#oh my god it's out in the world!!!!

[themirokai]

After all the lead up... it's here! Three years after posting the last story in my Mystrade spy series, His Professional Capacity, I'm back with a new installment.

The Bell Bird - Chapter 1

When a known assassin comes to London, Mycroft brings Greg along for some spying.

Tags: Assassins, Spies, Mycroft's job, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft's work kids, Mycroft is a softie

2,744 words

If you just want to know the basics of the world and the characters before jumping in to this story, I recommend reading Protégé. If you want to get all the references, start with What He Does and read through the series from there. Each post has the next one linked at the bottom, or you can read them all on AO3.

The first chapter contains spoilers for the Count of Monte Cristo. If you haven't read that and plan to, I recommend skipping from where the characters start talking about it to the section break.

This story is completely written and is just being edited at this point. I anticipate posting a new chapter every Sunday, but we'll see.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

“I’ll see you for lunch.” The words were murmured against Greg’s cheek, followed by a soft kiss. Greg woke just enough to grunt an “Uh-huh” in response before sinking back into his pre-dawn sleep. 

“Hey, boss!” Sally called from the other side of the crime scene they were studying. Greg looked up at her, and she jutted her chin towards the street. “That’s for you, innit?” 

Greg followed her gaze to the sleek black sedan waiting by the kerb. He swore. It wasn’t that he had forgotten that he had agreed to meet Mycroft at his office for lunch, he had just lost track of the time. “Sally, is there any way you could—” 

“Yeah, boss.” She grinned. “I’ve got it. Just try not to look too dishevelled when you come back, alright?” 

Greg rolled his eyes. It had been one time in the early days when he and Mycroft could hardly keep their hands off each other, that he had pulled himself out of a black sedan looking slightly worse for wear. They had been through a lot since then: a hostage situation, the following recovery, an assassination attempt—and, of course, they had now lived together for well over a year. But Sally was covering for him, so he took the teasing without protesting that his days of acting like a horny teenager were behind him. 

“Thanks, Sarge!” he called as he stood and dusted a few stray blades of grass off the knees of his trousers, then trotted over to the car. He opened the front passenger door and smiled at the driver. “Hey, Lucy.” 

“Hey yourself,” Lucy replied, unable to suppress her grin even though she was annoyed. “Get in. You’re late. You could have let me know you wouldn’t be at the Met.” 

Lucy Simmons and Mycroft had been junior agents together at the beginning of their careers. But just as Mycroft’s star was starting to rise, there had been an accident. Mycroft hadn’t given Greg details except to say that an innocent person had died as a result of Lucy’s actions. Reading between the lines of what Mycroft had felt he could say, Greg concluded that the incident had broken Lucy’s spirit and she had left the Service.

Later, when Mycroft needed a driver, he had found Lucy and asked her to come work for him. He had told her that he wanted someone who had intelligence experience and the proper security clearance, but didn’t have ambitions within the Service. Greg privately suspected that Mycroft had also wanted to make sure Lucy had a stable job with a good paycheck. 

“Sorry,” Greg winced. “New murder.” He pulled out his mobile to text Mycroft. Running late, in car now. Very distracting murder, sorry. Still good for lunch? 

“No novel?” Greg asked Lucy, looking around for the paperback she kept on hand for the times between driving Mycroft places. Greg liked Lucy a lot, but she was tight-lipped about anything personal, so books always fuelled their conversation when it was just the two of them in the car. 

Lucy sighed and touched the tight bun in her greying hair. “Glove box. Don’t poke fun.” 

Greg’s mobile pinged with Mycroft’s reply. I would still like you to come, but we will be a bit more rushed than I had intended.

Greg sighed as he texted back. Sorry. Love you.

“You reading a bodice-ripper?” Greg put his mobile away and opened the glove box to pull out a thick tome. “Count of Monte Cristo? Again, Lucy? How many times have you read this book?” 

“I said not to poke fun!” 

“I’m not poking fun. I am asking how many times you’ve read it.” He waved the book at her.

“It is the perfect book!” she said defensively. “It has pirates and buried treasure and star-crossed lovers and fighting and poison and wildly complicated revenge plots!”

“And all of the female characters are ridiculous one-dimensional parodies,” Greg said, depositing the book back in the glove box. 

“Ok, Mr. Enlightened Feminist, most of the male characters are that too.”

“And a child gets murdered and the accessory to murder completely gets away with it!”

“Listen, copper, it was a bratty child and an accident, and the accessory felt bad.”

“Yeah, he felt bad as he went off to live his life of luxury with his child bride who literally saw him as a father figure!” 

“There are well over a thousand pages of good stuff before that slightly questionable ending.”

“Uh huh. And how many times have you read those thousand pages of good stuff?”

“A few,” she admitted. “But I average two books a week, the vast majority of which are new to me, so I can have some literary comfort food sometimes.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease. Oh! I started reading this new space opera a few days ago; it’s incredible.”  

Greg exited the lift to Anthea’s slightly disapproving gaze. “They’re waiting for you,” she said by way of greeting. 

“They?” Greg frowned and she waved him into the office. 

“Sir, there’s no reason to do it this way!” The thick Scottish accent met Greg’s ears the moment he opened the sound-proofed door. 

“The reason to do it this way, Mr. Romer, is that I say we are doing it this way, and that is sufficient.” Mycroft’s tone was calm and definitive. 

Greg entered to see Mycroft seated behind his large mahogany desk with Agent Peter Romer pacing in front and Agent Fatima Ahmad lounging in one of the chairs. Romer’s hair was short and blonde, a look Greg hadn’t seen on him before, but it worked, particularly with the slim-fit light grey suit the young agent was sporting.

Greg assumed that Ahmad had clothing other than jeans and a leather jacket, but he had yet to see it. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, letting her long black braid hang down behind, the picture of languid grace. 

They all looked up as Greg stepped into the room. 

“Oh good,” Romer said, smirking. “Silver Fox made it after all.” 

Mycroft’s smile was warm but a little strained. “Gregory. I had hoped we would have time to eat before Romer and Ahmad got here, but—” 

Greg grimaced as he crossed the plush carpet. “Yeah, sorry, love. Got sidetracked by a new murder.” Greg quickly decided that he didn’t mind kissing Mycroft in front of the others. After all, they had both worked Mycroft’s security detail: it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. Still, he settled for a chaste kiss on the cheek before taking the chair beside Ahmad’s. “So, is this a group lunch?”

“No, Gregory,” Mycroft said, “we need to speak with you about a professional matter.”

 “Oh, no,” Greg groaned. “My latest vic was a spy?”

“No, no. Nothing to do with any of your cases. One of Ahmad’s assignments actually.” 

Greg looked at the woman with interest as she pulled herself up in her chair. 

“There is a very skilled assassin whom I have tracked for a number of years called the Bell Bird,” Ahmad said, cracking her knuckles. “She works for hire and is not affiliated with any government or organisation as far as I’ve been able to tell. She’s American, and her cover is that she is an opera singer.”

“It’s not just a cover,” Mycroft interjected. “She’s a virtuosic soprano. A sought-after recitalist who has recorded several albums that have sold very well.”

“Her career as a singer, legitimate though it may be,” Ahmad acknowledged, “has provided cover for her extralegal activities. She has a performance in a city, and while she’s there someone turns up dead. It’s never anyone who has a link to her, but we believe that she sometimes makes contact with her clients at her performances. I’ve been able to link her to ten murders in the five years I’ve been tracking her.” 

Greg’s jaw dropped. “Ten murders? And you haven’t brought her in?” 

“She has never worked in the United Kingdom,” Mycroft said. “And her activities have not… conflicted with our interests to this point.” 

“Yeah, but ten murders is ten murders!” 

“We are not international police, Gregory. I could no more arrest her for a murder that happened in Paris or Singapore than you could.” 

“Then why follow her?” 

“Because we want to know what someone like that is up to,” Romer put in from where he leaned against the desk, hands in the pockets of his trousers. 

“And because by following her, we now know that she is coming to the United Kingdom,” Mycroft said. “To London, in fact.” 

Greg’s eyes widened. “Why now?” 

“We don’t know, but we intend to find out.” Mycroft leaned forward over his desk. 

Greg looked between the three of them. “Are… you planning to have me investigate the murder she does here?” 

Romer snorted. “That’s a more reasonable guess than the actual plan.” 

“We don’t actually know if she’s planning a murder here.” Mycroft’s glare removed the smirk from Romer’s face. “The fact that she’s never worked here, despite being a native speaker of the language – well, the American version of the language – is notable. She does have singing engagements that seem to be unconnected to her murder-for-hire work, and it is entirely possible that she is coming for one of those.” 

