My lovely boy Arlo, whoās now been switched to the side of Shadow Company because I said so and I can do what I want with my goobers >:3
Anyone can interact, go ham, give me starters or whatever you like! This blog is multiship and completely ship friendly, give this goober some love <3
!Rules and other stuff below cut!
Basic rules:
This blog is 16+! 18+ on more mature posts though (i will mention a dni in the tags of said posts!)
Any discourse or drama? Donāt take it here. This isnāt a blog for you to start shit with
No transphobia, homophobia, racism or discrimination of any kind. I block freely!
Nsfw is not recommended. I will respond to suggestive asks, asks containing sensitive content and more mature themes, but outright nsfw will get your ask deleted!
Fun facts: iāve been rping for a few years now, Iām scottish, and Iām really into the punk scene / movement!
Just a forewarning: I have bad anxiety, and it might take me a while to respond or reach out to you. It is not because i am ignoring you. Please allow me to do things at my own pace please :)
Links:
šļøLore postšļø (TBA)
šPersonnel fileš (TBA)
šVoice claimš
šµPlaylistšµ
My reference art of Dingo so far (all drawn by me):
āYāwant me tāold yeller you? Iām honoured, Commander. Truly.ā
[ *Dingo snickers, eyeing up the pathetic sight laid out on the couch, arms crossed all smug like. After a moment of enjoying himself, he gives in and saunters over to the cramped kitchenette, running a spare hand towel under the sink and squeezing it out. He tosses it to Graves, flicking some drops of the cool water onto his face.* ]
āYālook like death, but if death was a fuckinā ken doll. Erā no offence, ācourse.ā
It's the worst kind of assistance - a wet towel flopped on his chest that made him feel no better about the current situation. He groans as he pushes the thing up over his forehead. Maybe it would have relieved the tension behind his eyes if Dingo weren't so insufferable.
"No offense." He mocks, voice nasaly as ever. "D'ya ever shut up? Take pity on a dyin' man."
āI like to think my input is welcome and appreciated here, sir.ā
[ *Dingo steps a little closer, just so that heās looming over Gravesā head like a bad omen, or a particularly irritating Australian man.* ]
[ *He stays quiet for a moment, brows furrowed like heās lost in thought, before he sighs, face scrunching up a little bit.* ]
āOkay, yeah. Mābeinā a bit mean. Only cause yer an asshole like, ninety percent of the time to everyone on a good day. Itās karma, biiiiitch.ā
[ *He unscrunches his face, and steps around the couch to grab one of the worn out cushions, and sticks it behind Gravesā head. He doesnāt say a word after, gaze slightly averted to the door as if watching for anyone whoād dare come check on the sick man.* ]
It started with an itch in his throat that he promptly ignored - one he thought would be solved with a scalding hot coffee and a will to not get sick. The itch in his throat turned to a tightness behind his eyes. And now he's on the laid on the couch in the rec room, nursing sweet tea in his hands. The cool glass gets pressed to his forehead in lieu of a towel.
"I'm dying," he croaks, unable to breathe out of one nostril, "just take me out back 'n shoot me. This is miserable."
āYāwant me tāold yeller you? Iām honoured, Commander. Truly.ā
[ *Dingo snickers, eyeing up the pathetic sight laid out on the couch, arms crossed all smug like. After a moment of enjoying himself, he gives in and saunters over to the cramped kitchenette, running a spare hand towel under the sink and squeezing it out. He tosses it to Graves, flicking some drops of the cool water onto his face.* ]
āYālook like death, but if death was a fuckinā ken doll. Erā no offence, ācourse.ā
[Dingo justā¦ stares for a moment. How messy can a person get while eating a damn pastry? And how did she get something from off base anyways? Heās maybe a teensy bit jealous.]
āNo..? I donāt think I have? Sounds bloody disgustinā too.ā
āYouād call anything āluvlayā, mate. Iāve seen what you brits eat!ā
[Dingo folds his arms indignantly, grimacing slightly at the sheer bravado. Seriously, how can people eat that stuff. Heāll never understand British people.]
[Dingo justā¦ stares for a moment. How messy can a person get while eating a damn pastry? And how did she get something from off base anyways? Heās maybe a teensy bit jealous.]
āNo..? I donāt think I have? Sounds bloody disgustinā too.ā
