#bastard beagle

[peanutsoutofcontext]

He was so insane for this. He is so evil

[peanutsoutofcontext]

Me @ Snoopy

snoopy of the day

[janebonbon]

Guess who's baaaaaaaack! Take some sketches and works in progresses :)

[aevris]

hey hey just dropping an ask to let you know you misspelled shrike as shike on your most recent post! unless if it was intentional in which case nevermind ✌

it was intentional! but thank you for looking out for me haha

[noahflint]

I need more people to see my 'done with life' dog. It's soooo hard being Tyson 😂

[howaboutcastiel]

Pico dump

He’s gonna be 5 next month! They grow up so fast 🥺🥺

[macabr3-barbi3]

if it interests you, I’d love to see what you do with alastor/dog sinner reader. I think it could be a very interesting dynamic- anyway good work! :)

HI ANON SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG LOL

I ended up combining this with another request from Ao3: "please please please I'd love a rough/teasing/edging (with a lil hate to love twist) oneshot i bet it would be another amazing read owo" from liddlefangirl

Tags: edging, rough, hatesex(?), teasing, Alastor Does Not Like Dogs™️

AS ALWAYS an extra large and mushy thank you to @fraugwinska for being a lovely hype-woman and my Alastor dialogue mentor 🥰

Things were bound to come to a head between you and Alastor eventually- the nature of your Sinner form had guaranteed that when it manifested you with features similar to a dog, the floppy ears of a Beagle drooping off the sides of your head and a sensitive nose to match. 

Charlie had apparently seen no issue with allowing a dog- a hunting dog of all things- in the confined spaces of the Hotel with the deer demon, and his discontent with the situation struck fiercely and often, out of Charlie’s sight, usually in the form of a wayward tentacle tripping you down the stairs or some kind of Eldritch magic moving doors and hallways around so you ended up hopelessly lost and unable to find your room.

Alastor himself avoided you like the plague, only interacting with you when absolutely necessary and with his cane held in front of him like a barrier, like he thought you would attack him unprovoked- even though it was him doing the antagonizing, constantly fucking with you, and the one time you had asked him about it?

“You are quite welcome to leave at any time if the nature of the Hotel is not to your liking!”

The bastard. And even though it wasn’t like you, even though you were at the Hotel for redemption and everything and things like petty revenge should have been beneath you while you tried to improve yourself, you couldn’t resist pushing back a little.

You knew he had some sort of trauma with dogs from his death, so you weren’t trying to actually terrorize the man. You just didn’t let his bullshit get to you anymore- if he tripped you down the stairs you stopped sending a death glare over your shoulder at him, just standing up, dusting yourself off, and suppressing your limp until you were out of sight; when you found yourself in a twisting corridor that you knew hadn’t been there before, you simply picked the closest door and entered it like that was where you had meant to go the entire time. When he took the doors away entirely and just dropped you into an endless hallway with no entrance or exit, you plopped yourself down on the floor and took a book from your pocket to read until the lights went back to normal and the doors returned, indicating his departure.

You even played up some of the more canine aspects of your personality just for his benefit; you scratched at your ears whenever he entered a room; you sometimes barked or howled instead of applauding during some of Charlie’s meetings; you teased Husk incessantly, sometimes playfully ‘chasing’ him around the bar before Alastor left the area, always sure to apologize afterwards and make sure the avian cat knew that you didn’t mean any real harm, that you were just fucking with Alastor a bit.

But as with any war, sometimes there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed from either side.

You’re walking carefully through the kitchen with a couple buckets of water for Niffty when you spot the shadow snaking out of the corner, and you’re not quick enough to sidestep it this time. You land hard on the floor, covered in hot soapy water, and when you see Alastor watching you from the doorway with that fucking smirk on his face and lowered lashes something in you snaps- the harsh bark of anger that rumbles from your throat is entirely genuine, as is the fear that seems to flash in his eyes before his smile grows cruel and he snaps his fingers.

There’s a muzzle around your face, the straps of it far too tight and digging into your skin before you can even get a chance to try and tear it off, and the yip of pain that escapes you hurts your sensitive ears combined with the laugh track that comes out of Alastor’s microphone.

“Ahh, isn’t that a sight? Muzzled at last, as every wretched mutt should be.” Apparently the sight of the muzzle makes him brave- he steps closer, reveling in being above you. “You know, in my time the strays weren’t even allowed indoors- how kind of Charlie to open the doors of the Hotel to you and the infestation of fleas that you’ve no doubt brought with you.” 

In lieu of a verbal response, you take advantage of his proximity and swipe at his ankles with your foot- his shadows don’t have time to react and catch him before he’s on the ground beside you, caught in an awkward crouch as he tries to flee before he’s fully landed. You snarl at him, sharp teeth bared behind the wire of the muzzle, still able to be seen and heard even if you can’t use them on him as you pounce, tackling him flat to the wet floor. 

