haha)

Here you go, hope I didn't recommend all the ones you already knew about, as we all know this is not an extremely popular ship so this is what we get, quality over quantity hahahaa 😭

[psych0m3try]

don’t tag your anti bullshit in the SHIP tag what’s wrong with you 😭 also do you realize florence pugh meant a gay bar as in GAY MALE bar, not a lesbian bar. straight women go to gay bars all the time. she’s not masc in any way holy shit pls go meet actual masc lesbians

hi, what’s wrong with YOU?

1. i don’t use tumblr that much, like at ALL. im extremely unfamiliar with this format of social media, i’m not on twitter and other stuff like that. i had no clue that tags held that much significance, i made the post at 2 in the morning, and i just randomly clicked the suggested tags at the bottom. so i’m genuinely sorry for tagging it incorrectly, i had no idea.

although, i did make the post to hear the perspective of people who DO ship boblena. to me, it was less “anti bullshit” and more just “hey, this makes absolutely no sense to me, here’s why, now can someone please explain so we can have a civil discussion?” i’ve always found tumblr to be very discussion-based, and i even said at the end of the post that i wanted to hear from someone who does get it.

2. i don’t go to bars it’s just not my thing, so frankly i find it weird that a straight woman would go to a gay male bar. it’s not that i necessarily think that straight people shouldn’t be allowed in those spaces, just that i feel as if it’s not nearly as common as you say it is and if it is then i think it shouldn’t be that way

3. my BEST friend who i just hung out with today is a masc lesbian, she’s awesome. she also doesn’t understand boblena at all, she thinks yelena is almost certainly a lesbian. i myself am a masc sapphic. i spoke about this in a comment under the original post, but yelena is clearly portrayed against the male gaze. lots of her style choices align with masc culture, and nothing she does around bob or any other male characters suggests that she is attracted to any of them, which is unfortunately very rare in marvel as we see most female characters (such as nat) express interest in male characters even as a joke.

and going beyond Thunderbolts, in Hawkeye, when yelena had a (slightly) different style with long hair, she still PRESENTS masculine.

—

i’d also like to add that when Lewis Pullman was asked about bob and yelena’s relationship being romantic, he said:

“it was never something we talked about… it was more to show those relationships that are almost like your sister from another life that you’re hopefully lucky enough to cross paths with, and when you find that person, like, not wanting to let them go because of how rare that is”

[viviansturns]

im so scared to write smutt. like how do you start? seems weird. i’ve wrote fluff and angst before but i have a bunch of smut fics in my drafts im too scared to post. how’s the best way to start?

ok im glad you asked!! here's some tips for anyone startingg! im by no means an expert but idkk.

so you dont need to start ALL in. the best smut starts with tension, emotions, and a reason it’s happening. like if they're kissing and it gets out of hand, or someones comforting the other, or unresolved tension, etc etc. in other words, just like how in real life theres foreplay, give your writing a lil foreplay instead of jumping into it!

tips to start:

start with making out scenes to kinda break that feeling

have someone say “tell me to stop” or “do you want this?”because consent is super hot <33

USE INTERNAL MONOLOGUE. if they’re nervous, let them be nervous. it humanizes it, and also reflects your own emotions!

and btw: writing smut isn’t about how explicit you are. it’s about feeling. sometimes just an internal thought or feeling of the moment hits harder than three paragraphs of anatomy lingo. start soft, and get bolder as you go.

also your first smut fic will feel weird, and mine SURE did. i was terrified to post it, but at the end of the day its going to get easier and people are going to love it!

last things

if you need help with any writing in general (and this goes out to anybody on sturntumblr) FEEL FREE TO DM ME FOR HELP!!! i am MORE than willing to help anyone with their work <33

also if you're posting your first smut fic, i give everyone 100% permission to TAG ME because i love supporting people and also i love smut :3

[fishyaudio]

Raz, who's been your favourite design you've made for your anthro au? I have a feeling it's Saint lol

Your feeling is not wrong, she's a favourite to draw!

