#Thank you (♡´艸`)

[rizdoodls]

WHATTTT!!! OMG THIS MESSAGE TOTALLY CAUGHT ME BY SURPRISE!!! I’d completely forgotten about this request, so when I saw this amazing drawing of Pépito, I almost fell out of my chair!!!!!🙀🙀🙀

AAAAAAAH SUCH BEAUTY, THANK YOU SO MUCH, IT'S GORGEOUS!!!🥹💖💖💖(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)(❤️´艸｀❤️)

AAAAAAA AN AMAZING DRAWING MADE BY AN AMAZING PERSON I ADORE, WHAT MORE COULD I ASK FOR hihihi ´♡`~~~~💕💕💕

Congratulations on your 200 followers, you deserve them!🥳🥳🥳

Your art is amazing!!!💕💖💗💖

Could I ask you to draw Pépito, please? ^^

As for the pose, feel free to choose any one you like, surprise me! Thanks in advance🙂⚘

thank you so much for the kind words!! ☺️❤️

I LOVE PÉPITO 💌💌💌

@rizdoodls

[mirnilop]

𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

[hina-hina]

If you're still doing requests could we get HC's of Ghost or Soap who've fallen in love with fem!reader whos a selective mute and a new recruit to the 141? Perhaps theyre even the sweetest person he's ever met and it's instant heart eyes?

I myself rarely talk and I've found it gets a lot of stares from people, men especially which is weird but warranted I suppose?

Hello friend, this is sooo cute!! (❤´艸｀❤) I'm so sorry people did that to you just because you don't speak. Just like anyone, your worthy of love and deserve to be treated kindly! Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy it!!!

|| Ghost + Soap With a Selective Mute S/O ||

Warnings: Military!Reader,

Female!Reader // Romantic

Can't believe i didn't use this gif when it was actually Christmas, shame on me

|| Ghost

So, I 100% see Ghost as the type of guy to be like "I don't care what you do as long as you can get the job done"

So he feels quite indifferent to the fact your selectively mute

But whenever he starts to get to know you more? He is gone

He starts to notice you silently doing small things for him without ever expecting anything in return

Which isn't something he is very used to

Things like you bringing him tea (made the british way because he won't drink it otherwise), helping him with his gear, etc.

You even once repaired his mask for him

He would set about learning sign language for you (If that's something you use)

And of course he struggled and got frustrated but it was all worth it for the look on your face when he says "thank you" in sign language

He also is quite the biggest fan of your company because he too is a man of few words

You two enjoy just sitting in each others presence, just coexisting without the need to show out for the other

It's very comfortable

If you ever felt comfortable enough to speak with him, he would be in awe

Honestly, you start to feel anxious because he is just staring at you blankly

After you prompting, he would eventually clear his throat, thankful that his mask hides his rising flush

"Your voice is.... very pretty..."

How can you help but to lean up and press a kiss to his masked cheek?

|| Soap

He would be a little questioning at first

But after a sharp look from Price, he immediately fixes his expression

He would quickly see why you were just as capable as anyone else on the force when he sees you in action

Absolutely loves how sweet you are despite everything you go through day to day

He is so thankful when you do things for him

Would also try to learn sign language if it's something you use, even though his attempts come out a bit uncoordinated

He is very protective of you and will quickly glare and ward others off if they look at you weird

He introduces you to his journal and encourages you to have one as well

Finds himself pondering what your voice sounds like often

He has a whole spread in his journal with sketches of you and notes on what he thinks you sound like

He would never push you to talk however

If you did decide to talk, he is all smiles

"Quite the voice ya have there, Hen. Pure dead brilliant."

Could barely stop himself from kissing you when he sees your bashful smile

Thankfully, you beat him to it

As always, thank you for all the support, whether it be likes, reblogs or replies! I'm thankful for everyone of you and I'm glad you enjoy what I like! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[call-me-copycat]

Kaomojis! ੈ‧˚૮꒰˵• ﻌ •˵꒱აੈ

Here's a whole bunch of funny, cute, and random kaomojis for those that want to use them (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

These are not all made by me. I have an app that I downloaded to type in Japanese and English called "Shimeji", which comes with a large variety of kaomojis to use

I apologize for any duplicates! Please let me know if you see any!