Whether it's the shock of the move or something else, you’ll never understand why he doesn’t call on his shadows to assist. Instead, he lunges back, flipping your positions around, water splashing and scattering as the two of you essentially wrestle on the floor, harsh words and snapping teeth as you both try to bow the other into submission. He manages to get the upper hand, pinning you to the floor by your wrists, both your breathing heavy, sweat lining your brow, growling low in your throat while you try to wriggle out from under him. “Take the muzzle off,” you say.

“So you can bite me? I think not.”

“Take. The fucking muzzle. Off.” You stay locked in a dead stare, and when he doesn’t make any move to get off of you or reach for the straps of the contraption on your head you try once again to twist loose, managing to get your feet up under you to try and buck him off with your hips like some kind of wild horse. It accomplishes two things, neither of them what you wanted to happen.

First, you become aware of a dampness to your panties that is not just a result of your tumble across the wet floor; the fight-or-flight instinct combined with the adrenaline of the impromptu fight on the floor, ending with you pinned under a strong, powerful (sexy, even if he’s an ass) demon, means that your body has completely misconstrued what was happening here.

The second is that Alastor becomes aware of that the same moment that you do.

His eyes light up with malicious interest. “How interesting,” he murmurs, taking in the light tremble of your body, the likely dilation of your pupils and how hard you’re breathing. “Not just a feral mutt but a bitch in heat as well it would seem!”

Shame warms you from the inside out, burning in tandem with the arousal making itself known with the flush of your skin. “Fuck you,” you hiss through your teeth, but it’s weak, needy rather than demanding like you intend it to be. “Just- get off me, let me up-”

You continue to try to get out from under Alastor, attempting to buck your hips again to dislodge him. Quick as a whip there’s a tentacle wrapped around your wrist when he lets it go to dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, keeping you bowed nearly in a bridge. Your legs tremble from the strain of the position, and when Alastor presses his own hips down to meet yours you can’t help the cut off moan that escapes you at the feeling of his heavy erection pressing against your core.

“Get off? Are you quite sure?” He grinds against you, making you whimper when the drag of his cock through his slacks rubs under your skirt, against where you’re wet and sensitive. “You know, the one good thing about dogs is that they can be trained; by either rewarding them with a treat, or by whipping them into submission… perhaps there’s a mutually beneficial arrangement that can be made for us, depending on your preference on the matter."

“I’m not making a fucking deal with you,” you mutter, turning away from him, and a new tentacle slips around the other side of you to grab at your wrist so Alastor can release that one as well, using his now free hand to twist your face to meet his eyes over the cage of the muzzle.

“Who said anything about a deal? It’s a proposal- we can continue as we have been until you inevitably aggravate me to the point that I rip you apart, Charlie’s opinions on the matter be damned.” He lets go of your face to trail his hand down your throat, squeezing softly before continuing a path down your body to rest on your other hip, dragging your body up against his and properly slotting one of his thighs between your legs. “Or you can be a good dog and let me be the master with a firm hand that you seem to so desperately need to straighten your... flaws out, and make you at least bearable to have around my Hotel.”

When you hesitate, he taps the bars around your mouth. “I’ll even take the muzzle off at the end,” he says, “permitted that you prove to me that you can behave .”

And it shouldn’t be hot, the way that he says that; like you’re some unruly fleabag that needs to be fucked to act properly, like you were the one causing problems instead of just reacting to the ones he was creating. But the pressure of his leg against your sensitive clit, even through both of your layers of clothing, is sinfully delicious, and you can’t help but wonder what exactly Alastor as a ‘master’ would entail.

You force your muscles to relax, going slack against the Radio Demon, and he smiles wide and dangerous as he lowers your back down to the puddle of cooling water beneath you, still clinging to the faint lemony scent of the cleaner that Niffty uses. “Good girl,” he says quietly, and the praise floods your brain like a drug. “Obedience is a treasured trait in a pet, don’t you think? Even in one that’s a brazen tart- the slightest hint that I’ll touch you and you acquiesce so easily, how lovely.”

He releases his grip on your hip to reach up and rub your ear between his fingers; the action makes you whimper in your throat, the soft skin there thin and sensitive as he pays attention to it, slowly stroking while the thumb of his other hand rubs arcs across your stomach where your shirt had ridden up in the tumble across the floor. His touch sends shivers through your body, a perceptible tremor that he sees and delights in in his wild grin is anything to go by. “Go on,” he encourages, his fingers not ceasing their movements. “Tell me you’ll be obedient. Tell me you’ll be good for me.”

You grit your teeth behind the muzzle and nod as well as you can with his hand on your ear. Saying it out loud felt like a step too far, would feel like losing something to him.

Both hands tighten their grip, the prick of claws against your skin forcing a gasp from your lips. “Even young puppies can follow a basic command,” he mocks, and the hand on your hip shifts to dip below your waistband, his fingers quickly finding the slick heat of your cunt and rubbing teasingly along your entrance. “Come on now, don’t you want a treat? Speak.”