The looks on Ahmad’s and Romer’s faces clearly showed what they thought of that possibility. 

“Next week she will be performing at an invite-only fundraiser for the arts education charity I support, and I have received an invitation,” Mycroft continued. “I shall be attending, and I would like you to accompany me, Gregory.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want to go hear a murderer sing? Isn’t that what you have this lot for?” Greg waved a hand at Romer and Ahmad. “And, I don’t know, all of your other field agents?” 

“Romer and Ahmad have both secured places on the catering staff for the event, and Wilkinson and Yang will at least be nearby as well,” Mycroft said, referring to the two agents who were currently on his security detail. “If the prospect alarms you, Gregory, I can attend alone—” 

“I’m not alarmed about me attending, Mycroft, I’m alarmed about you attending!” Greg turned to Romer. “How many people are trying to kill him?”

“More than you have clearance to know about,” the young man replied. 

“And you want to go cosy up to an international assassin?” Greg asked Mycroft.

“Don’t be dramatic, Gregory, there will be no ‘cosying up.’ I want to use an easy opportunity to see what the woman is up to, and who she meets there. By doing so, we may be able to prevent a murder. I was hoping that you would agree to join me to add your considerable observational skill to the operation, as well as to be on hand if something goes awry.” 

Romer jumped in before Greg could reply. “A role that – if you insist on attending – could easily be played by a trained field agent, sir.” 

“Yes, Romer,” Mycroft’s tone contained a hint of irritation, “but as we have discussed, I will be using no more than my standard cover for this event, as the invitation was issued to me. Gregory is my partner and I have no desire to complicate things by bringing another individual to an event we would be expected to attend as a couple.” 

“Sir, you were ‘married’ to Agent Forrester for a year in Bilbao,” Romer protested, doing the air quotes. 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never talked to you about that operation. Are they teaching that in training now?” He sighed at Romer’s nod. “Christ, I feel old.” He shook his head. “Regardless, the fact that a female colleague and I posed as a married couple during an extended overseas operation a number of years ago has no bearing on this situation. Mycroft Holmes of the Department for Transport received an invitation to attend with a guest and I shall be attending. I fail to understand why you are trying to overcomplicate this, Romer.” 

“And I fail to understand why you two,” Greg levelled looks at Ahmad and Romer, “aren’t kicking up more of a fuss about him attending at all.” 

“She doesn’t kill at her performances,” Ahmad said simply. “It would ruin her excellent cover. It’s much more likely that she’s going to make contact with her client there. The odds are quite high that Mr. Holmes will be perfectly safe, and they only improve if you’re aware of the situation and are on your toes and maybe armed. Romer’s just being stroppy because he never got over the situation with the Russians, and Mr. Holmes sending him to the Continent for four months didn’t help like it was intended to.” 

“Oi!” Romer protested.  

Plus,” Ahmad ignored Romer and looked Mycroft right in the eye, “the boss has been behind that desk since Syria, and he gets tetchy when it’s been this long since his last op.” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Get out, both of you. Romer, I want the revision of your Oslo report in an hour. Ahmad, I’m sure you have something to do that does not involve insubordination and antagonising your colleagues.” 

Both agents gave a “yes, sir,” before leaving. 

“Syria,” Greg said quietly, once the door had shut behind them. Mycroft’s face became immediately inscrutable. “You’ve never said where…” Greg trailed off, waited for some kind of reaction or response, but Mycroft just watched him in silence. It had been eighteen months since Mycroft had been taken hostage. Eighteen months since he had been beaten, choked, and forced to watch his team be hurt. They only talked about it in the most abstract terms, and usually only after Mycroft woke screaming from nightmares, when Greg would hold him and stroke his hair and his back until the shaking stopped. 

Greg cleared his throat. “Was she not supposed to say that? Is my clearance not high enough to know where you were?” 

It was a strange thing, seeing emotion return to his partner’s face. Fatigue, sadness, a little fear. “It is now,” Mycroft murmured, looking away from him, “since I had it raised last year. I can’t give you details but the location is permitted. I just…” 

Greg stood and rounded the desk, half perching beside Mycroft and cupping his cheek in his hand, turning his face up. “It’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk about it.” Greg leaned down for a kiss, warm and gentle. 

When they broke apart Mycroft smiled up at him and squeezed his thigh. “Thank you, Gregory,” he whispered. 

Greg kissed his forehead again before sitting back with a slightly mischievous smile. “So you’ve been tetchy with the kids lately?” 

Mycroft snorted in surprised amusement, but then sighed. “I suppose I get a bit… nitpicky. When I haven’t been directly involved in an operation for a while.” He rubbed his forehead. “A slight tendency towards more criticism than is strictly necessary with my subordinates.”

“You? Nitpicky? I can’t even imagine!” Greg grinned. 

Mycroft shot him a slightly sour look. “Be that as it may, while it is certainly possible to do my job in a purely supervisory capacity, and that is how my predecessor did it, I believe a more hands-on approach leads to better results. And it keeps me from going mad.” 

Greg bit his lower lip and chuckled. “Alright, so to maintain your sanity and to keep your agents from finding other employment, we’re going to spy on an international assassin who is singing a charity concert?” 

Mycroft paused to consider for a moment. “That’s about the shape of it, yes.”  

“When’s this happening? Do I get any spy training first?” 

“The concert is next week and no, you don’t need any special training beyond your already considerable detective skills. As Ahmad said, we just want you to be aware of the situation and on your guard. The spying, as it were, is well in hand.” 

“So I’ll get to observe you in the field? One of the best?” 

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. “There is no ‘one of,’ Gregory.”

“Hah!” Greg laughed. “Not bothering with modesty today, darling?” 

Mycroft smirked. “There is little less attractive than false modesty, my love.” 

Greg snorted and shook his head. “Ridiculous how hot I find it when you’re being an arrogant twit.” He leaned in for another kiss, this one neither chaste nor gentle. 

~*~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, I appreciate if you let me know!

Chapter 2 is up now.

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Why are you running?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ash-and-starlight]

one day, in a thousand years

[ask-the-pioneer]

"Hunter is my mentor. When I was found, hungry and scared, he brought me to his iterator's superstructure, and it became my new home. To my surprise, two other slugpups inhabited the premises already. Both of them got also, well, adopted by him. These scugs were just a little older than me, so I finally had friends to play with (and not feel so incredibly alone anymore)."

"In the following cycles, Hunter would venture out on «expeditions»... and would almost always come back with a new little friend. Our group grew over time, and we founded our own small colony. A bunch of kids and one adult is a valid colony, right? It felt right to be amongst my own kind, even if it was hard in the beginning. I did not know how to properly socialize, considering my troubled past. I had to learn a lot of things on the go."

"Before all that, during my time with the scavenger toll tribe, I would occasionally see other slugcats, too. But those scugs either gave us a wide berth, or the tribe would hide me away whenever someone crossed the toll. I think I was too much of a valuable asset to them, they didn't want me to get killed or kidnapped... but that also meant constant supervision, and little to no contact with the outside world. Of course, all that ended... when..."

[Marbles is visibly uncomfortable, but continues her story anyway]

"... uh, well... when they all died. Something got to them. At that time, I thought it was a big lizard, or even a vulture, but the claw marks were small... and, a predator would kill to eat, right? They would be eaten, and yet, they were all left there. Some with burned body parts, and wounds from explosives. The only logical explanaiton I can think of, is that another tribe wiped them out. But why would they do that? There were no warning signs, no previous skirmishes. I ran away as fast as I could - I was so sure I'd perish too if I lingered there for too long. That was the moment I escaped death for the second time..."

"Um, it's... fine? There weren't as many scavengers near NHS' structure anyway, and they stayed out our way. But here, all around Five Pebbles, there's so many of them... and so many pearls, too. It's a gold mine. I can't wait to see what I find or trade for here. I did notice though, the scavengers living in this area are more nervous and jumpy. They seem not to like strangers, be it scug, scav, or any other creature. I have to be more careful around them, sign slowly and clearly that I mean no harm."

[Her ear flicks and she turns her head around, staring into the distance for a moment, before turning it back]

"Another curious thing I've noticed, are those big scavengers roaming around in groups of three or four. They wield sparkling spears and don painted vulture masks. A scary sight to behold... makes me wonder if those are warriors from the aforementioned Metropolis? I want to go there, but I'm a little scared now..."

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 101

 The Fentons have created a machine! A wonderful machine that will reveal a ghost’s true form! So that everyone will see their trickery! They’ll see that the monsters they really are! 

 Now, to know what all went wrong, one would have to know some things about the ghost zone, and more specifically the area the Fentons had managed to punch through to. 

 For one, ghosts do not age like humans. Oh they might take a form similar to that of their death, which may appear as an adult or teen or something similar, but with how they can only die by the complete destruction of their core, theoretically a ghost could live forever once formed. 

 In fact, the equivalent of eighteen years for a ghost was one-hundred realms-years dead. And those years don’t always sync up with the years of the living world that one might open a door into. Thankfully, the Fenton’s world, being one of those synced closer to the Realms, only had a time dilation of a few seconds. 

 That being said, the area their portal had ripped into was incredibly rich in ectoplasm. And areas like that, were where newborn ghosts were formed and arrived. A ghost daycare of sorts, almost akin to a toddler area of the zone. 

 Which meant that when they shoot the Phantom-menace and other pesky ghosts to revert them into their true form, it isn’t exactly monsters that appear. Instead, there are now several ghost toddlers- or in the phantom-trio’s case literal babies- flying around. Very unhappy ghost toddlers. 

 What a horrible time for the Justice League to arrive. Though perhaps some would say it was actually perfect timing. 

[bethfuller]

old doors to the land of the dead

follow my instagram !

[crazyexmormon]

i actually think ppl dealing with religious trauma by having an edgy atheist phase is fine. I actually think maybe the kid who makes sorta cringey jokes at the expense of a cult they're trapped in should be allowed to do that. Yes I roll my eyes when I see people calling it "the book of moron" but I also remember being fourteen and seeing someone do that and how incredibly powerful it felt so I think maybe it being a bit cringe in retrospect is fine.

[hdra77]

THE CHRONOMANCER CAMPAIGN CONCEPT

This is going to be a long post explaining about my slugcat oc's concept and their abilities!

also just a quick reminder i'm not good at explaining stuff in general so i hope an explanation with visuals is easier to understand!

the chronomancer needed 8 food pips for hibernation and extra two for storage

this slugcat doesn't have a stomach storage because it needs all the pips it can store in its stomach to compensate for its energy use.

its special ability is state binding. with this ability the slugcat is able to bind an object, leaving a golden glow in its place.

and if the ability is used again the object the slugcat is holding will teleport back to its place.

Sub ability of state binding And arguably more useful If the slugcat is standing in the afterimage when the object is teleported back The momentum 'stores' in the item itself And the yellowish glow on the object becomes intense

but the more the slugcat store its momentum it will lead to them being exhausted since it consumes so much energy and magic from the force

heres a poorly drawn demonstration how the chronomancer's general ability works

now more about their ability. they have this 'vision' ability where they are able to 'phase through walls' but heres the catch. when this ability is activated their surroundings change, which makes the slugcat get a glimpse into the past and what the place used to look back in those days. they cant always have this ability activated for a longer amount of time and it will wear out after 30 seconds

i have this idea where this ability would be very useful in puzzles and such.

this idea is still a work in progress but i wanted to share this here to hear what you guys think! ^^ and maybe if its possible the chronomancer can even become a mod of its own in the future!

also some extra bits here:

like chronomancer's vision form and present form seperatedly

any questions are welcomed!!

[sergle]

you bitches have got to watch Scavengers Reign if you haven't yet, i'm only a few episodes in and it's already completely unlike anything else i've ever seen

[marclef]

a special gift for you guys, for this very important Fake Peppino Friday.... after a week of near-continuous work, i present to you the biggest mess i've posted so far to tumblr:

The Fake Peppino Headcanon/Biology/Anatomy/Whatever the heck this is Post

really just a bunch of headcanons, ideas, and other stuff i've complied together for Fake Peppino, illustrated to the best of my ability. i hope you enjoy! ✨✨✨

(caution: lots of text and assorted Frogs up ahead)

now.... who's ready for walls of text and drawings?

Fake Peppino is a homunculus, made in the shape of Peppino by Pizzahead. He's much taller than the real Peppino, 8 feet tall compared to Peppino's 5 1/2 feet. He was created using the DNA from Peppino (either skin or hair cells), old pizza, and frogs (think Jurassic Park). His entire body, including the hat and "clothes", is comprised of a strange goop, with no flesh organs or bones, though certain areas are made out of specialized goo, meant for an intended purpose.

He can stretch his body to inhuman lengths, though he usually only does this with his legs, mouth, tongue, and arms. His goopy body is extremely strong, able to withstand tearing and most puncture wounds. Attacks from knives or similar weapons are pointless, as it doesn't really harm him, and will likely just lead to him absorbing the knife into himself and retaliating. However, repeated attacks, especially physical blows, can tire him out, and explosives can harm him, splitting his body into pieces if particularly strong. This doesn't kill him, though, since he can reform his body.

If threatened, or trying to get into a tight spot, Fake Peppino can deform his body into a blob-like mass, allowing him to flee, squeeze into small areas, or melt into the floors/walls. He usually keeps his eyes and brain intact, to see his surroundings and act accordingly. The rest of his body, despite deforming and becoming mushy, can still function, meaning he could still eat in this form if he wanted to. He finds tights spaces comfortable, and can often be found squeezed into unlikely places, such as small containers, trash cans, and cabinets.

If greatly threatened, though, or sufficiently angered, Fake Peppino can pool all of the energy into his body into growing larger, by rapidly burning energy into making more goop/cells. This is very tiring, generally only used as a last resort. The process generally makes his head and body much larger, with his limbs, as well as eyes/brain, staying mostly the same size. He is dumber in this state, with all energy and thought going into eliminating the target, something that Fake Peppino doesn't like. He avoids lashing out like this unless he absolutely needs to.

Despite his frog DNA, Fake Peppino doesn't do well with water or other similar liquids. Thanks to his sturdy stomach walls, he can drink most liquids just fine, even fluids that would be dangerous to humans. It's his outside "skin" that's the problem, since it can't absorb liquid properly. Prolonged contact with water or other liquid will quickly cause him to deform, unable to keep his humanoid form, until he's sufficiently dried off/absorbed the liquid properly. He greatly dislikes being wet because of this, and will go to great lengths to avoid it. Warmer liquids are slightly more tolerable, being much more comfortable, so warm, bubbly baths are welcome.

The brain and eyes are connected directly, with the brain protected by Fake's squishy head, and the eyes popping out the widened eye sockets. The brain is made of very specialized goop, and works very similarly to a human brain, sending signals to all parts of Fake Peppino's body.

However, despite it being the central control center of his body, smaller bits of brain cell goop are distributed through the rest of his body, allowing him to control other parts separately. So, even if parts of him are detached or otherwise removed, he can still control them, for a time. After some time, these parts die off though, losing control and deforming into inert goop. He mainly uses this ability to split "clones" off of himself, controlling them to attack perceived threats.

Being made of goop, Fake's brain can withstand damage a normal brain can't, but he still prefers to keep it protected underneath his head. It dries out a bit in the open, too, which he finds uncomfortable.

Fake Peppino's eyes are very strong. Though he's often seen with a cross-eyed look to him, he's constantly watching his surroundings, even if it doesn't seem it. He has excellent night vision, often using this ability to easily stalk and sneak up on prey in the dark without being spotted.

He doesn't need to blink, but he still closes his eyes to sleep, when he's very happy, or during certain actions, such as swallowing. His eyes are one of the most vulnerable parts of his body, though, and attacking them would be a way to easily disorient him.

Fake Peppino's sense of smell is also impressive, being able to smell things long before he sees them. He uses this ability to easily find food, prey, or simply something he wants. The mustache under his nose (which, same as his "hair", is also made of goop) is sensitive, and he doesn't like others touching it.

Fake Peppino often sniffs things he's interested in, including strangers, to try to get a sense for them. He never forgets a particular smell, which makes it easy to tell if a familiar person is nearby. He often sniffs others while holding them or being given attention, likely as a form of interaction. Plus, he just thinks most others smell nice.

Despite, like the rest of him, being made of goop, Fake Peppino's teeth can harden to be extremely tough. They soften if he needs them to, such as when he deforms. His bite force is very, very strong, comparable to a hippo's bite. He doesn't chew his food too often, though, and only really chews up food he finds particularly tasty, such as pizza. His frog-like instinct usually compels him to swallow most foods whole. His teeth are more often used to grip things, such as prey items, or to carry things around. He enjoys carrying things he likes around, and will carry smaller friends around gently with his mouth.

The stretchiest part of Fake Peppino's body is his tongue, which can stretch to several times his body length. It is very sticky, coated with a clear, saliva-like goop that fills the inside of his mouth as well. Like a frog, he uses it to grab onto and eat food from afar, or to grab items he doesn't feel like using his arms to. It's very strong, and can drag even very heavy objects. The tongue's extreme flexibility allows him to reach it nearly anywhere, even down his own throat if he really wanted.

Usually, Fake Peppino uses his tongue to snatch fleeing prey items, and he can wrap it around their body to make them easier to eat. He often leaves his tongue dangling slightly out of his mouth, due to its length, but also making it easy to strike with if needed.

Fake Peppino's "stomach" is a very special case. It functions like both an organic stomach, and similarly to a lung as well, constantly moving by pushing air in and out of himself. He can use this to inflate his body, making himself bigger for intimidation (like some frogs do), or to shrink himself down by releasing all air from himself; this is generally used if a prey item is being uncooperative, to cause them to suffocate. To help keep live prey in place as well, he's able to close off his throat with a mass of goop, preventing escape.

The constant movement of the stomach makes digesting meals easier, allowing them to be coated by a specialized goop that absorbs and dissolves what it covers, like stomach acids. Fake Peppino's stomach can digest almost everything, aside from very tough materials, such as most metals, very solid plastics, tough minerals (like rocks), and bones. Anything he can't digest, he simply spits up eventually, generally in a place it can be disposed of, such as the trash.

His stomach is very sturdy and stretchy, able to withstand almost anything, and can stretch as much as needed to fit what's inside. As such, there's not much of a limit to how much Fake Peppino can eat. Eating too much makes him sluggish, though, as his body tries to process it all. Fake Peppino is most content with a reasonably-full stomach, and is generally quite calm and relaxed after a large meal. Belly rubs at this point are greatly appreciated.

If needed to, he can reach his arms back into his own throat, to grab something from inside of his stomach. He doesn't do it often, due to most things he eats being digestible, making carrying stuff around in there fairly pointless. This is only ever really the case if it's something too difficult to spit up, or something that wasn't supposed to be eaten in the first place.

There is no further digestive system, however; all food eaten is 100% absorbed in the stomach. Everything he eats is converted into more goop like him, leaving no trace behind, unless it is undigestible. Bones from eaten prey such as rats get thrown out, or disposed of in an appropriate spot.

and... though I didn't get to drawing them, here's a couple extra unsorted headcanons/dumb little tidbits I just felt like sharing!

He makes lots of strange sounds, communicating more through groans and frog-like croaks than trying to speak. He CAN talk, but not well, mostly in broken, short sentences, and usually speaks "backwards". He can understand others just fine, though he struggles with especially long and complicated words. The sounds he makes when not talking are generally unintelligable, but his mood and tone can indicate how he feels. He uses the ability to inflate his body to produce very loud, aggressive sounds when trying to ward off threats.

His gooey body is what allows him to cling to walls and ceilings with ease. He sticks to walls while trying to stalk prey, or just to play around with friends. Though, in some cases, he'll cling against the walls or ceiling if frightened, finding them a safe vantage point. If you're in the dark and feel something creeping its way towards you, it's likely Fake Peppino, silently stalking you from the walls.

Despite his inhuman traits, Fake Peppino generally doesn't like the idea of eating humans. He still sees himself as somewhat human from his time spent believing he was the real Peppino. Attacking or eating things he doesn't see as prey is kept as a last resort, or if he's extremely angered. As of now in my canon/AU, there is only one person Fake Peppino has killed in this way. He didn't like the taste.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

saw @chez-cinnamon's absolutely BANGER butterfly!Howdy design and couldn't resist! two fluffy flutterbyes <3 solidarity

[paintpanic]

Malevolent gods

Are better than none

[just-null]

the way you drew kokichi .. i think im ascending to the heavens .. i see the light .. chest collapsing .. heartbeat flatlining ..

oho, a Kokichi enjoyer!! tysm!! it was my first time drawing him at the time so im glad i didnt fail him. i dont want to fail any of the kyoto group. i love them all!! even w my clear favoritism

he's nice too, a bit more expressive than Noritoshi so i can finally draw something that isnt :| or >:( even if it isnt by much- i like him too

I like how he's both a dick but also kinda sweet. He's a different flavor of tsun... i can use this. my knowledge on him is limited but FROM WHAT I SAW IN THE WIKI OH MY GOD???????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! KOKICHI!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whaliiwatching]

HI i am neurotic over ur art . its so lovely and the style is everything 2 me <3. i love ur unmasked noir so much . he is so silly . hope ur having a great day :-D!!! ty for sharing ur funny spiders with the world

thank you!!! they are listening to anarchy in the uk