But if I had to choose one, favourite design ever out of the ten, it would be the one for Shine (aka Monk, I really need to start using the names I gave them all for the AU here as well, gahh)

It's a surprising choice for me, because when it came to in-game depiction + popular fandom interpretations of Monk, I never really liked the guy (not disliked, just didn't think about the character a lot and found others more interesting). I don't usually dig the "peaceful, kind, happy" archetype characters in media in general, it's just not my thing, and most "fanmade character extensions" of Monk I've seen just expanded on that alone. It's not that they're anyhow wrong! They're just really not my thing and it always itches me to introduce more contrast or flavor in personalities of that sort. It's suprisingly hard to write a character who is mainly just really pure and avoids conflict, at least for me. Unhinged beasts with weird morals are sometimes just easier to grasp bwahaha

And with that, since it's "character design" and not just "design" - that initially made me feel like designing and creating the anthro AU equivalent for Monk would be a neccessary struggle and when I'm done, I won't ever pay much attention to a character I'd consider a bit more flat in comparison to what I had planned for others. But the longer I sketched, more "what ifs" came to mind and I ended up with Shine - still the younger sibling, just taller and bigger than the scrawny, troublemaking, older one. Took advantage of Share (Gourmand) being his parent, so he takes after him in size and personality a bit more. That opened a really fun path to explore with him.

I've decided to link his pacifist mentality and kindness not to being childish and bit unwise, but to idealism, stronger sense of justice and an overall aspiration to be reliable and responsible. He's still young and naive, but it doesn't come from being childish and having a "kill them with kindness, no other options allowed" mentality, but rather from being an inexperienced, future leader with a lot of potential. One that's often being very harsh on himself when his mistakes or faulty judgement causes a slip-up or a situation escalated in a way he couldn't predict. Sometimes, things just happen and there was no way to foresee the consequences or avoid confrontation, despite how hard everyone tried, and that's also a part of life - that's something Shine would struggle to accept. He's naive, but not dumb. Even with that - it doesn't stop him from being a very trustworthy and quick-thinking individual. I like that about him!

And this is also what's reflected in the design - he's on the taller side, with a more blocky build. Flowy, loose clothes both make him look really comfortable and chill, visually suggesting that he's more laid-back, not active, not used to fights and messy situations, while also pushing the silhouette to be a one, sturdy shape even more. That just yells "you can approach and trust this guy easily" by looks alone. From smaller details - he has the monk symbol in a visible place on his belt -> wants to signal to others that he's not a threat and is always willing to talk things out or settle for a compromise. He doesn't have much more accessories -> doesn't like showing off and isn't desperate for attention. The only striking, busy pattern he has on him is the striped sleeve to match his sib - he values Ways (Survivor) a lot!

From other designs for the AU - March, Ways and Steps (Spearmaster, Survivor and Rivulet) are also my favourites for various reasons, but this post is already a yap session. Maybe next time, if anyone's curious.

Thanks for the ask! Gave me an excuse to draw them more!!

AU tag here!

[sister-daniels-confession-booth]

Recently I rewatched BIG and I've watched it many times before but the next day I was looking at the antiphan tag for shits and gigs and I saw a lot of stuff that was obviously ridiculous especially more recent ones but as I kept scrolling I started feeling really bad and actually sick about reading fanfiction and thinking about their relationship at all and I know logically they've said it doesn't matter as long as people aren't trying to pry into their private life and they don't mind fanfiction but I still felt bad because I was a fan in 2012-2016 when things got really weird but I would never try to out them or do any of the things people were doing at the time but I still engaged in the phandom where people WERE doing those things and as someone who was outed before I even had the chance to process who I was I feel just insane guilt that people were even trying to do that. I also saw a lot of posts that were about RPF and how it's bad, and it made me feel 10x worse even though I don't even agree. So, Sister, I know technically I never did anything bad, but I still feel like I needed to confess.

(sorry for the rant I don't have anyone to tell this to. Also for clarification, I don't think RPF is bad but I don't think it should be sent to the people that it's about lol but if they stumble upon it that's their own business)

No sins here.

[kk-iki]

Hey ,just read your piece about casual misogyny in the cod fandom and I am so happy that I am finding people talking about this especially the subtle misogyny that most dont even notice or ignore .I also didnt notice some of it when I was new in this fandom ,because it wasnt that obvious and I thought it may only be some fics .But recently, it amplified to very rampant misogyny ,probably because it isnt called it out often and just buried . I feel like we can /are being influenced just reading it and imagine young impressionable fans .

The saddest part to me is that women are perpetuating this and If one is called out ,they will hit them with "fiction excuse" .