“Fuck you- yes, I’ll be fucking good,” you mutter, and he tuts in disapproval, pressing hard against your clit before starting to retreat. “Wait, no-”

“I won’t repeat myself again,” he says lowly, hand poised to exit your panties, possibly to leave you soaked and wanting on the kitchen floor as he disappears into the shadows.

You glare at him, even as the words bubble from your throat in desperation, wanting his dexterous fingers on your pussy again. “Yes, I’ll be good for you.”

His grin sharpens. “Lovely. And I am a man of my word…” His fingers return to your folds with a fierce vengeance, his thumb swiping hard against your clit as one of his thin, strong fingers dips inside, followed swiftly by another as they press against the sweet bundle of nerves inside you and stroke the soft skin there with unerring accuracy and pressure. The action makes your body tense, a rush of heat through your entire being as he rockets you towards a swift and sloppy orgasm with little more than a couple fingers and his hand rubbing the skin of your ears.

His gaze is fire as he looks down at you, the weight of his erection still straining his pants where it rests against your thigh as he crouches above you. “Who could have guessed it would be so easy to get you to listen to me? Why, had I known you were such a desperate harlot I may have taken your metaphorical leash in hand a bit sooner if that was all it took!”

You can’t respond as the pleasure builds in your body, shaking and whining in your throat as your orgasm builds, fingers inside you never ceasing in their movements as your walls clench around them. You won’t give him the satisfaction of crying out, biting your lip behind the muzzle to suppress the sound as well as you can; you’re helpless to the force of your release as it grows, cresting, and-

Alastor pulls away, his fingers pulling out of your fluttering hole, the slick of your arousal trailing out along with it before he brings his hand to his mouth. You can see the hint of his tongue darting between the digits as he cleans them, oblivious- or uncaring- of your incredulous stare at your ruined orgasm, so close you could fucking taste it before he ripped you back from the edge.

“What the fuck, Alastor?”

“I can’t have you making a mess already,” he says, your pussy clenching around nothing as he sucks on his fingers as if in thought. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“‘A shame’ is not letting me fucking finish,” you snarl at him, his grip on your ear preventing you from being able to turn away, tentacles still keeping you restrained so that you can’t finish the job your goddamn self. “Get off me, I’ll fucking do it-” 

“I have no need for a naughty pet, you know,” he murmurs quietly, and the tone of his voice makes you freeze in your half-hearted struggles to get free. “Perhaps if you can learn to ask for what you want instead of simply expecting me to give it to you we might get somewhere! What do you say, my dear?”

You start to nod by default before remembering his earlier command- speak. If you wanted to cum it would be best to do as he asks. “Yes,” you say, and he tears your panties from your body and positions his fingers. “Please,” you add on a moan when he delves back into your wet heat, repositioning so that he can grind his erection against the soft skin of your thigh again.

“Let’s see if you can do this correctly this time,” he muses. “Be sure to use your words, darling- tell me when you’re about to finish.”

And he’s back to the task at hand, pistoning his fingers in and out of your drenched cunt with unerring precision, stroking that spot inside of you that made your breath come quicker and your body start to tense again. Too soon you can feel the orgasm creeping back up on you, tears budding in your eyes as the pleasure and the pressure becomes too much, too fast. You’re tempted- so tempted- to ignore his demand, to just race towards completion and damn the consequences if you could cum before he realized it was happening and stopped again. Then you think about the way he had called you “good girl” earlier and despite how much you hate him and this situation, you want that again.

You crave the praise, the rush of endorphins and pleasure that it sent racing through your head. It’s the thought of this that has you choking out, “c-close,” when the edge gets a little too near; instead of pulling off entirely, Alastor merely slows, brings down the intensity of his actions enough that you can breathe, the wave of ecstasy fading before it can crash.

“So you are a quick learner,” he says, something like pride in his voice, and he finally releases his grip on your ear; the disappointed whimper that escapes you at this doesn’t go unnoticed as he trails his hand down your body, cupping your breast while his fingers continue to pump slowly, too lazily to bring that buzz back to your limbs. “There might be hope for you yet. Shall we go again?”

And again.

And again.

You lose track of how many times he does this- bringing you right to the brink, waiting for you to vocalize how close you are before he stops, repositions, and starts over. You’ve nearly cum on his fingers, tongue, and a tentacle that slithered up between your bodies, your words failing you the longer he denies you- he eases up on your shadowy restraints enough that you can reach up to grab at his clothing or hands once your voice seems to stop working, nothing coming out but a litany of moans and whines with no words attached to them. He reads your sounds like the words of a book, knowing exactly when to stop to leave you the most frustrated. His eyes rarely leave your face unless its to look down at whatever appendage he’s fucking you with, his cock still constrained within his slacks, hot and hard where he ruts against you when he can.