Ones I most commonly use:

(*´∇｀*)

( ⑉¯ ꇴ ¯⑉ )

(⑉��ᗜ`⑉)

(、¯▽¯)、

ꉂꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)𐤔𐤔𐤔

(⑉> ᴗ <⑉)ゞ

(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

(˶･ω･˶)ﾉ”バイちゃ

٩( ´ω` )و

⸜( ˶'ᵕ'˶)⸝♡

(*´ч ` *)

ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ♪

（⸝⸝> ༥ <⸝⸝)ｵﾈｶﾞｲ♡

(﹡ˆ﹀ˆ﹡)♡

໒꒰ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩꒱ྀི১

໒꒰ฅ́ ˘ ฅ̀꒱১ᦂ

୧꒰*´꒳`*꒱૭✧

ヾ(*´∀｀*)ﾉ

(˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

(ृ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ृ )良き良き

ദി ᷇ᵕ ᷆ )♡

ฅ( •ω• ฅ)ｶﾞｵ-♡

ﾐﾙ(ง ^ω^ )วﾐﾙ

( ˶ˊᵕˋ)

꒰ঌ(⃔ ⌯' '⌯)⃕໒꒱

(๑´ㅂ`๑)

Angry, Tired, or Upset (Instead of 😡,😴, or 😣)

( ´﹀` ٥ ).｡Oஇ

(๑ ̅᷄꒫ ̅᷅)(｡´-д-)💨💨💨

꒰ঌ(⑉･̆༥･̆⑉)໒꒱

( •᷄ὤ•᷅)

( ･̆-･̆)

(๑و•̀Δ•́)و

( ･᷅-･᷄ )

(๑'-ωก̀๑)ﾈﾑﾈﾑ

(。-ω-)zzz. . .

(๑･᷄ὢ･᷅ ๑)

( -᷄ ˍ-᷅)

( ` ༥ ´⸝⸝⸝))ぷぃ

(‪ᯅ̈)

( ;`ω´) (`ω´;(`ω´; )ﾋｿﾋｿ

(´-ι_-｀)

（ー。ー）ちぇ

(¯―¯٥)

ԅ(¯﹃¯ԅ)

既読無視…( ꐦ•᷄ὤ•᷅)و

(°▽°;)ﾔﾊﾞｯ

(｀⊿´)ﾌﾝ💢

( ꐦ ¯ᑎ¯ )

ヽ`､ヽ`(。・︿ ・。)ヽ`､ヽ`

( ˵> A <˵ )ねー

ʕ -ࡇ-ʔ.｡oO

( ;ó□ò;)ぁゎゎ💦

ʕ‎๑‎◝ᯅ◜‎๑ʔ

ε3=(-Д-｀疲)【ｵﾂｶﾚｻﾏ】(疲´-Д･)=ε3

( >д<).;':ｲｯﾁｭｷｨｨｨｨ

(∩ﾟДﾟ) ｱｰｱｰ ｷｺｴﾅｰｲ

ʕ´-ﻌก̀ʔ

〣( ๐_๐)〣

(*•̀‎ࡇ•́)σ めっ！

(੭`꒫´ꐦ)੭

めんど(´-﹏-`；)

\(-Ò｡Ó-”）

エグチ((=ﾟДﾟ=)

(ꐦ°᷄д°᷅)はぁ？💢

Sad or Nervous (Instead of 😓 or 😢)

_( ､´⌓`)ﾉｹﾃ…ﾀｽｹﾃ……

（߹ㅁ߹) 💦ᒡᑉᒡᑉᐧᐧᐧ

｡°꒰ ՞ ´ ᗣ`°꒱°｡

ﾃﾞﾓ ﾅｧ…(๑•̆△•̆)

｡°(° ᷄ᯅ ᷅°)°｡

ｳﾜｰﾝ(𐊭 ࿁ 𐊭ˋ)

૮ ᐡΘ ꈊ Θ ᐡ ა

( ღ˘͈ ᗣ˘͈)ﾂﾏﾝﾅｰｲ

( T ⩌ T　)

il||li (つω-`｡)il||

٩(･̆ᗝ･̆)ｺﾘｬｰ

(´⌓` ;）

꒰ᐡ´т ‧̫ т ̀ ᐡ꒱🐾♡

( ⌯᷄ ·̫ ⌯᷅ก )

( ˘•ω•˘ )

(๑•́︿•̀๑)‎

૮( ̳ т ̫ т ̳ )ა

ﾄ━━━⸜(๑´͈ ꒫ `͈๑)⸝━━━ﾝ

( ´-ω- )💨

₍ᐢ › ༝ ‹ ᐢ₎

‪(๑◕︵◕๑)

( •́ㅿ•̀ )

(ó﹏ò｡)

(๑•́ω•̀๑)

~( ´•︵•` )~

꒰ ᐢ ◞‸◟ᐢ꒱

(๑ŏ _ ŏ๑)

o(╥﹏╥)o

(● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

๐·°(৹˃ᗝ˂৹)°·๐

( ´ Å ` ; ) ｱﾊﾊ…

(¯―¯٥)

( 'ω'; 三 'ω' ;)

"( ;ﾟ³ﾟ);ﾟ³ﾟ);ﾟ³ﾟ)ﾋｭ

( ´ㅁ` ; )

…(×꒪△꒪=)…

( •᷄⌓•᷅ )

(ㅇㅁㅇ;;)

∑(O_O；)

Annoyed (Instead of 😑, 😒, or 🙄)

"( – ⌓ – )

(｡´-д-)｡o○Zzz｡o○

(｡｀･д･) ﾊｯ!