Dont get me started on the subtle pe*dophilia/ grooming fetishization ,with the older bf bs / reader being childish to a weird extent .It is not even subtle anymore ,I think I saw a fic with reader being tagged as barely legal .Does this seem like normal behavior?

It reminds me of what you said in your post ,a lot are writing for the male gaze and I am starting to understand why many fans left the fandom .

my baby, you have no idea how happy it made me to receive this ask. i woke up this morning and saw the notification, and i was immediately overwhelmed with a deep sense of hope. the fact that there are other people noticing these things and being able to recognize them is such good news to me.

i truly, honestly wish people talked more about this. i know that @femmemichaelis has a couple commentary pieces on this that are just so beautifully put. even so, it’s absolutely heartbreaking that most of the people who claim to be for women’s rights and feminism are the ones writing these things.

���i feel like we can [be]/are influenced just [by] reading it.”

this is what i’ve been saying for so long, and i’m so glad you said this. the ‘meanie!simon’ tag is the bane of my fucking existence. regardless of what people think, fiction does affect reality. normalizing this behavior and hate in fiction and media only serves as a stepping stone to keep it afloat in society.

writers in this fandom will say they’re sick and tired of how women have been treated by men in today’s world, then turn around and write their favorite male characters doing the exact same thing they condemn when it’s convenient—what example of what women enjoy do you think thats setting for the men you claim to want to see you as more than an unfeeling sex machine?

personally, i believe that people should never be censored nor do i feel like writing things as coping mechanisms should be seen as inherently wrong. i myself occasionally write darker subject matter—with an emphasis on the fact that it is dark and shouldn’t be glorified—and i can understand a small number of writers in the fandom who do the same.

however, i also believe that some of the things being written in this fandom toe the line with startling precariousness, and i also believe that there is a big difference between coping and romanticizing.

unfortunately, we see so much of the latter in the way the characters are happily tagged as sexist and toxic, in the way the authors will giggle flippantly about these very real problems because they’re being viewed through a fictional lens, in the way nobody else seems willing to say a thing about it—whether that’s out of fear of disrupting the status quo or out of agreement, i’m not sure. and i honestly can’t tell which is worse.

“i think i saw a reader being tagged as barely legal. does this seem like normal behavior?”

absolutely not, and you should say it. i feel like this fandom has taken the ‘controversially younger gf’ joke a little too seriously, but i’ll get jumped if i say that too loudly. there’s a difference between an age gap (which i love and am guilty of indulging in when it’s written well) and borderline pedophilia. it’s truly sickening and i wish more people noticed it.

so many of these fics are for the male gaze. so why is it that it’s primarily women who read and enjoy them? in the current state of the world, what does that say about where feminism is headed?

i’m tired of being nice about it. writers in this fandom are extremely fucking guilty of performative activism. it’s part of why i’m ashamed to identify with it in the first place. and it’s people like you, dear non, that give me at least a little more hope for this desolate ass wasteland of patriarchy’s iron grip that we’ve become.

thank you so very much for sending in this ask, pretty baby. you were absolutely right on all counts and i am so overjoyed that you see what i do. i love you forever and ever and i truly hope that we’ll continue to move forward in this fandom instead of recessing backward.

[stuckonthisgoddawnearth]

Random DE Ships!

Listen, I was scrolling this tag on tumblr and @council-of-colors post inspired me to do this random madness myself!

Wheel decided-I made it!

Faith in Frames (Artt x Wyndolin)

they both have huge admiration for arts, especially about each other

once they made an art together with beautiful view from the window

Keep It Safe (Farya x Sophia)

Farya supports Sophia’s determination towards…dominating, as long as nobody hurt

Sophia protects Farya from her bathroom neighbours, cause they can be weird…

Water Is Always Same (River x Bodhi)

Bodhi was really happy to see something that isn’t new and modern to him-water! River didn’t expected so many attention towards her

They both can chat for hours about music and literature, cause they have kinda same energy

Packed Toasts (Cabrizzio x Miranda)

Cabrizzio is really overprotective about Miranda and she teases him about it

They love cuddling somewhere in the kitchen, with others weirdly staring at them (they pretend not noticing that)

G&G Premium Edition (Chance x Lucinda)

them both are FREAKS and they love that

Lucinda can fulfill any Chance’s role play idea *weird wink*

Brains and Beauty and Books (Dolly x Lyric)

oh, they would definitely have LOTS of things to discuss, Lyric would be the one who is impressed with Dolly’s knowledges and (he never admits though) her looks