This time, when he lets you come back from the edge, his fingers drop to pull at his belt, the metal clink of the fastening loud in the kitchen as he pulls himself free, prick flushed a deep red and the slick sheen of precum beading at the tip, stroking down the shaft with a hiss. His smile is strained, a faint tremor to his expression and limbs from holding out on his own pleasure for so long. “Is this what you want?” He asks, low and dangerous, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, the evidence of how many times you’ve almost cum dripping from your core to the drying floor.

You nod, barely able to speak, to do much more than cling to him for dear life and jerk your head up and down in the affirmative.

He cocks his head to one side, an eyebrow arched even as he presses forward with his hips, the tip of him a blazing heat where he rests against you. “You can do better than that,” he says, “or has all our training been for nothing? Beg.” 

“Please,” you whisper, your voice a broken, raspy thing in your throat, and he purrs in satisfaction, bucking his hips as he uses a hand to bring a leg up around his hip. 

“Please what, dear?” Alastor takes his hand off his cock now, an experimental thrust against you sinking the tip of him inside you, the stretch of it burning in the most delicious way even with how long he had been preparing you. Even he stops to take a moment, a low hiss escaping his lips at how tight you are around him. “Go on- no more edging, this is the last time, and you’ve done so well thus far. Such a well behaved mutt, aren’t you? Tell me what you want.”

And even with the barbed insult in there, the pleasure of his words zips through your body like a bolt of lightning, the floodgates of your voice open and overrun. “Please, please, Alastor,” you whine, and with every word he presses harder into you, spearing you on his length with every cry from your mouth. “God, please, fuck me- please, I- let me cum, I need it, please-”

Alastor finally bottoms out inside you, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against your ass as he grips your hips with an almost possessive ferocity. “Good girl,” he growls, leaning forward to lick and suck at the delicate skin of your throat. It should be frightening, his sharp teeth so close to your jugular, but all you can think about is how fucking perfectly he’s stretching you, the harsh bolts of pleasure that spark through your body and make your head fuzzy as he pulls back only far enough to slam back in, hitting that spot inside that he had been teasing with his fingers and tongue for however long it had been now. “We might make a proper pet of you yet, darling- fuck, you feel too perfect.”

It’s the first time he’s vocalized his own pleasure the entire time, the first bit of praise meant for how your body makes him feel and not just how well you can follow orders. It swims through your brain like the buzz of whiskey, another wave of arousal crashing through you and reflecting in the gush of wetness where you’re connected with Alastor. The feeling of it makes him curse again, eyes glowing black and red as he pulls back and watches you, your mouth open and panting behind the wire cage of the muzzle. You can feel the faint ache of the marks he’s left on your skin, where his teeth had nipped and drawn traces of blood that pool in the soapy water below you. His body snaps sharply each time he thrusts into you, chasing his own orgasm through your body as you cling to him, unintelligible sounds that only seem to spur him on as they fall from your lips.

Another orgasm builds, one that Alastor has promised to actually give to you, and the ‘training’ has been effective enough thus far that your mouth is open before you can consciously think about it. “Close, c-close, please, Alastor- gonna cum, please let me, I’ll be good, fuck-”

“Do it,” he demands, a hand releasing your hip to brush over your swollen clit, sensitive and sore but fuck it still feels good, gives an edge to the need that has you clenching hard around Alastor’s length. “You’ve earned it, so well behaved for me- for me alone, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, yes- please please please, fuck, I-”

The ability to speak leaves you with a well timed and well angled thrust as Alastor fucks into you, fingers rubbing at the sensitive nerves at the apex of your thighs at the same moment; the world beyond the fluttering of your cunt around Alastor’s cock shatters and dissolves into nothingness. You just barely register his own harsh grunts and a couple pulses of white-hot heat inside you before he pulls out, the rest of his cum dripping onto the bare skin of your pussy and combining with the mess you’ve made from your own release.

Slowly the feeling returns to your limbs, everything in your lower body still faintly clenching and twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, having been kept at the edge for what felt like hours before you were permitted to take the final leap. When you finally open your eyes, Alastor is still knelt between your thighs- he uses a couple of fingers to scoop the mess of his cum from your skin and push it back inside, the feeling of it making you shiver. Once he’s satisfied, he rubs his thumbs in small circles against the skin of your inner thighs, and it takes a moment to realize what he’s doing.

“Are you fucking- that’s not lotion, asshole,” you say weakly, head falling back against the floor, and he merely chuckles and continues to smear the remnants of his release against your flesh.

He stops, tucking his soft cock back into his pants and doing his buttons back up. “I thought ‘marking one’s territory’ was a dog behavior- one would think you would be flattered! Though I suppose you can always wash it off- you do shower, yes?”

You kick weakly at him, not too irritated when he steps away. You fix your skirt, pulling it down over the evidence of your afternoon. “Fuck off, yes I shower,” you mutter, trying to rise to standing and glaring at your shaky legs when they won’t comply. “Trust me, first chance I get I’m going to- hey!”

Alastor pulls you to standing with his hands under your arms, the motion sending you careening into his chest. He stares down at you for a moment, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck, fingers carding softly through your hair. Your pulse stutters and increases as he leans in- was he going to kiss you?- and your eyes clench shut, waiting…

There’s a clink of metal, the straps of the muzzle loosening at last and letting the cage fall from your face, landing neatly in the grasp of a nearby shadow. “I did promise to take the muzzle off if you could behave,” he murmurs. “And you’ve shown me you can- well done.” He steps away then, the muzzle vanishing with a snap and the wrinkles in his clothing straightening out. “I should be off! I put off quite a bit of work for our… training,” he says with a smirk, and you feel the blush light up your face. “Do come see me if you think you can handle more- there’s always more treats to be had for a good pet.” He drops a hand to the top of your head, pats a couple times like one might to a real dog, and fades into shadows just as Niffty appears in the doorway of the kitchen. 

She wrinkles her nose. “Phew, it smells like wet dog in here! Did you spill my water? You better not let Alastor find out, I don’t think he likes you very much!“

“Don’t worry, Niff- I need to have a word with him soon anyway,” you mutter. “Let me help you clean this up…”

She fetches the mops, leaving you alone in the kitchen to wonder exactly how open Alastor’s offer to come see him for another ‘session’ was. Judging from the laughter you can almost hear echoing from the shadows at your furious blush when Niffty returns and notices a spot on the floor where Alastor's cum had dripped out of you onto the tiles, you'd say the next time couldn't come fast enough.

[blueishspace]

A few days ago I asked the question, what would you be the god of?

Here is the pantheon that has been created.

Gods of the fabric of reality:

Me/@blueishspace as god of space, sleep and night.

@sw1ft-sniff as goddess of time and knowledge.

@theduckwhostoleyourbread as deity of creation.

@shortystack75 as first divinity of change and god of contradiction.

@craftyexpertchild as second deity of change and god of chaos.

@azure-skies-with-sun as goddess of Inbetweens, the instant, middle states.

@ajfoxships as god of minor fortunes and misfortunes.

@pineapple-cheese-bread as god of luck and unluck.

@iris-entity as god of bonds (including chemical ones)

@unicornsandgenocide as god of death.

Nature gods:

@blizzardtheartisticfox as deity of Fall.

@star-dust-shark as deity of small critters.

@easily-distracted-by-fandom as divinity of prey animals.

@jadesolayray as goddess of beagles and orange cats.

@fallenflamess as god of fire, rock and mineral. (The depths of the earth?)

Regular life gods:

@star-dust-shark as deity of stupidity.

@serahblue as divinity of mischief.

@sleepdeprived-idiotlol as god of blood and cannibalism(?).

@not-ready-for-gaster as god of anxiety and procrastination.

@a-sociopath-do-your-research as deity of angst and twins.

@sun13koi as divinity of identity.

@communistcatboi as deity of both wonder and stubborness.

@some-dragon-bastard as god of that which is lost and discarded.

@but-aint-this-texas as god of petulance.

@fiery-feather as deity of courage and inspiration.

@kanaokanzaki-op as divinity of creativity.

@cowgirlginger as deity of imagination.

@m0on-shro0m as god of plushies.

@unstableunicornsofasgard as god of depression.

@creatorofstars as god of forgetting and repetition.

@razeeswillowtree as divinity of perspectives and opinions.

@shutitk as deity of prophecy.

@since-times-long-forgotten as god of breathing and scent.

@theshelteredbrat as god of gay and sarcasm.

@diedbydeth as goddess of lesbians.

@salty-lemonss as deity of gift giving.

@panpanix as goddess of Justice and retribution.

@issylilymay as deity of warmth and comfort.

@manageroftheassistantstage as god of leadership, power, communication and collaboration.

@apjofan as god of solidarity, kindness and anti-bullying.

@entity68 as deity of ugly and beauty.

@twisttea as goddess of loyalty.

If someone wants to be added they can just comment on this post or the last one and I'll update it. But now I pose another question, how would you be worshipped?

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

@leonardalphachurch ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE (in reference to this post)

Donut thinks his fursona is a red wolf, all handsome charm and roguish double’o’donut vibe but NO he’s a collie to me, specifically a rough/scots collie— he’s pretty he’s fluffy, he does good work but theres nothing behind those eyes affectionately. Also he likes to be told when he’s a good boy DOING A GOOD JOB

Grif… would not make a fursona for himself, but I think Kai makes one for him a-la garfield (fat orange cat) and he appreciates the Iconic humor of it at least and u know what i do think kai is right in the cat aspect but more maine coon less garfield (still fat tho /pos)- the kind of big lazy cat that make you do a double take bc like is that a big house cat or a bobcat, ya know?

Simmons does not Want a Fursona thank you very much he’s not Weird (tm) I'm telling you, he is a chihuahua. Puntsized ball of anxiety that bites and thinks its meaner than he is(but still pretty capable of being a mean little bastard, just,, not as big of one as he thinks)

Sarge Knows his fursona is a bald eagle. Bc its American. Patriotic! Sounds like a red hawk! Even better! He’s a pitbull— big brick of a head, mean reputation, but he’s a protective kind of caring at heart and u know he’s got that Iconic pittie grin

Lopez is hard, honestly, and if you asked him youd either get No Answer, or something thrown at you i think but like his fursona is like transformer mech bullshit that no one ever wants to draw and if you commissioned it you get like 20+ complex design additional charges because the rivets have to be 100% accurate and if they arent he would Know, its not even a fursona really at this point its just a cool mech body he wont ever build bc he doesnt trust anyone else to not fucking break it but emotionally its his fursona - the fursona I assign him is a remote control warthog, bc im sorry dude but i cannot give you a proper fursona to save my life my brain just refuses to do it so, goofy shit it is

SHEILA is, wonderfully, a sea turtle. Specifically i’m partial to a leatherback for her just for the scale factor alone but just the vibe in general of just,, seat turtle fits her idk how to describe it. In character, i do think she would misunderstand the assignment and just be like “oh! Im a Scorpion” bc thats the casual term for the M808B main battle tank in halo

Church(A), like simmons, REFUSES to even Consider it (epsilon considers it a Lot okay, theta’s got some cool design concepts but keep it on the dl bud) but i think he’s gotta be idog from the early 2000s. But like an edgy one the kind that were born of 12 yearolds traced over google images of the normal ones and recolored into Original Characters (i think their shape is based on beagles iirc??? Or labs), but yeah those things. If pressed, epsilon auto answers wolf but in that asshole way that sounds like he’s being a dick about it but no thats his actual answer

Caboose is a great dane. He’s just Great like that!! Yay! Friend shaped, really not used to being uhh mindful of his size and strength but loyal and protective ya know?? He's the only one who i think would correctly clock his own fursona on the first try

Tex would claim something badass like a tiger or something, but she’s like,,, a mockingbird :) i mean it IS the state bird of texas, and well... shes not a mockery of anything but she isnt the og either, ya know

Tucker claims a fox, because he’s sly and bitches Love foxes but to me?? Bluejay. Brightly colored, loud, mean little corvid asshole. Too damn clever for his own good- i would also maybe give him peacock or kingfisher if feeling more like,, flamboyant but he just feels very jay to me. maybe its the corvid bastard thing, or the bluejay in my backyard choosing the tree by my window as prime screaming spot for 6 am yelling for like a month but the vibe is there

Kai has so many furry characters. With the worst application of color theory known to man but somehow it works for her brand??? Sparkle dogs man, the woman is made for making sparkle dogs!! If i assign her cat to match grif, it'd specifically the kind of like bengal, this cat climbs walls kind of cat you know?? Zoomies all day every day! BUt i think more accurately to Kai as a person? Raccoon. Mischief and little grabby bastard hands and she would love it

Washington, if asked would shrug and say probably a cat bc u know, nine lives and all that- no. Im sorry cat wash truthers I respect cat wash, but nah Washington is a dog boy to me im sorry and specifically he’s a little Jack Russell terrier thats fast and vicious but man sometimes u gotta remember he’s like,,, he’s smaller than a cat man you gotta give him some help ya know?? Dont make him do it alone!!!

.......Or a horse i dont know how to elaborate on that one just,,, trust me

Carolina is oblivious to the concept of fursonas almost entirely, but she’s a greyhound and you know im right

Locus is genuinely the hardest one to place and i dont think he’d come up with a fursona for himself, but he gets assigned wolf by Donut i feel it, the whole lone wolf thing he has going and all during his redemption! Which honestly???? Maybe yeah? An argument could be made for another working dog (HELLO German Shepards my god) (context here: i had a german shepard/corgi mix, he was my lil guy, he was too damn smart for his own good and patrolled the back yard fence up until he couldnt keep his hips underneath himself anymore and then! He! kept! trying! So yes that does influence my input on german shepard locus) i just struggle to see locus as a dog???? Dogs are very high energy which -gestures to red team- but locus rarely has that same baseline energy i associate with dogs??? He’s hard to pin down and i’ve yet to manage it but im partial to something arboreal,,, the first thing that comes to mind on that train of thought is a binturong and i lost it imagining that so sure we'll go with that i have a lot of thoughts about locus

Felix wouldve loved the energy of being like the lucky cat with nine lives. I personally dont care for felix, but he would be that guy with like, its not a proper fursona bc he wouldnt b caught dead calling it that, but he has a fursona for scamming people and driving up the prices on auctions for no reason other than to fuck with people when he's bored. I subscribe to weasel/ferret Felix personally, specifically a yellow bellied weasel bc theres just,, honestly the name amuses me with the implications. He’s difficult to catch and handle, energetic and gets into shit no one wants him getting to. It fits

Doyle is a mouse, maybe MAYBE a rabbit, he doesnt know what fursonas are either but he just checks the mouse box for me personally,, very holdable, but skittish and might still bite you if u scare him bad enough

Dr Emily Grey does not have a fursona but she does think theyre neat and has let her patients all give her one, tho none of them agree on what she is. I think she's a shrike, specifically a great grey shrike! they're VICIOUS little birds, who dont look like much but they regularly hunt shit twice their size and are also known for impaling bugs on thorns and like, barbed wire?? theyre neat, and technically i think they count as corvids? clever little hunting machines

Kimball is definitely a german shepard tho like while im on the fence about it for Locus, there is no question about it for her she checks the boxes fits the vibe right down to the way she guards the new republic and chorus with her heart just under her sleeve

Sharkface. Shark. I mean….really. SPECIFICALLY THO a tiger shark tho, and he would absolutely be a dick if you implied a great white or a megalodon would be “better” bc no tiger sharks are exactly the kind of shark he should be thank you VERY much

thats everyone i have STRONG fursona assignment feelings for, and some are more flexible than others or more solid in some cases but YEAH! i think about this shit. a lot sidebar: i think the chorusans who know and are open about fursonas would probably use weird alien animals from chorus when picking them which makes this harder for them specifically bc the ones who would have fursonas arent limited to earth animals

all images are from the wiki pages for the animals! except for lopez. thats from the amazon page for the warthog

[piratefalls]

so for funsies i did the math on the number of notes only eight of these lists has accumulated and somehow we crossed 1k as of yesterday. what - and i mean this affectionately - the fuck? thank you for entertaining a girl who just likes to make lists and be part of things. once again, this got out of hand. oops.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven. list eight.

Yours Completely by SatinBirds

“Henry, were you leaving in the middle of the night?” Alex sounds stupefied and furious to his own ears. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse and weak, yet the word is abrupt and final. Blue, helpless eyes finally stare back at him, and there’s desperation in them. “I was.”

assumption by rizcriz

Henry’s distracted when he answers the regularly scheduled biweekly call with his best friend. He’s got an airpod in one ear that he uses to answer the call, and doesn’t even wait for Pez to start talking before he’s venting about his roommate. “I am so tired of being in love with him, Pez,” He says, crawling under his desk and reaching for the pencil he dropped. “He’s so bloody beautiful and kind and today, he made me breakfast. He did research, Pez. Research!” He snags the pencil from the furthest depths beneath his desk and crawls out from beneath it, nearly hitting his head on the way out. “An entire english spread. Bloody bastard. He does all this shite for me and I’m just supposed to not fall in love with him?” He shakes his head as he crawls into his chair, mournfully turning his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s bad enough that he’s so bloody beautiful. How am I meant to cope? I fear I can’t keep doing this.” -- Or, Henry's just really dumb sometimes.

Pride, Prejudice and an (arrogant, insufferable) Prince by DracoWillHearAboutThis

“I wouldn’t dance with him for all of England, not to mention the miserable half.” Netherfield Park is let at last, and Prince Henry manages to step on Alex's toes from the moment they meet. (Or, the Pride and Prejudice AU nobody asked for)

you call the shots babe (i just wanna be yours) by kittentoes

“I wish David were here.” The sigh from his lips rustles one of Alex’s curls loosened away from under the cap. Alex’s eyebrows scrunch together and there’s a new mask edging his features. One Henry can’t quite place in his filmy headspace. “Oh. I thought… Pez said you didn’t have a boyfriend?” The bark of laughter pulled from Henry’s throat is loud and unfettered. The kind of laugh he usually keeps hidden away or stifled behind the guard of a hand against his mouth. “No, no. I mean yes, Pez’s right. But David isn’t–” Another giggle breaks into the words. “David’s a beagle, Alex.” ___ or, Henry gets high, and Alex is everything he's ever wanted.

in need of assistance by stutteringpeach

Henry has a crush on Alex. Arthur can tell.

wanna know that body like it's mine by HypnosTherapy

Henry takes a fortifying breath and sticks his tongue out for Alex to look at. “Okay good, now hold it up like this,” Alex says, holding his mouth open and sticking his tongue up against the roof of his mouth. Henry copies the motion, flinching when Alex grabs his chin and tilts his head up. He hums as he looks into Henry’s mouth, nodding to himself. “Damn, you have the perfect anatomy for a piercing.” Henry’s not even sure if that’s a compliment, but his heart skips a beat. “Thank you.” -- After losing a bet, Henry has to get a tongue piercing. Alex, the incredibly attractive piercer, gets stuck in Henry’s head in more ways than he expected.

Total Collapse by clottedcreamfudge

Henry hates him. This is an immutable fact. So, when they'd been arguing in the third floor break room and the world had started to shake, the last thing Alex had expected was to be saved from a hefty chunk of falling ceiling as it cracked and fractured above them.

These violent delights by lizzie_bennetdarcy

There's an empty corner near the back of the shop, and he tucks himself in. Perhaps he's waiting for his target to walk into the cafe — it wouldn't be the first time. Suddenly, as though a hand has reached out and yanked on his hair, Henry's gaze is lifted and he knows it's who his Senses have been telling him to find. Sitting at the table across from Henry, sinfully long eyelashes lowered as he focuses on the pile of papers in front of him is the most devastatingly beautiful man Henry has ever seen. It's such a shame he has to kill him. Henry is a vampire hunter, with a very intriguing target.

Backseat Serenade by bleedingballroomfloor

"You seriously don't remember?" "Alex, for the life of me, I do not." Alex's face splits into a devilish grin. "Oh, baby." His voice is absolutely sultry. "All I'm hearing is that I gotta make you remember."

One Too Many Mornings by OrchidScript

"Henry Fox had fallen asleep on the beach. Spread out on a worn out wool blanket, sneakers still on his feet and his baseball hat in the sand. The breeze off the ocean, thin and clammy, blew his hair back and forth across his forehead. His substantial height was betrayed by the way he curled over onto his side. His knees tucked up out of the way and his fingers resting limply in the sand. Again." When Alex high-tailed it out of California for O'ahu, he imagined quiet days at the town law firm, mornings surfing the Pacific, and warm weekends out from under his parents' political campaigns. What he gets is all of that, a little contest notoriety, and an annoying neighbor he can't seem to shake.

i like the way that you talk to me by smc_27

The bartender, in his mesh tank top, towel tucked into the back pocket of a pair of jeans, leans on the bar, eyes twinkling, and asks, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged

Henry’s mouth opens then closes. He can feel a flush creeping over his cheeks, but he does his best to ignore it and hopes Alex will too. “Oh. Hello. Sorry, I’m—hi. Thanks for inviting me.” Alex’s smile only grows, and he steps back to let Henry in. “You’re the first one here. Lucky me. Come on, I’m getting some margaritas going.” Or, Henry’s new neighbour is a party-throwing, margarita-making menace, and Henry’s helpless against his charms.

Acts of Service by TuppingLiberty

After a vacation, Henry shaves Alex’s scruff off, because he loves taking care of Alex.

somehow i'd get by by anincompletelist

Henry should have known, probably, that accepting a job offer from Pez would have its nuances. It’s his own fault that he hadn’t asked more questions, that he hadn’t regarded it as a red flag when he’d had to sign several very thick NDA’s at the onboarding, when Pez had smiled so big and so secretively when they went out to celebrate afterward that Henry had to physically look away from it. Though he’s new to the city, he’d thought that working as an accountant wouldn’t offer all that many opportunities for any sort of overly odd, eclectic jobs. So he’d shown up on his first day at the provided address, a big, nondescript brick building in front of him with a duffel bag full of his sign-on papers, his computer, and a framed photo of his dog, David, ready to take up its rightful place on yet another boring, blank desk. He’d made it all of two steps inside the door before realizing that he’d just accepted a contract working for some kind of sex club. He’d stood his ground despite the burning flush that bloomed on his cheeks and then, miraculously, he’d stayed. 

Puck It by kiwiana

“I’m English, dear,” Henry tells him, and fuck if the nickname isn’t doing something to Alex too. “Our national sport is rugby, and we play it with a lot less protective gear. Though,” he adds thoughtfully, “rugby players do wear mouth guards, which means they have the significant advantage of generally keeping all their teeth.” “We wear mouth guards.” It’s a common misconception, and one that annoys the shit out of him. “And I’ve still got all my teeth. Wanna check?”

i run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild by ninzied

in which alex gets his hands on henry’s hair for a change.

Bite Your Tongue On Purpose by Woodsarelovely

“Hey, man. Can I get a black coffee to go?” “Er…” he says – a faintly bewildered expression on his face. “Yes, I imagine so.” Turns out the guy is also British, which is like, whatever. Alex gives him one of his best smiles. “Great, thanks.” Hot Barista glances vaguely around himself, then back to Alex. He looks simultaneously surprised and uncertain, like some kind of aggressively handsome time-traveller who’s been unexpectedly yeeted into a different century. After a beat, he says – “From me?” “Uh yeah. You’re working here, right?” “Well... yes?” Alex tries very hard not to sigh. Great. Looks like he’s dealing with one of those people who are so attractive, they’ve never had the need to develop any kind of personality beyond that of a Tupperware container of room-temperature potato salad. Alex absolutely does not have time for whatever this shit is. *** Five times Henry serves Alex coffee and one time Alex serves Henry.

down the hall, through the door by kwrites

Alex had found his door opening at least once a week, Henry’s tall frame filling the space looking for something or other. The thing is, