#like it’s all fun and games and let’s get accurate cowards until it’s a dog. Okay well all right

[manyblinkinglights]

I don’t bat an eyelash at furry nsfw with horsecock or dog cock or what have you, but for some reason as soon as you break out the dog pussy I’m like “What are you? Some kind of pervert?”

#I don’t mind accurate horse junk I think it’s really funny #so it’s not just ‘I HAVE that animal’ #like it’s all fun and games and let’s get accurate cowards until it’s a dog. Okay well all right #we’ve all got our lines in the sand #would not have expected mine would be here but apparently #ANYWAY THIS POST IS BECAUSE ACCURATE DOG PUSSY IS GETTING INCREASINGLY COMMONPLACE AND I DON’T LIKE IT #PUT THE HUMAN SNATCH BACK ON PLEASE I AM COWARD

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Anton Tobias

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Seth Green in this movie? A+)

- First things first: Anton’s had a crush on you since the first grade, which is also where the two of you technically met for the first time.

- You being placed in the same class would become a frequent, on and off again thing in both your lives. Every year or so, you’d end up having a class with Anton Tobias and every year, he’d fall for you harder and harder.

- Regardless of how long you’ve been aware of each other’s existence, Anton is still completely incapable of actually speaking to you. There’s been a few instances of him; accidentally or purposefully, coming into contact with you and just widening his eyes, doing a 180 and booking it away from you after you say hello.

- So yeah, for a while, he’s just adorably obsessed with you in a way that only a boy in love can be.

- There was definitely a period in your life where you considered trying to talk to him yourself, wondering if you could ease his nerves a little and show him that he could actually interact with you.

- But then he got really into the whole stoner thing and you found yourself a bit too intimidated to approach him. Plus, he was never at school anymore for you to talk to him anyways.

- It’s only when the two of you reach your junior year of highschool that anything of actual value happens between you.

- It was during one of the days that Anton actually showed up to school. You’d gotten home from school when you went to pull your things out of your schoolbag. It was then that you finally noticed that you had two copies of your English classes book.

- You vaguely remembered assuming you’d dropped yours when you saw a copy near your bag on the floor, a copy you’d quickly stuffed into your bag “again” before rushing to your next class. You cracked open the covers of both and found that one read ‘Anton Tobias’ in a messy scrawl.

- Considering the fact that you didn’t know where Anton lived; or had even ever spoken to him, you couldn’t exactly return the book right away, so, you were forced to wait until school the next day and hope that he showed up.

- The next day, you spotted him in front of the school and quickly made your way over. He looked at you like a deer in headlights as you explained the situation, not saying anything but taking the book from your hands as his friends watched in secondhand embarrassment and amusement.

- Pnub kicked him in the shin and he finally spoke, assuring you that it was alright and forcing a smile onto his face. You offered to let him copy your homework since you borderline stole his book and he asked if you were sure before thanking you as you handed it to him.

- You said goodbye and walked off as as he stared at you in awe. He handled that paper like a museum artifact the entire day.

- You were already seated in your chair when he walked in and surprised you by sitting right next to you. He handed your paper over and thanked you again as you gave him a smile.

- When class is finally over, he stays behind and gathers up the courage to actually talk to you, complimenting your homework before the conversation shifts into more interesting territory. His boys are very proud to see him walking out of the school with you instead of being a puss.

- The two of you made it to the bus area before you were forced to say goodbye, which you did so begrudgingly before you got on. He couldn’t complain though, he’d finally talked to the girl of his dreams and he was floating on cloud nine.

- The two of you start talking to each other everyday and he couldn’t be happier, he feels stupid for being so afraid to start a conversation with you. It takes about a month of short conversations for him to actually invite you to hang out. 

- You’re once again walking out of school with him and you’re just finishing up saying goodbye when he turns back around and asks if you want to come over to his place, which you obviously agree to. 

- So technically, your first date consists of you going over to his house and pretty much just hanging out and enjoying each others company. You watch television, talk some more, eat some food, go for a walks, things like that. 

- It’s after a few months of the two of you hanging out that you have your first kiss. You were a bit bored and flopped on his bed as he fiddled with something, asking if he actually wanted to do something. 

- He asked what you wanted to do as you hovered above him and you watched as his gaze kept drifting down to your lips. You’d suspected before that Anton had a crush on you; primarily because Pnub and Mickey had outright told you he did, but it was only now that you saw he truth in their words. 

- Before you lost your nerve, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. He froze for a minute as you pulled away, looking at you in surprise as a million thoughts raced through your mind; thoughts that were banished as he lurched up and kissed you again. 

- Rest assured, that kiss sealed your fate. You’re never getting rid of him after that. 

- Lots of Pda. Anton really doesn’t care about what anybody thinks so if he wants to touch or kiss you; which believe me he does, he’ll just do it without thinking.

- His arm around your shoulders, or draped around the couch behind you.

- Drowsy hugs from behind. He’s usually half asleep when he does this and will usually take in a deep, tired breath and sleepily tell you you smell good.

- He presses kisses all over your face whenever he can; particularly when he’s board. He’ll give you one on your temple, then one on your cheekbone, under your cheekbone, the apple of your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth-

- Soft, sometimes slow kisses.

- Makeout sessions. What’s better than laying in his bed and kissing you? To him? Pretty much nothing.

- The two of you cuddle wherever you fall. Sometimes you’re on top of him, other times he’s spooning you with his leg thrown over your body; just all types of cuddling.

- He tends to just call you by your given name but if he feels the need, he’ll call you babe or honey as well.

- He thinks everything you do is so fucking cool. He’s constantly amazed by and complimenting you.

- He’s almost embarrassingly fond of and proud of you. He brags about you to people all the time; it’s really quite adorable.

- He can’t remember basic math 90% of the time but you bet you’re ass he remembers the outfit you wore when you first talked to him or everything about that necklace you always wear or the book you always carry around. He’s well versed in the subject of y/n.

- Fast food dates.

- Watching television together.

- Chilling up in his room.

- Listening to music together. Sometimes you just lay on his bed with your heads connected and your hands intertwined and vibe.

- Walking his dog with him. You know ...Anton really isn’t fond of the way Randy looks at you as you’re walking by.

- Going to the skatepark with him and his friends.

- He’s always phoning you and asking you to come over because he wants to see you; usually groaning when you’re busy or trying to convince you to ditch what you’re doing.

- If you’re into weed then expect to be doing a lot of smoking with him.

- Trying to get him to be a little more ambitious. You’re one of the only things that get him out of bed and out into the world.

- Informing him on the latest happenings because god knows he isnt paying attention to any of whats going on around him.

- Subtle butt touches.

- Wearing his pants because he sure as shit doesn’t. If he’s rocking his boxers, you’re rocking the sweats he’s neglected.

- Occasionally cutting class or skipping school with him. You do want to graduate high school so you don’t do it all the time like he does:

- Doing him a few favors; or more so his mother. Picking up milk on your way over after school, bringing some food, returning movie rentals. Things that take like a five minutes if you’re already gonna be passing said places.

- Waking him up in the morning, or more accurately: the afternoon.

- He loves when you fuss over him. Honestly, the more motherly and “traditional” you act with him the better. Get out all those urges. He’ll never mind.

- Your laugh? Music to his ears. His humor is his main appeal; besides the fact that he’s nearly six foot and pretty attractive.

- Talking all serious about stupid shit until you both breakout into laughter.

- Wondering why he’s suddenly acting so strange....

- Going through the whole idle hand ordeal and stopping him by being crushed by a whole ass car.

- Visiting him in the hospital.

- Helping him after he loses his hand.

- You are his last brain cell. You’re like the main reason this boy is still alive.

- Occasionally shutting him up since he doesnt think before he speaks like 90% of the time. Anton ...maybe don’t make fun of police officers ...to their face ...when they already don’t like you.

- Your parents probably don’t like him ...for obvious reasons, so you’ll most likely have to sneak out or lie to them so that you can see him.

- Helping to keep him calm in stressful situations.

- He thinks he’s really bad at comforting you but he’s actually like accidentally really good at it. He has no idea what he’s doing but it’s working!

- Antons pretty oblivious most of the time so he doesn’t tend to get jealous very often. That being said, since he’s been in love with you for so long, he isn’t too keen on losing you so whenever he senses a serious threat to your relationship, he’ll do whatever he can to stop it.

- He’s sort of a coward so he really isn’t going to be the one you can count on when you’re scared. He’ll probably talk up a big game but the minute a tree limb snaps beneath someone’s foot, he’s clinging to you like a child.

- The two of you don’t fight extremely often; you sort of just know how he is so you’re unfazed by most of what he does. But when you do fight, he has trouble staying calm and saying the right thing. He’ll probably call you a bitch without thinking and you’ll have to stop yourself from strangling him.

- Whenever you’re mad at him, he’ll keep periodically calling you to try and get you to talk to him. He never waits long after you leave either; usually it’s at most an hour before he’s ringing your line. He can always seem to wiggle his way back into your good graces no matter what he does and it’s infuriating.

- He tells you he loves you quite a bit. He’s had a while to come to terms with his feelings so he isn’t afraid to tell you the truth.

- He’s not a fan of talking about the future but let’s just say that you’ll probably be the more established and accomplished person in your relationship.

#90s movie imagine #90s movie imagines #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon #idle hands imagine #idle hands imagines #idle hands headcanons #idle hands headcanon #Anton Tobias imagine #anton Tobias imagines #Anton Tobias headcanons #Anton Tobias headcanon

[tf2-headcanons-and-scenarios]

A/N: Trigger warning ahead. Keep in mind I’m trying to keep accurate to the attitudes of the past, including the degradation of women and girls. I am truely sorry if anything triggers something unwelcoming!

This story was made as a culmination of my despair over the death of Rick May, the man who voiced Soldier for 13 years (since 2007), who had recently died to COVID-19 almost a week ago. In a way, this is my tribute to him.

For the first time in a couple of months, you were finally going to visit your Soldier, and you couldn’t be happier about it. Being away from the team sucked majorly for you, though you thanked Miss Pauling for helping you keep in contact with them, especially Soldier. You were able to recognise the words of the patriotic American in Medic’s handwriting, considering the fact that Soldier did not know how to write.

You pulled out a small toy badge from the pack, and you almost instantly smiled at the small thing. The colour had worn away over time but its pin was mostly in mint condition.

—————————————

“THIS IS WAR MAGGOTS! THOSE GERMAN BASTARDS WILL PAY FOR FIGHTING AGAINST AMERICA!”

The shrill voice of a young and very loud boy erupted from the playground as a very large group of young boys began inventing an unrealistic reconstruction of a WW1 battlezone, much to the annoyance of a smaller group of girls who had been in the same area first.

You watched with gleeful curiosity at the boys who were rolling around in the dirt and shooting each other with stick-rifles and throwing water balloons as grenades. You wanted to join in on their fun, even if you had been denied playing with them in the past. The girls you were with began leaving, calling for your attention as you snapped back to reality after watching the makeshift battlezone for a while.

“Hey [y/n], are you coming with us or not?”

“I, um...might stick around and watch for a while longer...just to see if there is anything to laugh about later!”

“Whatever you desire, later [y/b/n]~”

They walked away from you laughing, but you didn’t care too much about it...if you didn’t think about it too much. Making sure the girls were as far away as possible, you carefully began to approach the group to ask if you can join. You had managed to avoid getting hit until a boy accidentally slammed into you, knocking you to the ground. Once your senses fixed themselves, you were hauled onto your feet by a few other boys who noticed you after your collision.

“Well well well lads, what do we have here?”

“What’s a girl like you doing over here away from the other girls?”

“I...I wanted to come and play with you...”

“Girls can’t play war, they play gross stuff like House or something!”

“Hey, here’s an idea: take off ya shorts and lift up ya skirt completely, then we’ll let you play.”

“W-what, no! That’s gross!”

“Then cry back to the girls dollface, you won’t get to play with us unless you lift your skirt up sissy!”

They began ‘encouraging’ you to do what they had asked in exchange for letting you play with them, even taunting you with all the other girls who did what they wanted and how much fun those girls had playing with them. You began to feel too overwhelmed with the demands as tears began to form, earning a laugh from the group.

“THAT IS ENOUGH FROM YOU LADIES!”

That same loud voice that you heard from earlier erupted through the group, catching your attention as well. A small boy with a pot over his head and a plastic pin badge on his shirt shoved his way through the crowd with a scowl on his face and turned to face the boys.

“This is NOT a place where you can hook up with girls! THIS IS WAR! There is no time for making goo-goo eyes and asking for favours from women, there is time only to fight and rescue the innocent from the enemy!”

“Get your head out of the fucking clouds Doe, this is make-believe idiot.”

“If she wants to play she CAN PLAY!”

“Not until she gives us what we want, she’s nothing but a coward!”

“NONSENSE! This, uh...what’s your name?”

“[y-y/n]..?” You stuttered in response, confused and upset.

“This young lady [y/n] is an innocent caught up in the War, and it is my duty as an American soldier to rescue the innocent!”

He struggled to pick you up bridal style, screaming as he ran off with you in his arms as the boys began to slowly go back to their game, disinterested in both you and your ‘rescuer’.

Once he ran far from the game, he set you on your feet and sat down to catch his breath. You hadn’t noticed your tears still falling from your face until he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to you.

“Mommy says it’s the right thing to do when a girl is sad.”

You took the handkerchief and wiped your tears away, shaking out a ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ from your lips as you tried to calm down. You then found him standing in front of you with his toy badge in his hand, which had been extended towards you.

“B-but it’s yours, isn’t it?”

“You can have it for being very brave against those dogs Miss [y/n]. I’ve never seen a girl not pull her skirt up before in order to play with us. Good soldiers deserve medals!”

You wipes more tears away and gently took the toy badge from his hand, looking at it with curious eyes plagued with puffiness and tears. You looked back to the boy to see his eyes, now uncovered, who was grinning the biggest grin.

“I don’t like seeing girls sad because of other soldiers, that’s not the American way as my daddy says. If they’re being bullies to you again, count on American Army veteran Jane Doe to save the day every time!~”

———————————

Tears had streamed down your face as you looked back onto that memory. It had been the only time you had met Soldier outside of mercenary work, but it had been a memory you kept with you for so long; a memory that made you almost instantly recognise that same boy years later as a grown man. The same man you fell in love with. The same man you had wanted to see for months on end.

The van stopped as you had begun to wipe your tears away after letting them fall onto your backpack. Pinning the badge onto your shirt, you tidied up your hair and exited out of the vehicle without the pack, following Sniper through a large field filled with gravestones of the dead. You remembered burying your boyfriend’s mentor in this very same field, and how upset he had been when that day came.

If only Soldier could know how heartbroken you were when you were forced to miss his own funeral.

——————————

It had been a couple of weeks since you heard anything from Soldier directly. You only got the odd update from Demoman once a week, at least up until 2 weeks ago when the letters stopped. Your worry had done nothing to ease your mind as your thoughts plagued on the virus spreading throughout the Doublecross area, where your team was assigned merely 3 months ago. Your worry had been increasing tenfold when you received the news that 5 members of the team got infected, and battles were erupting again in Doublecross between both teams stationed there.

You wanted to do nothing more than to travel to Doublecross and be there for him, but mercenary work forced you away, and your requests for shore leave were always denied. All you could do was hope and pray and beg to whoever was out there to keep them all safe; to keep Soldier safe. The plastic badge that stayed on you 24/7 was your only source of comfort, though it did little to stop the tears that had fallen from sheer worry and panic.

You awaited for Miss Pauling to arrive with the week’s batch of letters, your current team waiting alongside with you. Miss Pauling arrived eventually and gave them all what they had wanted, leaving you with nothing more than an ever-growing worry for another week.

“Miss [l/n], I have something for you here.”

Your head perked up to those 6 words you so desperately longed hear for weeks. Getting up with hope in your eyes, you rushed over to Miss Pauling, only to have your worry return when you saw her eyes had been slightly red from...crying?

“M-Miss Pauling...?”

She straightened her posture and took out a folded document from her jacket pocket. Clearing her throat, she began reading it.

“Miss [y/n] [l/n], it has come to my attention that you had been anxious to hear of RED Soldier, Jane Doe, for weeks already. I am afraid to inform you that by the time this letter reaches you his funeral was held but yesterday.

As the only closest relative to Mister Doe as his beloved, I hereby inform you that RED Soldier Jane Doe has died in the line of duty 8 days ago.

Attached to this letter is the contents of a small ring box he had hidden in his room that was reserved for you. His personal things, split between yourself and your former team’s Demoman, will be brought to you at a later date for you to do what you please with them.

My condolences,

Administrator.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You grabbed and re-read the letter over and over again, Miss Pauling tapping your shoulder to give you the mentioned ring box. Opening it, you saw a cheap-looking ring that was just too big for your ring finger. That broke you completely, as you collapsed in tears onto the floor, Miss Pauling kneeling beside you and holding you close in comfort.

——————————

You and Sniper approached a gravestone that had a box of scrumpy beside it. Looks like Demoman had recently been here. Sniper patted you on the shoulder before leaving you to your devices. You placed a bouquet of Soldier’s favourite flowers onto the dirt below and you sat down in front of the gravestone, your hands toying with the toy badge still pinned to your shirt, and the engagement ring that hung from a silver chain.

“...hey there Jane, I’m home at last...! I have a lot to talk to you about, so you’ll be here for a while...”

——————————————

Soldier sat with his back against his own gravestone, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to your stories and memories, memories he was able to share with you.

If there was one thing he hated about being dead, it was the fact he had been given permission to die before he got the chance to live a life with you.

#tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 soldier #tf2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 x reader #one-shot #angst with fluff #rip Rick May

[splat-dragon]

And when when we're all together - there's nothing to fear ~This is Where I Belong, Bryan Adams

As it turned out?

 Uncle reeked something fierce.

 And she wasn't being dramatic when she said that he smelled as though he’d shat his pants before rolling around atop a rotting skunk, then eating a dinner consisting solely of a barrel of onions. And, oh, you can’t forget the booze. So add a keg of booze with that.

 He had her eyes watering and her stomach heaving.

 Unfortunately, it was because of him that she discovered that she had the sense of smell of a dog, not just the nose, although she supposed she should have known that already, but when you’re half-dead you’re rather occupied with other things, aren’t you?

 Thankfully, it seemed that she had kept her human eyesight. Normally, that would have been a very bad thing, considering that she was near-blind without her glasses, but it seemed that her eyesight was as good as it got while she wore her glasses, nowhere near a dog’s eyesight. At least, she assumed so—she’d seen those photos where people had overlaid what a dog would see, and things didn’t seem blurry or washed out, but who knows how accurate they really are?

It took her days to grow nose-blind to Uncle’s stench. Sadly, she spent a great deal of time in close-quarters to him, seeing as the shack provided the best shade on the ranch, and she wasn’t much one for baking in the heat, especially seeing as she was still recovering. So they often found themselves sitting in the shade together, watching with no small amount of amusement as John hauled rocks around in that wheelbarrow of his, laughing at his rather creative cursing on the frequent occasions that rocks fell on his foot. She’d have helped him, really, she would have, but he hadn’t asked her to, hadn’t even seemed to consider it, and what could she do besides pick up and move a single rock at a time? Even if he did manage to figure out a way to hitch her to the wheelbarrow, she didn’t think she could have hauled it, she was still so weak and fatigued from days in the sun, and while she was slowly building her strength up on the scraps from his meals and whatever Uncle tossed her way (she wasn’t dumb enough, though, to drink the beer he thought it was funny to pour into her bowl; she’s dumb, not stupid). He’d been quick to declare her his 'new favorite drinking buddy', giving her a nice thump on the back that had knocked the breath from her lungs and left her wheezing, seeming to think that she was like him, a lazy lay-about who did nothing but eat and drink all day.

Night quickly became her favorite time of day, she’d admit. While day burned with the sun, once it set the temperature dropped dramatically, and she felt as though she came to life, energy thrumming in her veins and the sluggishness of the day shed from her as though little more than fur. John had quickly discovered it, forgetting to grab his satchel before sitting down only to find her standing there holding it, and he’d nearly flipped shit when she’d initiated a game of keep-away (although he had, eventually, started to laugh after tripping over a rock and face-planting to the ground). He’d taken to amusing himself by throwing his scraps at her as he sat by the campfire and watching as she tried-and failed, badly-to catch them.

 It was pretty fun. She was too large, too bulky, to twist and jump and catch them in mid-air, but that didn’t stop her from trying. It let her test her awkward new body, try its limits and see what it could do. No matter how hard she tried she always ended up crashing to the ground on her side but, well, it was the thought that counted, right? Besides! By the end of the week she was landing on her paws almost a quarter of the time, so, progress!

 And Uncle was particularly proud of himself for ‘teaching’ her to fetch him a beer. Not that any of them were actually teaching her anything, of course. She could understand every word they said (most of the time, at least, sometimes they drawled something awful and she could only wonder if they were having a stroke, or they used a phrase or saying that had died out before her time), but watching him get frustrated trying to figure out the words would make her magically understand what he wanted was hysterically.

 His face when John had called to Uncle to ‘pass me a beer’ across the campfire, and she’d gotten up, trotted over, grabbed one and brought it to him? Even funnier. John had definitely agreed, laughing so hard he’d stopped making sound, while Uncle had looked baffled, vaguely offended, and somewhat constipated.

 She’d always been rather lazy, and probably would have told him to get it himself Before, but it benefited her, too. It was easy to forget just how strong a dog’s jaw is, how strong a dog is period! until you are one, and she needed to work on controlling her strength, on controlling her everything, really, including her fine motor skills. So getting only a single beer (a fragile glass bottle) out of a bunch and carrying it without breaking it? Surprisingly hard, but she managed to do it and considered it a job well done.

'They can smell fear just by lookin' atcha.'

  'Don't panic, they can smell fear.'

 How many times have you heard that? Maybe not those exact words, but most people are told 'they can smell fear' or 'they can sense fear' at some point in their lives. Maybe when getting on a horse, or when working with dogs, working with children or even just on TV.

 Well, which one is it? Can 'they', whatever the 'they' you're talking about is, smell fear? Or can they sense it?

 In all honesty, she’d always thought it was a saying. If you were tense, the animal would be tense, of course. But if you were afraid, how could they smell it? It just hadn’t made any sense to her.

Just over a week after she’d met John—at least, she thought so, she hadn’t quite been keeping track of the passing time but a week felt about right—something woke her from a deep sleep. There was no noise, well, that wasn’t quite right. At first the lack of car horns and voices outside had disturbed her, she had missed that white noise, but she was slowly learning to look for the Hope’s own type of white noise—the hooting of the owls, the yipping and howling of coyotes, the chattering of the bats overhead.

 At first, it didn’t seem as though there was anything that had woken her. She raised her head from her paws, ears twitching this way and that, looking around as her heart pounded in her throat. Something was wrong, and she looked, first, for Uncle, finding him slumped near the campfire, bottle of whisky still clutched in his fist; John was stretched out on top of his bed roll, hat pulled down low over his head.

 Though everything looked fine, wrong itched in her bones, thrummed in her blood, and the need to move screamed from some part of her she couldn’t name, so she stood without her normal stretching or yawning, a whine she didn’t intend to make spilling from her chest as she began to pace around the campfire—was Uncle too close to it? But, no, he was close but not that close, even if he fell straight forward he’d just flop onto the grass, and the fire hadn’t escaped its rock circle, hadn’t set the dry grass alight.

 She paced one loop, then two, around the pair, before turning her attention outwards. This wasn’t her home, wasn’t safe, where danger was only something you saw on TV, that happened only to other people. Where all you had to do was lock your doors, where you could call the police and they’d be there in a heartbeat (okay, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration). This was the Wild West, where danger lurked at the edge of the firelight, stalked at your heels.

 Was there something watching them? Had she felt someone’s-some thing’s-gaze on her back? A snake? A bear, even a puma? They all spawned nearby, after all, and so she stilled, squinting and staring outwards, sweeping her gaze low across the ground, the grass was tall but not tall enough to hide a puma even if it was low to the ground, trying to stalk them, much less a bear. John had been working to pick up twigs, though, for exactly this reason, and a snake would have stood out, would have started to rattle or fled at her approach, and so she turned her gaze upwards again, seeking the gleam of firelight against a cat’s eyes; a black bear, the only type of bear she could think of that would have come this far from the forest, would have fled at her approach as well, they were cowards unless cornered but, no, no matter how hard she looked, how long she stared, she saw nothing.

 She paced around the pair again, legs stiff and fur standing on end, a growl beginning to rumble in her chest as her anxiety only worsened, staring outward, looking, looking, looking, staring at the grass, staring above it, seeking a snake, a puma, even a too-curious fox or coyote.

 Her fourth loop drew her close to John, and she couldn’t say why but he caught her attention. Maybe it was the way he laid, or perhaps she had subconsciously noticed a tenseness to his figure. Maybe he had made a noise so soft that she’d just barely heard it, or she'd seen him move out of the corner of her eye. As it were, he drew her attention, and she approached him as though he were a snake coiled to strike, fighting the urge to bare her teeth when the anxiety in her chest tightened, tightened, tightened until she stood at his side.

 Finally, she could see him. Could see the firelight dancing on his face, the shadow the brim of his hat cast on him. His face was twisted in a nasty grimace and, as she watched, his brow furrowed, and he bared his teeth, the grimace worsening, before he shuddered with a funny sound low in his chest. The coil in her own clenched tight and, without meaning to, she balked, dancing a few steps away from him. He stilled, fingers twitching, and she forced herself forward, slinking as though she were trying to sneak up on him though he were asleep, and pressed her cold nose against his neck in an attempt at waking him without waking Uncle.

 She recoiled immediately, heaving. He smelled of sweat, of some awful sort of body odor far worse than she’d ever smelled before, far worse than she’d ever smelled on Uncle, than she’d ever smelled on anyone, smelled unlike anything she’d smelled before, and what it smelled like she couldn’t put a name on. Shaking her head, the smell clung stubbornly, metallic and lingering, and as she reached up to rub at her nose with her paw she could only call it fear, her own anxiety ratcheting up until, finally, she jammed her nose into the ground, scraping it from side to side. She had to sneeze, over and over, to free herself from the sand and dirt, but it was well worth it because the smell was finally, blessedly gone.

 Fearful of getting that scent on her again, she approached him hesitantly. He was beginning to shift, and her own anxiety began to spike but, knowing this time what it was, she shoved it down (‘not today, Satan!’) and butted her head into his side in a manner more cat-like than dog, but she wasn’t exactly a dog, was she? trying to find his hand in the dark. Thankfully it was gloved so, when she found it, she had no qualms about shoving her head into it repeatedly, slamming it into his leg until, finally, it twitched, cupping before instinctively beginning to stroke her fur.

 He groaned, raising his head and looking around wide-eyed, before rubbing them with his free-hand, still stroking her head absent-mindlessly. John shook his head, hissing “Jesus!” as he reached to grab a nearby beer-bottle, throwing back what remained.

 Unable to help herself, she huffed, “No, just me,” though she knew he couldn’t understand her. Shame, really, because she was incredibly funny, at least if you asked her. John tossed the bottle aside, slumping back down onto the bedroll, and she followed him, curling up against his side.

 He shoved her away, scowling as he huffed “No Gin, bad dog! No dogs on the bed,” and she gave the ungrateful bastard a Look, though what look she wasn’t entirely sure, she still wasn’t used to emoting as a dog, which was surprisingly hard, and thought about pointing out that it was a bedroll not a bed, but he wouldn’t understand her either way, but he gave into her Look, whether it was pitiful, exasperated, or straight-up puppy-dog eyes, dropping his hand to let her flop her massive head across his chest.

 John folded one arm under his head to cushion it as he stared up at the stars, his other hand coming up to scratch between her ears. The fear-scent nearly gone, she had little trouble falling asleep, basking in some of the first human affection she’d received since all of this had begun.

#silent savior #i can't quite remember just what guided me this way #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #guinevere #ginny #gin #john #john marston #uncle #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #splat #splat dragon #splat_dragon #splatdragonff #SplatDragon

[gravitymirage]

The World Under the Moon

“AND THAT’S A CHOICE! NOT A CURSE!”

Seemingly bullshit rambling, a passing comment made in anger, a joke. Not the words that had become what he was forced to live his life by. Why would it mean anything? Werewolves aren’t real, right?

Mark had believed the same thing.

His childhood home had been bordering the woods, something he and his brother had loved. A quick escape. An endless stream of adventures, daydreams and challenges. A lot of injuries, but all in good fun. Mostly Mark doing things that he heavily denied to be stupid, although that was probably the case. It was sad really, ironic. The one incident that had been detrimental to the rest of his existence hadn’t been out of idiocy. Some could argue he shouldn’t have been out in the woods by himself, but he was so acquainted with the place he hadn’t thought anything of it. A young teen, storming out into the woods alone in anger. That was more accurate. Not idiocy, anger.  

Mark had needed to cool off after a heated argument about something stupid he’d no longer recall. It hadn’t been important. Shouldn’t have led to everything. Sometimes he wonders if he’d just resolved the quarrel amicably if everything would’ve been better. But it didn’t matter. It was anger that had driven him to storm out into the woods one cold night. Away from everyone, as he sat alongside a body of water, throwing stones as far as he could. He made a racket with his tossing and frustrated mumbling. It had been an excellent way to let off steam, and when he had silenced and taken a moment to look around, it had been beautiful. Cold, senses alight with the smell of crushed leaf-litter and undergrowth. The world cool greys and blues, which contrasted all the heated rage that had boiled his blood moments before. A trickling stream, glowing bright with the light of the moon, almost hazy, ethereal in contrast to the dark hues around it. The scampering of creatures coming out in the night. It should’ve been a positive moment of discovery when he looked back on it. Some shit about how the world didn’t change with how you felt, it was constantly moving, that you had to take a moment to appreciate it yadda, yadda. He had been a stupid teenager, and even he could appreciate the solace of it. Alone, free, calm, quiet. Those were words that came to mind. Well, not alone. It wasn’t even quiet. Quick to discover it wasn’t even calm, or that he wasn’t free. He’d presumed in passing there to be a little mouse or something making its way through the damp, dead leaves littering the ground. On second thought, it was a lot bigger sounding than a mouse, now that it was closer, and he’d been paying attention, perhaps a stray cat? He stood despite himself, heart racing. That wasn’t a cat, hell, a dog? He could hear its ragged breathing, see the bushes disturbed across the river. Eyes glinting in the shadow, the shrubbery growling with malice. Had that, thing, been there the whole time? Stalking him? Awaiting opportunity? How had he not noticed its approach till now?

Now this, this was stupid. He ran in the opposite direction, not thinking about any particular escape plans. He hadn’t even considered running home, although that may have been more disastrous looking back now. He’d been slapped back into instincts, sudden adrenaline telling him to run from it. But there’s one thing you don’t do with a dog, and that’s run away. They consider it a game, a chase. Hell, that was probably what that monster had been waiting for. A good, fun chase. A moment of realisation where the victim bolts for it, and you get to show your strength in the hunt. Mark had reacted like prey, and, in that circumstance, he was. He was no longer top of the food chain, no longer angry and fearless. He was sprinting like a coward through the woods, unable to call for help as his brain shoved all useful oxygen into the task of running the fuck away. Immediately he heard the strong thumping of the beast following after, and that only edged him on to run even faster. He swore he heard it howl. What the fuck was it? A dog, coyote, a wolf? How the fuck would that be possible? This close to home? He didn’t have the time to explore such ideas, he had to focus on not slamming into a tree and meeting his demise through tooth and claw. He was sure this creature was messing with him, it certainly wasn’t running as fast as it could. It was luring him around in wild, panicked frenzy. Playing with its toy until it inevitably ran its batteries flat. Mark didn’t think it was possible for animals to think in such a sadistic manner, but it sure as hell felt like it when his lungs were being ripped apart with every breath and shuddering step thumping against the hard, uneven ground. Eventually he was going to slip up, and he liked to believe he put up a good fight. But adrenaline, as much as it’s a seemingly helpful high, it makes you jittery. Easy for him to slip up and trip on a stray root. He fell with little grace, body littered with cuts and bruises from the unending assault the forest had lashed against his skin, ripping his clothes. Right after he’d considered it to be beautiful. A slight, winded bitter laugh leaves his lips as he makes impact with the ground. Almost hysterical, eyes brimming with tears as the pain hits him like a blow. He can’t breathe anymore, choking silently after the impact his chest had made against the cold, compacted dirt beneath him. Mud and grime coated his front, useless attempts to spit it out leaving a pool of muddied drool and spit beneath his face. Of course, this was the dignified way he’d meet his end. The creature steadily approaching from behind, movements slow, lurking. Probably disappointed its prey had fallen so quickly, failed to entertain it for very long. Now pitiful, Mark dragged himself away, the second air flooded his lungs he flipped onto his back in a vain attempt to push himself away faster. The beast was now visible in its morbid glory before him. And it was terrifying.  

Although hunched over, the monster had to stand well over 6 foot. Not a dog, human height. Its eyes glinted amber in the trickling moonlight. Cunning, but crazed. Famished. Dark, misshapen pelt, short and bristled. It crept closer on clawed paws. Its limbs long, gaunt, yet riled up to deal a blow that would undoubtedly gut him. And its face, wolfish, jagged teeth visible through its long muzzle. The fur twisted and sticky with the rabid spit forming along its lips as it bared its teeth.  A creature he’d never forget. Burned deep into his memories, his nightmares. There was a pause, predator and prey eyeing each other down, before the inevitable lunge. Mark cried out, violently shoving himself backwards, the claws of the monster missing his vital organs, instead raking slightly down his hip and ending on his thigh with short, deep gashes, blood quick to pool and stain his pants that unending red. In an act of a blessing and a curse, the ground gave way into a gully behind him, and he toppled down into a ditch, his shoulder taking the blow with significant force. But nothing was broken. Adrenaline growing to mask the throbbing pain, he stumbled away again in a desperate haze. The creature should’ve been upon him. He couldn’t hide, he was shambling, loud gasping breaths, blood leaving a perfect scented trail to his location. But as the beast clawed its way down the gully to pursue him, it froze up, its head snapping to the side. A long pause of sniffing and whines, it howled out again, disappearing up out of the ditch once more. Mark left alone as he stumbled home in a frenzy, pained gasps through gritted teeth, heart palpitating in his ribcage, adding to the pains of his bruising. Unsure of the fucking miracle that had blessed him with his life, although looking back now, perhaps it wasn’t such an outstanding turn of events.

Mark hadn’t told his family, or his friends. He snuck back to the house as soon as he’d figured out where he was. In through the back window. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him to do this after an argument. A shower, with the towel shoved in his mouth to keep himself from screaming as the water met his bruised and bloodied skin, filling the gash with water, blood clearing to reveal a horrific sight. The wound felt as if it was burning, every fibre of his being screaming out in unison as he bit down harder, tears making sticky paths down his face. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, he told himself. Could’ve been bitten, torn apart and devoured. He doused the wounds in a tube of antibiotic cream he’d found in the first aid kit, wasting bandages in his pathetic wrapping of his wounds. A weekend to hide in long shirts and pants, wasting the family’s already limited medical supplies. All because he was selfish, angry and stupid. Why hadn’t he told them, you might ask. Because in his dumb fucking teenage mind, he feared the reaction. He might not be allowed in the woods ever again. He might be given a big fat ‘told you so’ as they wrapped up his wounds, or forced him to the hospital, wasting already limited money on something so unforgivably stupid. It wasn’t as if going to the hospital would’ve changed anything in the long run. Who was going to believe what he saw? A monster, a beast in the moonlight. All he’d hear was that he was in shock, that it was some dog. The wound certainly didn’t do it justice. But in his limited, generally unbelieving mind, he knew what that thing had been. The one definition his description fitted as he replayed the events over and over. That had been a werewolf. Except that was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. They were mythical. He wasn’t going to turn into some monster after getting a cut on his leg. He’d go about his weekend in silence, noting that the wound was in fact healing. Despite how his veins seemed to burn, there was no sign of infection. It healed up almost too quickly over a week, left with scabs and scarring. But he was irritable, quick to lash out, quick to break, quick to rant and rave and growl. He was scared at the change, and any dumb talk about puberty wasn’t going to cut it. It was stupid, Mark had thought, the idea that he was changing because he’d been scratched by a fucking werewolf. Mythology, not real. Even as he grew more and more hypersensitive as the month progressed. Even as the sight of the moon sent him into jitters, nights slowly growing more restless, filled with insomnia. Even as the wound despite everything seemingly being fine continued to pain him more, his veins alight with fire. It was just an unfortunate injury.

Something he could no longer believe that first night his body irrupted with spasming, unending agony, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Hands clamped within his mouth, mauled and bitten and bloodied to silence his cries. Body shifting and growing and rewiring. Face pushing outwards, his clawed hands clamped into a fanged muzzle, covered steadily in dark brown fur. Joints snapping back and forth, as his arms and legs elongated. In a way that made him vomit to look back on, once the pain had died down, it had been glorious. The anger morphing into something new. Of course, the moon hadn’t forced anything, didn’t mean anything. When he was out in the woods, everything scampering to escape him, only to feel creature snap and flop lifeless in his jaws, metallic blood enlightening his sense. It truly was beautiful, the world under the moon. He wanted to be like this, he chose to transform every month, and in his moments of anger. He chose to be like this, in a hazy, glorious state. It was a blessing, not a curse. A choice. When weak little Mark made his way home for the first time, filled with constant guilt and shame and fear. Hands bloodied, mouth filled with the taste of his latest kill. Clothes ruined, dirtied, bloodied. It didn’t matter. It was a choice, not a curse. He’d chosen this, in his anger. Nothing was wrong, he was alive like he’d desperately wanted when he’d fled his attacker. He was more alive than ever. Teary-eyed, locked in his room, hands ripping his hair. Heart racing, pained, and never more alone. It was a choice, not a curse. When his life kept moving forward, when he started to control his transformations just a little bit more. A choice, not a curse. When he was still successful, even with his dirty little secret clutching over his life. In his anger, in his desperate need to justify murder.

It was a choice. Not a curse.

#Markiplier #Lycaniplier #Wolfiplier #werewolf au #fanfic #I had too #after getting over it #i just #love werewolves #they my fave haha #and i cant really art rn #so fic #excuse i have no editor #so #hope its alright