Dolly is husband, Lyric is wife, prove me wrong

Spirits of the Past (Washford x Zoey)

Zoey would be happy to feel something except loneliness (my poor girl)

Washford would entertain her with his pompous monologues and stories

Table Top (Parker x Abel)

Abel is really kind to Parker, and would treat the necessity to roll for relationship as ‘funny quirky thing to do’

Parker is FREAKY and Abel just tries to keep his energy in control

Soft and Whiskey Sour (Eddie x Mateo)

oh, long cuddling sessions, I just mean it

Mateo sure would comfort Eddie in all his stresses and Eddie would be vulnerable only for Mateo

No Live Without Wires (Volt x Connie)

I can imagine them slow dancing, just feel my vibe

also, Volt would make drinks for Connie on the house (and irritate Eddie with this)

Disposable Dishware (Daisuke x Cam)

they can fix each other

if some of dishware broke, Cam wouldn’t insist on throwing them away, knowing how much dishes mean to Daisuke. Instead, he’d help him fixing them

Maybe, I’ll do more hcs, stay tuned, bros!

[ask-the-gay-silly-gang-111111]

WELCOME TO THE SILLY GANG'S ASK BLOG !!!

Our silly's story is centering around a few very and completely normal characters living through life! As they try to survive and get accustomed to each other and learn to live a normal life.

The world however hits them with some struggles. And YOU will be able to see them struggling (suffering) through it. Heheh >:]

Ask these goofballs questions about their deepest insecurities, sufferings, relationships, backstories, and very private matters cuz askers don't care. (/Silly) ..or just about they favorite food, lol. Do what you want. :D

Links:

• Start •latest part

•just another day (<- how they all met, made by mod rnd 🎰)

What you'll find in this masterpost:

-important stuffs (whatcha can do, rules..)

-other stuffs (yeah y'know)

-characters infos (with all the info you could get by asking stuffs too !)

-about the mods ! (Hehe, us ! >:3)

--------------------

Important stuff :

What you can do:

-Ask/talk about whatever u want !

-swear, (no slurs) -flirt -ship them -tease them..

or yeaaah just go wild (not TOO wild trough-) (angsstt...)

Rules:

1: Be responsible!!! Don't be too (key word being ''too'') weird in here! Normal is overrated of course but I'm talking don't be too creepy weird please.

2: this blog us best for people around the age of 11-13+ due to some much mooooree.. big boy jokes featured in here ;) also, feel free to swear. But no slurs. That shit's offensive ok? (If you do. You're getting sent to the shadow realm)

3: You can ask anything to the characters featured currently! Who are:

Kato, mimo and aly as of right now!!

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Their current situation from the story: The beginning.

More characters will show up and the story will continue worked on!!

-------------------------------------------------------

Have fun and enjoy!! These characters have been built with lots of care!

Fanart and any fanwork is very much available! And we'd love to see it!! And you're doing something else? An AU of them ? That's awesome too ! And ofc, credit us and tag us (this blog, or our original blog) so we can see!!! ❤️❤️

-------------------------------------------------------

Characters infos:

Da col cat B)

Name: Kato

Pronouns: He/Him

Personality: Basically just someone who's often mischievous. Is the type who can break glass by just being around it if he's too relaxed. Is friends with a but of people due to his way with words. Commited quite a bit of crimes and doesn't regret any

Species: monster (cat (-✨))

Age: doesn't matter tbh. But if you want? I guess 15/16 he could be older or younger. Idc B)

Relationships/friendships: friends with a lot of people due to having his way with words and being trustworthy if he knows you're good. Homies with a certain other person

Da innocent silly :3

Name: Aly

Pronouns: she/her

Personnality : very silly, kind, innocent (<- this one's for you toby) , doesn't like chaos except when she's the one causing them, if you tease her, she will tease you :]

She acts like the little sister of the group ^^

Species: human

Age: between 14-16

Relationships/friendships: very good friend with zezo and mimo. Feels comfortable with them the most. What..? ..ship ? ..... ..Ship.

Da goofy pizza lover :]

Name: mimo

Pronouns: they/them

Personnality: nervous, cheerful, loves jokes, can be pretty dumb, pizza

Species: human thing

Age: ??? Unknown

Relationships/friendships: close with Zezo and Aly, but tried to be friendly with everyone!

Other characters will be added in the future after their introductions !