♡(ㆆ_ㆆ)

" σ(Ⲻⲻ Ⲻ )𓈒𓂂𓏸

考えﾁｩ…(●¯ ꒳¯●)

ｶﾜﾖ( ≖⌓≖ )

( ᯉᯋᯉ)ﾀﾞﾙ

(๑- ༥ -๑ )ぷっ…

( ⌯᷄ ·̫ ⌯᷅ก )

(´-ω-｀;)

( ¯-¯ )

(｡-_-｡)

(´+ω+｀)

(´-ι_-｀)

m(._.)m

m(_ _)m

(ﾟ⊿ﾟ)ﾂﾏﾝﾈ

(・へ・)

ﾖｸﾅｲ!ヽ(´ｰ｀ )ﾉ

ｵｸﾚﾖﾝヽ(´ー｀)ノ

ｲｯﾁｬｯﾀ(-.-;)

(ｰｰ;)

(｀-´)

( ｰ̀нｰ́)ﾑｽ⋯

( ｰ̀ ༥ ｰ́ )

(ｰ̀дｰ́)

(-᷅_-᷄)

(,,Ծ‸Ծ,, )

(。 ｰ`ωｰ´)

(○｀ε´○)プンプン!!

(-ω-)

(´-_ゝ-`)

(´-ω-｀)

(¬∀¬ )

(￢￢)ﾎﾝﾄ??

(；￢д￢) ｱﾔｼｲ

（ 三 ε 三 ）

(ㅎ_ㅎ)…寝不足

(　･ั₃･ั )

( •ั็ _ •็ั )

(•́ι_•̀*)

(￣−ω−￣)

Love/Blushing

((#♡-♡#))

(灬ºωº灬)♡

(*''艸3`):;*｡ ﾌﾟｯ

(*´︶`*)♡Thanks!

す(♡〰️♡)き

(*¯︶¯♥)

(🎀ฅ'∀')ฅ♡ฅ('∀'ฅ★ )੭

(៸៸᳐>⩊<៸៸᳐)~♡

.°ʚ(〃ω〃)ɞ°.

ありがと♡( * ´꒳`ﾉ(´^`° )

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

（○3○)ﾌﾞｰ

(´>//<｀)♡

ﾄﾞｺﾆ?(ฅωฅ)?ｲﾙ

(⸝⸝-ω(ω-⸝⸝ )♡

≡(⊇♡.♡)ﾎｼｨｰ!

(好き´ω`)♥️(´ω`好き )

˚*.✩(〃♡ω♡〃)✩.*˚

(＞♡＜）

ﾀﾉｼﾐ!( ฅ́‎ࠔฅ̀ )ﾆｬﾊおはょ

(♡´∀`♡)(,,> <,,)♡

Σ＞―(⑉︎• д• ⑉︎)♡―――＞

✧˖°*॰ॱ(♡ˊ͈ ॢ꒳ˋ͈)ु(ूˊ͈꒳ ॢˋ͈♡)ʓ৸ʓ৸♪

(っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞💌

ପ(⑅ˊᵕˋ⑅)ଓ

٩꒰ ˘ ³˘꒱۶~♡

꒰* ॢꈍ◡ꈍ ॢ꒱.*˚‧

(*´艸`)ﾌﾌﾌｯ♡ꉂ(´꒳`♡)ｸｽｸｽ

ゎ‹ゎ‹（๑ ᷇ 𖥦 ᷆๑)♡ゎ‹ゎ‹

(///з///)♡‪

(⸝⸝› з ‹⸝⸝)‬♡

( ⸝⸝⸝¯ ³¯⸝⸝⸝ )♡

(*/□＼*)♡

⁄(⁄ ⁄>⁄-⁄<⁄ ⁄)⁄

(/// ^///)

(ᐢ⸝⸝› ̫ ‹⸝⸝ᐢ)

(*///ω///*)

^>⸝⸝⸝⸝<^

⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

(〃´-`〃)♡

(˶ㅇᗜㅇ˶) ⑉♥

(((*♡д♡*)))ｶｯｶﾜｲｲ.*･♡

♡(๑♡ᴗ♡๑)

꒰ঌ(๑≧ᗜ≦)‪໒꒱

⋆⸜♡⸝‍⋆

( ๑´³`)~‪♡~(´ε`๑)

(♡口♡三❤)

(ㆆᴗㆆ)♡んー

( * ´ ³`)まっ

(っ´>ω<))ω<`)ｷﾞｭｯ♥

(o´艸`)

(๑////๑)

(ฅωฅ*)

(//∇//)

( ´艸｀)

\(//∇//)\

Σ(///□///)

(>ω<〃)～♡

Emoji/Action (Funny Kaomojis)

('▽'* )あ('ㅂ'* )り('▽'* )が('ｏ'* )と

( ^o^)Г☎ﾁﾝｯ

( ͜🐇 ˊᗜˋ˶) ͜🐰うさぎ💕

(੭ु`;ω;´)੭ुバァかぁぁ(怒)

☝ ᷇ᵕ ᷆ )どゆこと？

ﾊﾐｶﾞｷ( ᐙ و(و ｺｯ✩🪥✨

( ⊃💣⊂ )

👈(-_-ｿﾚﾅ

(o 🥥'▽')o 🌴

🍖🥛 🥩🥬🥕🛒(˙꒳​˙ )͟͟͞͞ =

(☺️-・`)

✌️(˶｀‪‎‎ࠔ´˵)🙏( •∀< )👍

- ̗̀ 👏🏻👏🏻 ( 'ω' ) ̖́-👏( 'ω' ) - ̗̀ 👏🏻👏🏻 ( 'ω' ) ̖́-👏( 'ω' )

🌀彡🍃彡乁(*´Ｏ`*)ﾉ´彡🌀彡🍃

💪‎( ᐛ )ﾊﾟﾜｰ!

(*･∀-)d🍻b(-ω･*)

🥕▔(*'×'*)▔ﾎﾟｲ

( ᐛ )ノ⌒💣📝

(´•ω•)👉💥👈(•ω•ˋ)ﾑｯ!!

☔️( '-' ☔️ )ｱﾒﾁｬﾝ

(｡´-д-)｡o○Zzz｡o○(｡｀･д･) ﾊｯ!

( *¯ ꒳¯*)⊃💐

(🎤≧▽^))♡)

( っ️ᐛ )╮ =͟͟͞͞🍦 🍨 🍧

🍍(ᐛ 🍍)

寝れない📱(◉︎ɷ◉︎ )ｼﾞｰｯ

🎏┠('◎'зз)彡

(*🔎ω´*)…🔎( ;｀Д´)あれ？(;🔎ω´*)…無い

🍖( '-' 🍖 )

⸜(*˙꒳˙*)⸝ﾎﾟｲ=͟͟͞͞ ✏️📖

🦀⸜( ¯⌓¯ )⸝🦀

fight✨(◍•ᴗ•◍)⚑*ﾟ

- =͟͟͞͞ =͟͟͞͞ ﾍ( ´Д`)ﾉ遅刻だァっ

(*・‪꒳・*)💄

c(*'-'*///)💭‎🤍‎ ̖́-ｻｯ

=͟͟͞͞( ๑`･ω･´)_⋆⸜🧻⸝‍⋆

🍺⸜(*ˊᵕˋ*)⸝‬🥟

( ˙³˙)👌~♪

(📞・3・)💬

⊂( ･∀･) 彡

　=͟͟͞͞(🦀)`Д´)=͟͟͞͞🪃

ヽ( '-'ヽ)ｷｬｯﾁ

ฅ(ˊ✨ω✨ˋ)ฅ

( ͜☕️ ･ω･) ͜🍰

(🍄•᎑•🍄)

(ｰ🍟ˊᵕˋ* )ｰ🍔

(📞๑•̀ - •́)

(🎀ơ ᎑ ơ)

🥚ｺﾝｺﾝ🍳ｶﾊﾟｯ🐣ﾋﾟﾖ?

とりあえず(๑˙ⲻ˙)⊃🥚ﾀﾏｺﾞ…ﾔｰﾀﾞｰ

(> - <　)三(　> - <)

Σp📷ω･´)

(-□-□)✧𓌉𓇋 ‎🥩

(o尸ﾞ｀・ω・´)o尸ﾞ

ﾃﾚ…(//v//)／🍫

🌶 ‪🔥๛‪ก(ᐖก )‼️ｱﾘｶﾞﾄｳｰｶﾞﾗｼ節分

(꜆꜄ ˙꒳˙)꜆꜄꜆🥜🫘＼(･o･ )

(っ˙༥˙🍓)

⚠️( ;°‎‪艸｡) ｱｯﾌﾞﾈｰ⚠️ﾌﾞｫﾝ

(っ'-' )╮ =͟͟͞͞=͟͟͞͞=͟͞🥺

∠( ᐛ 🍙」∠)…待機

(〃^∇^)oお疲れさま～( ˙꒳​˙ )‪꜆☕️*°🍰*°ʙ𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼(ᯣ̅‎ᜂᯣ̅)👎

( ͜㊎ ･ω･) ͜㊎

🎤( ºoº)〜♪♬

( '-' )- ̗̀🤝 ̖́-( '-' )

O(･д･👌)Ｋ

(ง🕶)ว٩(🕶)۶(ง🕶)ว٩(🕶)۶

＼_(-ロдロ-)

( *¯ □¯*)なー( *¯ 罒¯*)にー

✌( ･᷅ὢ･᷄ )✧‬

🥒( '-' 🥒 )ｽﾞｯｷｰﾆｨ

ฅ( ̳• 。 • ̳🎀)و 💕

(っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞⚾ﾌﾞｫﾝ

🍄⸜( ¯⌓¯ )⸝🍄

🐣→🐥→🐤→🐔

⚡️⚡️⚡️=͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪ ‧̣̥̇)

((っ*｀👅´*))ﾍﾞｰｯだ！

(っ’-‘)╮ =͟͟͞͞💣

📖📚✍️(з_з)

₍₍ ᕕ(´ ω` )ᕗ⁾⁾

[📞・-・] 💬

( ¯⌓¯ )💭

( ´-ω- )💨

(っ˙༥˙🍊ｃ)

(✌^∀^)

♪└(ㅎ.ㅎ )♪┐♪└(ㅎ.ㅎ)┘♪┌( ㅎ.ㅎ)┘♪ﾖｼﾖｼ

( ´｡•ω•)ﾉ"(っ <。)

🌟𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 🎀♡(･O･｡)お(･▽︎･｡)や(･.･｡)ﾁｭ(･ｰ･｡)み

お昼ご飯(っ'-' )╮ =͟͟͞͞��

( 'ω'o[ おはよぅございます ]o

🍵( '-' 🍵)お疲れ様

🚬y(◣◢ﾒ)

(＾︺＾💧)..

((( ꒪₃꒪︎︎")ゞ💦

✨️👏🏻(⸝⸝⸝⸝神∀神⸝⸝⸝⸝)👏🏻✨️

(๑˘ ³˘๑)ﾁｭ～-` ̗ ❤︎ ̖ ´-♡´ ³`)ﾉ ～❤looº°˚˚°ºve❤(゜ε゜

((((((🤛(゜д゜)

( ๑"・・) ﾔﾊﾞｲ… 🔫( ˙꒳​˙ )💢

┐(`А′ ┐💢)ｼｬｧｧｧｧｱ

📣(ˊᗜˋ*)و⚑"

三('ω')三( ε: )三(.ω.)三( :3 )三('ω')三( ε: )三(.ω.)三

( :3 )(☞ᵒ̤̑ᗨᵒ̤̑)☞ 当た～り～ 🎯‼️

♡((*,,•ω(ω<,,*))ｷﾞｭ~ｯ

(っ'-' )╮ =͟͟͞͞♡ =͟͟͞͞♡ヽ( ˙꒳​˙ ヽ)ｷｬｯﾁ

（'‐'✋）

ﾊｰｲ💰⊂(￥∨￥)⊃💰

🔥(งσ_σ)ง🔥

🧋( '-' 🧋 )ﾀﾋﾟｵｶｧﾊﾟﾝﾁ

＿✍︎(・𖥦・ )ﾎｳﾎｳ

Please tell me if you end up using any of these! Which ones were your favorites?

(I dislike using emojis...) (｡¬_¬｡)

I might add more in the future... ♡( ⑉¯ ꇴ ¯⑉ )ﾂﾝﾂﾝ

I hope you all have a lovely day! Let's all use more kaomojis!! ୧꒰*´꒳`*꒱૭✧

[rizdoodls]

nyallo riz >:)) requesting more jadito pls pls spare some crumbs...

Awawa, thank you so much for asking me that, Tato! (❤️´艸｀❤️)

I’m glad you like my ship.(/≧▽≦)/(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Don’t worry, I’m currently working on some Jadito art, so it’s perfect timing 🔥🔥>:DDD

GNEHEHEHEHEHE

[merakiui]

MERA. ANGELS IN TIBET. HOLY SHIT MERA. THE WAY I IMMEDIATELY WOKE UP UPON SEEING MY NOTIFICATION, MERA I'M--

YOU COOKED BELOVED OJIISAN INTO PERFECTION 🔥🔥🔥

I don't have any coherent words to describe my emotions, besides the fact i'm kicking, rolling, and giggling on my bed everytime those pet names roll out of his mouth. That hint of possessiveness... (灬º 艸º灬) (灬º 艸º灬)

He is just sooooo AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OTL OTL OTL 💖💖💖 and i'm so WEAK for Sugar Daddy tropes and you wrote him so SO WELL,,, EXCEEDING MY EXPECTATIONS. I AM FLOORED. BURIED EVEN. DEAD. 🏳🏳🏳

Mera, i hope you're having a blessed day, a wonderful year even ✨✨✨

AAAAAA (〃´𓎟`〃)♡ OMG OMG!!!!! THANK YOU, KHEYY!!!!! I'm so happy it was a delicious meal cooked to perfection hehe!!!! Ojiisan is very scrumptious. ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) only the finest for our finely aged tako!!!!! I had to write something after seeing the Luxe Couture!!!!!! orz he's too handsome!!!!!!!! >:O

Even I was giggling and kicking my legs every time I wrote him saying those pet names!!!! (o/////o " ) he's too perfect and so suave....... and his possessive lines,,,, uuwuwaaaaa,, yes, nonno!!!! Lock your beloved in the cage and spoil her rotten!!!

I'm so weak for the sugar daddy trope and it works so wonderfully with Octavinelle. <3 aaaa thank you for enjoying the fic so much!!! I'm glad the portrayal was written so well!! WAAAA PLEASE DON'T DIE!!!! I AM DIGGING YOU UP FROM THE GRAVE AND RESURRECTING YOU,,,,, AZUL OJIISAN NEEDS YOU!!!! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[002yb]

I loved your take on sladejay and would adore to see Dick jealous but im dying to know how would it go when Jason finds out about Dick k'lling the joker. Does he knows it was for him? Does he think it was for Tim? That Dick preferes Tim? Or is he just so down for Dick doing that bc it was all he was asking and kinda hot?

Ahhh, thank you so much anon. You're very sweet; the encouragement is much appreciated. (♡´艸`)

Related to this.

It's Slade who tells Jason about what happened.

Apparently the other Robin got snatched from the nest by the Joker and Nightwing lost it.

And Slade - he has a twisted relationship with Dick. So this turn of events makes Slade so damn smug and borderline proud. Dick finally crossed that line and Slade is thrilled by it; his interest renewed.

'Hah,' Slade's laughter would be little more than a low breath of air, 'Always knew that boy had it in him.'

Meanwhile Jason is gutted because Dick - he killed Joker?

He wouldn't hear Slade over Jason's own thoughts, overwhelmed because for all of Jason's due consideration, he hadn't fathomed Nightwing into any of it. And now this news: Nightwing saved Robin.

Nightwing killed Joker for taking him, hurting him.

For once Tim isn't a thought in Jason's head. His only thought is of the Robin that was coming after the Robin that is and - Jason doesn't know what to do with that. It feels like his thoughts are racing and also nowhere at all. He's caught on it: Nightwing killed Joker. Nightwing saved Robin.

It's overwhelming. At the same time, Jason feels like he can finally fucking breathe. He shivers. He mourns that he wasn't there to see it. He wants to know more. He wants to understand how why and --

A pause. Confusion because Joker is alive.

'It's a shame Batman brought him back.'

It's unprompted, but Slade doesn't often need to be when it comes to Jason. He reads Jason like a book. They've been together off and on for a while now - Slade has seen Jason at his worst, built him up from the wreckage that was left after...after.

Batman -- Jason scowls. Everything returns to normal. His vendetta continues. And Slade is just as keen about that, too. He has a thing for Robins going off the deep end.

But yeah basically Jason doesn't know all the details at first but it doesn't matter because Nightwing did what was needed and that's hot af.

When it comes to light that Jason was specifically a catalyst for Dick losing it though, oh my. Jason is wrecked in a different sort of way. Because it goes from being a Robin thing to feeling like a Jason thing and that's - Jason’s breath shudders in his chest. And he has to sit with the confusion from that because why?

'You aren't his Robin,' Slade tells him, 'but you were the start of his legacy.'

[lenny-link]

Hi I just wanted to pop by and say that I love you/p bye

And also not to be silly but how the fuck did such a cool artist find my art holy fuck

thank you sm that is so sweet of you (●´艸｀)♡

and thank you for the constant support i really appreciate it ♡♡♡

and sorry for replying a year later..

im shy ( 〃．．)

[dandysnob]

I'm new, but to me it's Coccolino ciambellino rosso™ for sure!😆

It's a joy (or worrying???😂) to hear that even those who have just met me associate me with Coccolino Ciambellino Rosso! ❤️👐🏻🍩 Thank you! (♡´ 艸 `)

[kohuaz]

short ramble but i can't be the only one who's going absolutely /crazy/ over the suspense for agatha christie's appearance, in bungou stray dogs right? (。_°)☆

(warning: spoilers, theories and my takes on her by the way !!)

i mean, she was introduced /so/ early on in the series (in the end of the third volume, chapter 12: rashōmon and the tiger) alongside dostoevsky and fitzgerald, in that order. fitzgerald was the first to make a proper appearance with the guild, before moving onto the currently on-going conflict with Fyodor and his many connections with numerous organisations, the rats in the house of the dead, the alliance with dazai and shibusawa during dead apple, the decay of angels, so on and so forth. it would only make sense that agatha comes next as the third, and potentially final, big antagonist of BSD.

so far, she's made minimal appearances, i've counted two times she was actually on screen, but each and every time she is /so/ cold with it. Just take a look at her first appearance, for instance:

quite clearly she's in a position of power and influence where talk of the pursuit of the book itself and a seven billion yen bounty tiger connected to it is hardly considered an 'adversary worth dirtying [her] handwear over.'

her second main appearance was in the dead apple movie and manga, chapter 14.2 while making a call to the special division for unusual powers (idk how to make scans and couldn't find any online past vol 3, sorry (シ_ _)シ):

HELLO?? essentially, 'my condolences for the current affairs and ongoings in your city (｡•́︿•̀｡), regardless, we'll be burning it down by sunrise d(^_^o)'

/clearly/ she's got a lot of influence in the world of abilities; especially considering how it's the order of the clock tower who was in possession of the one order—one of the three great calamities as a product of the great war, mind you—to be sent out to stop the vampire apocalypse in season 5. and agatha's a /dame/ in that organisation: a knight commander. she /has/ to be influential (｡ >艸<)

\\ another little note, and my personal speculation, but when ranpo stated at the meeting in episode 55 (season 5, episode 5): at the port in the sky, 3 minutes 24 seconds in:

‚The tyrant of Europe, the master of Gifted warfare, is still waiting.’

COULD RANPO MEAN AGATHA, BY CHANCE? /THAT/ IS A //CRAZY// TITLE. MASTER OF GIFTED WARFARE? IM SO EXCITED FOR AGATHA’S APPEARANCE !! \(≧▽≦)/ \\ now his wasn't explicitly stated to be agatha, but considering what we know of her now, i wouldn't doubt that it's her !! (>ᴗ•) !

‚If they were to fight, based on sheer numbers, peace would be restored in six months or so.’

RESTORING PEACE WHEN OVER /SIXTEEN/ NATIONAL MILITARIES OF VAMPIRES WIEDLING WEAPONS ARE THEIR ENEMY IS /INSANE/ Σ(･口･)

IM SO HYPED FOR AGATHA \\ SHE’S MORE MYSTERIOUS THAN FYODOR (੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡

crime and punishment was such a plot twist and fyodor is probably the most /insane/ antagonist we've seen yet, so how is agatha going to trump this? we've already seen fitzgerald banded together with the agency in the fight against the decay of angels so maybe agatha will too \\ (though fitzgerald already had his 'fight the ada' arc so, maybe not (ᵕ—ᴗ—) (っ- ‸ - ς)) \\ but her plot twist must be /In.Sane/ (๑꒪▿꒪)*

i know asagiri is about to cook with this one (๑>◡<๑) \\ thanks for reading my ramblings

[candycryptids]

I just wanted to say thank you for being so enthusiastic and engaged with all the blorbos! Not only has it given me a chance to see all of your cutie OCs but it has given me a lot to ponder about my own Bnuy and new details on others. You are so wonderful!

Thank YOU ♡

(♡´艸`) holding this ask in my hands like a little baby bird or perhaps a marshmallow (I’m definitely not hungry),,, I’m so glad !!! It’s been a lot of fun getting to hear about people’s Blorbs and !!! YEAH it’s great the exchange of ideas gives food for thought about your own little creations…. Enriching each others gardens with variety !

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯❣ aaaaaaa this ask has me feeling like a little cup of glitter FR FR thank you 🥹

[call-me-copycat]

Hello once again! I'm very sorry for not posting as much, just trying to wait summer out (·︿· `)

Since I'm in the middle of a writing block due to the triple digit heat (Fahrenheit), I decided I'd try drawing until it gets cooler ₊♡⁺⋆ ʕ๑'ꇴ'๑ʔ

I decided since it's August that I'd go with something Fall themed (too excited for the cool weather)

Notes:

• I'm messing around with line art again, this time I'm testing out different thicknesses ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

° The line art is free to color/alter, as long as I get credit of course (please tag me if used, that's all!) (๑>ᴗ<๑)

• I'm not the best with backgrounds, so sorry if this one is a bit more abstract ‪(´•ᴗ• ก )‬՞ ՞

° If you wish to be tagged so you'd be notified whenever I post some art, please let me know! That being said, if you don't want to be tagged anymore, I'll also gladly take you off the list!

• Feedback, questions, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated! (˶ᐢᗜᐢ˶)

Tags:

♡ @tired-teacher-blog

♡ @twanettee

♡ @anime-for-the-sleepless

♡ @nyantarodog

♡ @bokunocolor

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Thank you all for the kind feedback and comments despite my lack of energy! It really means a lot to me, and I appreciate each and every one of you all!

I look forward to writing in the future! But for now it'll be just drawings (*´艸`)ﾌﾌﾌｯ♡

I wish you all a lovely day and more!

[angelicdewdrop]

do you have a pinterest? your posts are saur cute!!

awww thank you angel (ㅅ´ ˘ `)ꕤ*.ﾟ i do have a pinterest my username is ikittnz!!! its linked below <3

[insurrection-if]

The scream I let out when I read that we COULD have a poly with Fyodor and Misha ≥∆≤

Still hoping for a full romance with Bones tho JUST LET ME MARRY YOU YOU IDIOT 💗💗💗 AFFECTION ATTACK💗💞💕💓💗💓💕💞

Aha, a Fyodor and Mishka “poly” isn’t exactly a, uh, ‘happy’ arrangement. (´・ω・｀) It’s more so a peace treaty than anything else.

Really, it's all . . . messy. So messy. (●´ω｀●)

It would work itself out in time. Somewhat, yes. Sort of. Mockingbird can’t quite have their cake and eat it too.

There'll be consequences. Fyodor is monogamous, Mishka is a 'doomed' romance . . . the poly does not write off these factors. It's all gasoline to the fire. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Yes, the bond between Fyodor and Mishka is more than that of friends or kin, more than that of those bound by choice or blood. They are distinct beings, but their hearts and minds are as interwoven as their fate. The poly won't break that emotional bond, almost nothing could hope to break that bond at this point, but it'll create some scars that weren't there before.

More than that, the fate that awaits them both at the end of their road will be made all the more bitter and sweet if the poly comes to pass. Far more painful too, and it's a pain that'll have a much stronger echo in the years to come.

Goodness, it’s so much angst. ゞ◎Д◎ヾ

To sum up the poly, essentially, in the eyes of Fyodor and Mishka (for their own respective reasons):

Oh goodness, and a full romance with Bones . . . Well, I'm happy to know that you're fond of him enough to wish for one! ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧ Please do give that poor man an affection attack—though you might just resurrect his heart enough to give him a heart attack instead, haha!

Aha, and now I keep can’t stop imaging Bones at his own wedding. (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ That, and Bones rather liking being (affectionately) called an idiot by Mockingbird, haha!

His romance would have been so smooth if Mockingbird were a CARDINAL. Awkward, yes. Stumbling too, somewhat, since Elov isn’t quite the natural romantic. Angst-ridden still? Of course, because what is Bones without his angst, haha! But, in another world, it would have been an easily feasible romance, nonetheless.

If you wish to blame someone for Mockingbird’s lack of a CARDINAL status—and, thus, impossibility of a full romance with the minor ROs—other than myself as the author (haha!) then blame Uncle Fletcher. ( ´ 艸｀)

Thanks for this message; your excitement and passion are super infectious! (　´∀｀)b

[lovesick-feelings]

Hello! FIRST OFF I WANTED TO TELL U THAT I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR ARTSTYLE!! ITS SO CUTE!! AND! I LOVE YOUR BLOG THEME,, REALLY CUTE WITH THE SHADE OF PINK!! ALSO! I WANTEDCTO ASK!! WHAT GADGET DO U USE TO DRAW DIGITALLY!! AND LASTLY!! HAPPY LATE NEW YEAR!!

Thank you so much, dearie! You have no idea how much it means to me to read this!! (♡´艸`) To answer your question, I use a flip Chromebook to draw. It's way easier (and less expensive ⊙‿⊙) for me personally than to use a drawing tablet. Hope this helps and Happy very late New Year to you too!

[wave-nine]

Your artworks are amazing!!! I really love it!!!! (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

Thank you!!!! ( ♡´艸`)💖✨️✨️✨️