#🐇.oc

[ohprcr]

I almost forgot to post these here, some of my favorite oc-tober/inktober entries this year!

[fraiserabbit]

family matters

john dory (13), bruce (12), clay (9), floyd (4)

after his harrowing experience floyd has taken to following his brothers around, any brother as long as he's not alone.

some months into living with the putt putt trolls, clay mentioned wanting to go see grandma and his brothers. he never asked again.

they'd chase their kids around as the monster at playtime..we made such an adorable family for CREEK of all trolls 💀 (rush and serenity created by me n @meisawkwardashecc)

she loves her brother but holy shit bro

[laroserie]

— character : yandere!omega oc

— content : x beta gender neutral reader , bullets point , yandere , unhealthy / toxic behavior , omegaverse , yandere!omega oc is a he / him pronouns && he is described as feminine , reader is 'you' and is kinda obvious

— authors note : this is more like small headcanons mixed with a bit of story. i had a shit ton of daydreams about it but urgh i hate it but i haven't posted in a while so

⦁ you and yandere!omega have been friends since childhood ! you both lived close, went to the same primary school so it was not surprise that you both became friends. up until high school you both had a pretty regular friendship, yes you were close but not too close.

⦁ at least it's how you saw it, to him you were his precious dear friend. he used to get bullied a lot because of his 'feminine' body and face but you were always here for him, to support him, telling him 'Asper, you are so handsome, they tell you that kind of stuff because they are jealous of you !'. he started loving you from that time onwards. he kept his feelings for himself wanting to keep being friends, just being at your side was enough for him

⦁ in middle school you both learned more in depth about 'secondary gender' and ... Asper had this fantasy of you both becoming a pair, he honestly didn't care either he'd be the alpha or omega, he just wanted you to be his counterpart so you could form a bond together and be linked together for ever.

⦁ and it was during your first year of high school that you got tested to know your secondary gender. Asper was ... ecstatic to say the least when he got his result - sure, being a omega may mean facing a bit of discrimination but he was a omega ! which mean he could be your mate ! he was so sure you were an alpha, he was so ready to confess his love to you and ask you to bite and claim him, for him to be your and for you to his.

⦁ after reading his result he directly turned to you - you were seated in the seat behind him, and he showed you the paper with the result, smiling at you.

"Look ~ I told you I was either a omega or an alpha right ! Soo what are you ?" He asked you, expecting for you to answer 'alpha'

"I'm a beta, I mean it was to expect so I'm not disappointed or extremely happy" You answered, showing him

⦁ it's at this moment that his world shattered. the future we prepared for the both of you got ruined. he wasn't expecting ... this outcome - in his mind it could be impossible for you, his beloved friend, to be a beta, he didn't have anythings against them but ! you both were made for each others, you both needed to form a bond, needed to be a pair !

��� it changed his behaviour toward you - he was being a little bit more on edge when you were talking to others people. he know that forming a bond could be impossible and so he needed to protect you ! from everyone, mainly others betas but also alphas and omegas !

⦁ to ensure that you could not get snatched away by anyone else, he could rub his scent all over you and yours clothes and of course get your scent all over him too.

⦁ anytime an alpha could start talking to you, Asper could get in between you two and start flirting with the alpha, it disgusted him and he felt so ... dirty doing that but he didn't know how to have them give up on approaching you others than making them put all of their attention on him - he thought that he may as well use being an omega to his advantage

⦁ he also used being an omega to manipulate others into leaving you alone or talk about how you and Asper are made for each others and that your secondary genders shouldn't matter

⦁ he showed you stories about omega and beta being together to send you 'hints' - he even directly told you,

"Honestly ... I think I could prefer dating a beta more than an alpha ~ They are such big pricks that think they are sooo much better because of their secondary genders. Betas are so much softer and kind ~"

And was quite distraught when you told him that you hoped 'he could find a good beta partner then !'

⦁ on the topic of you being obvious to him 'clearly' giving you hints, Asper steal your clothes and make a nest with it, and he doesn't hid it from you, directly asking you for your t-shirt or hoodie even if you are currently wearing them.

[ghouljams]

PLEASE DON'T HOLD BACK I WANT THE COWBOY AU INSIDE OF THE COWBOY AU!!!!!!! PLEASE IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES!!!

(also can I be 🐇anon if it's not taken???)

You hear the shots before you can stop the duel. You’re just in time to see the dust settle on two bodies as you grip the handle of your kit. Two dead, what a waste. The mortician is already measuring one for a coffin. You sigh and push your hair back, start making your way to help before movement catches your eye. You whip to face the apparently alive deputy, and watch him push himself up to sit, gripping his bloody arm. That you can fix.

You hurry over to him, dropping to your knees to start pulling the needed supplies from your bag. “Almost had me worried, Price,” You tell him, cutting his shirtsleeve at the shoulder seam to yank it down. He hisses, grips his elbow to keep from flinching as you work.

“Can’t even spare me a ‘Deputy’?” He asks, watching you prod at the wound.

“Deputy is for winners,” You dip back into your bag and whistle at the saloon patrons for a stiff one. 

“Only you would consider this a loss,” He sighs, reaching for the glass the barkeep brings out. You grab it before he can and dunk your instruments in it. He grimaces, no longer interested in the drink. You hand him a strap of leather to bite as you shake the whiskey off your tweezers.

“You got shot didn’t you?” You tilt your head for a better look at the bullet lodged in his shoulder. Bullets lead to infections. You click your tweezers a few times to warn him before pushing them into the wound. You always hope the pain will be enough to deter any more duels in the future, but Price hardly does more than grunt. He’s got an iron will you suppose. 

You pull the bullet free and drop it in his waiting hand, a souvenir. Your fingers feel around the entry point, checking for any bone chips or loose lead. Price lets out a long breath through his nose, exhaling the pain. Seems shallow enough, and you don’t feel anything but the oozing of blood around your fingers. You grab the whiskey glass and tip it over the wound.

“Mmmmmmfuck.” He groans, and you can’t say you blame him, but you need to get some of the blood off. The alcohol works just as well as clean water at washing blood away. Even if the sting of it makes Price’s muscles tense, his breath shaky. You do your best to ignore it while you grab bandages from your bag. “Fuckin’ sawbones.” He grumbles.

“If you don’t want me to hurt you stop getting shot,” You give him a quick raise of your brows. You’re quick with the bandages, it’s better to be quick before the wound bleeds too much.

“Then how’d I see you?” He smiles, and you try not to smile too much in return.

“You could come to the clinic for once,” You tell him, tying off the bandage. His hand moves to rest on your knee, a comfortable weight you know well. He better watch that hand, you still need to get a sling on him.

“God I’d be good to ya’,” Price sighs.

“Yeah?” You tuck your supplies back into your bag and stand, offering a hand to help him up. He grasps your forearm with his uninjured arm and grunts as you haul him to his feet. “How’d you be good to me, when you can barely be good to yourself?” You twist to duck under his arm and wrap it around your shoulder. You think the way he leans against you may be slightly exaggerated as you help him towards your family’s clinic.

“I’d be good to ya’!” Price laughs, “Build ya’ a nice house and all the furniture in it, keep ya’ well stocked with patients.”

“You’d let me keep workin’?” You aren’t going to comment on how happy that makes you. Most men would be more insistent on their partner staying home, popping out kids, you like your work too much to give it up. Probably why you’re still single.

“Can’t deprive the town of their best doctor,” Price huffs out a heavy breath as you sit him down in the front room of the clinic.

“I thought you said I was a sawbones,” You set your bag down and go to dig through the clean clothes for a sling.

“And I’ll let you hold that against me the rest of my life, God I’d be good to ya’,” The way he says it, the explosive admission of it, makes you shake your head fondly. You focus on bending his arm into the sling, trying to keep the pain to a minimum. He grabs you and pulls you down onto his lap when you finish, both of you careful not to bump his arm.

“I think the heat’s gettin’ to ya’ deputy,” You tell him, making yourself comfortable on his lap.

“When’re you gonna say ‘yes’ to me?” He asks, and you wonder if most engagements happen like this. You don’t think so, Price is one of a kind.

“When you win a duel without a new hole to show for it,” You reach to brush some of the dust from outside off his beard, he kisses your fingers as they move over his lips.

“Might take a while then,” he relents, though you know he’s lying. You know better than anyone he’s never this careless when you aren’t on duty. It really is his best excuse to see you. You’re the only one he lets patch him up, and that’s just fine with you.

“Gives you plenty of time to build me a house.” God, you’d be good to him, you already are.

[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.

[doggone-devil]

Had an idea where Lucifer, just to get on Alastor's nerves, acts all charming towards Louis XD

Here he is giving Louis her own personal duck! :3

w/o captions:

[s1llydr3amscape]

Looking through my sketchbooks (for vanweek heheh) and going damn bro thats a lot of busts like yea my fave thing to draw ever and it shows like wowza!!! Heres some off Vanny stuff I like from these!! Some are from this year and some are from past years!!!

me drawing her going :3 20% off the time cuz it's so real and the other 80% is me putting her through situations fr I'm not even halfway through all the books god bro no wonder I have carpal tunnel 💀

[proship-angelbunny]

A assortment of random rose tinted headcanons!! <3

Both Alastor and Rosie are yanderes but Rosie is just better at hiding her creepy loving ways <3

Rosie and alastor co-parent Percy The family can be found together while out and about, often enjoying picnics within the gardens and parks of cannibal town. They’re even been seen hunting for fresh meat together.

Rosie has made matching outfits for all three of them, and Alastor will begrudgingly wear them

Percy does attend overlord meetings with his parents. He’s quite well behaved and keeps quiet, usually sitting in either alastor’s or Rosie’s lap. No one else knows about truth about alastor and Percy, anyone who starts questioning it ends up in one of Rosie’s recipes or alastor’s broadcasts.

Speaking of Rosie, she’s a very traditional mother, handling the domestic activities while running the emporium. She gets help through both alastor’s shadow(s) and her little one. She’s definitely the more empathetic parent, refusing to use corporal punishment on her son but she also doesn’t stop alastor from grabbing the belt if Percy is misbehaving…

The family primarily live in a manor within cannibal town, but Alastor does own a few other estates throughout the city(including a smaller house where he originally kept Percy), he got them through his deals with other overlords. The other trapped souls residents of cannibal town adore Percy, often acting like extended family would. (Yes even Susan tolerates him)

The other children in cannibal town do interact with Percy, but the other boys are explicitly kept away from alastor’s perfect little son who will never leave him . He’s too jealous to dare let another man (even a boy) get close to his lover the girls however, can often be found playing with Percy (they have little tea parties together, it’s honestly adorable…except for the blood)

I’m not exactly even sure if hell has an education system, but Percy is certainly not in it. alastor refuses to let anyone get between him as his little boy, not even a concerned teacher. Rosie’s the one to handle teaching Percy and it will stay like that

Percy’s bedroom(s) are all incredibly cutesy and pink, filled to the brim with dolls and stuffies! He’s spoiled rotten by both of his parents <3

At this point Percy cannot fall asleep without a radio playing in the background, or better yet being cuddled by alastor

Speaking of alastor: he frequently gets neck and back pain from bending himself into positions no soul should be able to (examples being he literally turning a full 360 degrees during his confrontation with husk in episode five) Adding onto that, Percy has been taught how to massage and sooth alastor’s muscles.

[ohprcr]

Disco Elysium-inspired portraits of my OC 👀 I watched an analysis that pointed out that the portraits in DE are perceived by Harry's eyes, so I tried to depict them with how the protag, Nicol, would see them 🐇

More rambles about them in the alt text! Hehe

[fraiserabbit]

dropping a series of fics with focus on JD and dad because i just thought "...JD's wearing his dad's goggles..." and i'm thinking it's prime real estate for Sadness™️ at some point

it's like..supplementary reading for JD's character in the AU (and something for me to do in between the actual story)

[laroserie]

— characters : my oc's - separate ! ( yandere!incubus - yandere!omega - yandere!high noble fae - yandere!piercer )

— content : x gender neutral reader - spending christmas with them, typical holiday fluff, the yandere-ness isn't really here ( expect for yan!omega )

— authors note : ... i haven't posted the introduction post for my yandere piercer but ! it's okay :) also ! this was supposed to be a lil bonus but writers block is kicking my ass so you get this

• yandere! incubus

Before you he wasn't exactly big on doing christmas at home - he used to go out in bars and picked people up to go have 'fun' in the bathroom of the said bars.

After you came into his life, and he kidnapped you, he obviously stopped doing that and finally saw the perspective that christmas was a holiday to spent with thoses that are dear to you. And well, you were more than dear to him.

He will set up and decorate the christmas tree with you - he prefer for it to be neat so he may fix up what you put up when you aren't in the room.

In term of christmas eve, unless you are a good cook - you both are eating a regular take out for it, but he will purchase a yule log though !

And for christmas in itself, he will buy you a gift - you most likely will know what it is in advance because he isn't exactly discrete when asking what 'you could eventually want but it's only hypothetical and totally not for christmas'.

On the 25th of december, he will wake you up very early, like 6am. He will act surprised and happy whatever you gift him. Will jump into your arms and kiss you. And you better act surprised and happy at this gift too if you don't want him to be all grumpy.

• yandere! omega

Asper most likely forces you two to spent christmas like a 'regular' couple - except for the all hanging out outside and looking at the decorations or going to a christmas market. It maybe a holiday season but he cannot afford any risks or you leaving him.

He will try his best though. He will decorate the entire house to be christmas themed - in the hope that he may win a few points with you, after all yes. He may be holding you captive but hey, at least he made the house cute, he deserves something for that right ?

He'll try to make you forget for a moment your current situation - he is delusional enough to think that him trying to give you a sense of normalcy ( which he do mostly for himself ) may make you like him more - or forgive him a bit for kidnapping you.

He's the type to cook an entire christmas dinner and force feed you it - he will buy oysters force them down your throat, he will cook scallops and cut them in smalls bits and make you eat them while you are tied up to a chair, with red ropes, obviously.

• yandere! high noble fae

Christmas is not really a thing for faes, they have somewhat similar holiday, mostly focused around gift giving and spending time with your family but it happen during the summer and is quite underwhelming compared to christmas.

Realistically they already knew about christmas but they couldn't bring it first, they could wait for you to bring it up. But they already have prepared a few things like a gift for you and a small tree, it's in one of their closet which they forbade you from cleaning since you started working as a servant.

Once you bring up christmas, they laugh at your face and tell you something along the line of 'Do you really think, I could celebrate a silly human holiday ? How do you take me for ?' but it will be quickly followed by a 'Well, if you beg well enough I may indulge you.". Even if you don't beg, they will be very much in on celebrating christmas.

With only the two of you of course ! They refuses to get anyone else involved - with the exceptions of their family cook which they will give the tasks of cooking.

They use this as an occasions to make a ginger bread house, they saw various things about it while reading human literature and they always wanted to try so they will act as if they only did it for you. ( The house ended up breaking after 30 seconds and the kitchen they borrowed was such a mess, cleaning up was awful and they regret their idea - they still check it out of their list of thing to do. )

• yandere! piercer

Thomas was never big on christmas and it doesn't change with you - if you really insist in it he will try his best to be enthusiastic about it but don't expect too much from him.

He won't even help you decorate or anything - at most he will get you a gift for christmas that he won't brother wrapping up and will accompany you at a christmas market solely for the food, and because he does find it cute and romantic to walk around with you in the snow.

[sunflawyer]

stopping here a little bit cus i need to sleep hoonk shoo mimimi but!!! il continue again tomorrow<3

in the meantime... look at @bizarrescribblez miabun and abbyhams... wuh... 🐰🐹....

[boiling-potato]

ARE YOU A BOY OR A GIRL??????

I'm a Birl

[purpleminte]

It’s about time the main character showed up! ⭐️🐇✨

[s1llydr3amscape]

Double posting in a week surprise!!!! People on twitter have been redrawing this with their crushes so I said heck yeah!! It looks wonky but I rushed it for valentines!! (Still late)

Closeups under the cut! Game Vanny I will be able to draw you istg!!

[proship-angelbunny]

Percy appreciation post <3

Just look at this little cutie!

We love Percy in this house <3