THE MODS !!!

Mod star ✨: heyyy ! I'm @aurora-starlight-silly ! I'll probally be the one to post the most tbh. Heheheheh. My persona there is Aly ! Also silliness is life. Bye !

mod rnd 🎰: Hey! I'm @randomdude102394 . My sona is ??? (will put his actual name there once he's revealed) I'll be slightly active, but, don't count on it. ;] Also, *soon.*

Mod da col👁️👄👁️ ( @zezodacol ) : My OC/sona is Kato in this blog! :DD I'm the one who's just gonna go sit down and count how many sexual/gay jokes we're getting here haha

Mod Pizza🍕: yes it's me, pizza :D ( @mimorobo ) I'm just existing here and consuming most of the food, don't count on any leftovers. Also HIII!!!

Mod toby 🍋: hey I'm a silly and my name is @totallytoby404, the pronouns are

✨✨ THEY/THEM <--- ✨✨

Mod soul 💯: heya, I'm @soul100 ! I'm here as my persona, you can call me soul :D I love tea, and I have nothing else on my mind. aaaaanndd I exist here, kinda 💥

mod Lio 📕: Heya guys, I’m @levasci , and my Sona’s name is ??? (He has not been revealed yet but I can’t wait for when the time comes for it, I hope you’ll love him and the other sillies from the crew).

I’ll try to be active, but I don’t think I will be because I’m busy, and because I’m not as used to posting on Tumblr as the others from our crew.

Anyways, hope you’ll enjoy what we’ve got to show! 😉

-----------------

..dunno what to add-

Oh yeah ! We've got our irl lifes too, and our other blog to take care off, so we might take some time to answer stuffs, sorry !

I hope you liked that masterpost and that you will have fun here ! :33

-Mod da col 👁️👄👁️ -mod star ✨

[legolasghosty]

oooh whats firstprince 5+1??? i love those two dorks in love

Hello beloved!!! Yesss I'm getting so attached to these two right now too!!! They're such dorks! And also my new favorites for projecting my complicated feelings about my meds onto, so...

Firstprince 5+1 is basically 5 times Alex made sure Henry took his meds + 1 time Henry did the same for Alex. It spans throughout the whole main canon of the book, with the first one being the morning after the Turkey Fiasco and the +1 being shortly after they move into their brownstone together.

I've really been enjoying writing it, you know how much of a sucker I am for some good hurt/comfort and characters taking care of each other. But I'm lowkey terrified to post it, cause it's one of my first times writing them and I have no clue if I'm getting the voices accurate at all or if the characters feel normal. I guess we'll see. I have the first 3 sections written at the moment.

Here's a snippet!

His phone vibrated in his back pocket as their grandmother dismissed them with an annoyed huff. Once they were safely out in the hall, he slipped it out eagerly. Just as he’d hoped, it was Alex.

Alex - Good morning bake off boy.

Did you take your meds?

Henry stared at the message for a beat too long. He had taken his medication of course, Shaun made sure of it before they left Kensington. But he didn’t realize Alex knew about them. He racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d mentioned the antidepressants at some point, but he was coming up empty.

Alex - Oh shit sorry I’m probably overstepping It just came out on autopilot You don’t have to answer that If you don’t want to I’ll shut up

Henry chuckled at the flurry of messages. He should probably put the American idiot out of his misery.

Henry - It’s quite alright, and yes I did. I just wasn’t aware you knew I had them.

Alex responded less than a minute later.

Alex - Oh yeahhhh I saw Shaun passing them to you when I was over there last time

Still I shouldn’t just ask stuff like that. It’s rude!!!

Henry - Do all the people in your country put their foot in their mouth as much as you?

Alex - Nah I’m just special 😏 And maybe not fully awake yet

Henry - Rest assured I won’t have you assassinated for this offense. (I don’t mind you asking, I was just surprised)

Alex - Only the best for you sweetheart

Please feel free to come bug me about this fic, I really I want to finish it! I got a bit more written on my flight the other day, but there's still a ways to go!

[bearloonz]

Love wins

[chez-cinnamon]

Ideas ideas ideas....

Thinking of adventures that could take place in my AU, a fancy ball adventure sounds perfect!!!!!!

There would be more but I had a busy and stressful day lol

[zorangezest]

WAS THAT THE BITE OF EIGHTY SE— [i am executed via firing squad]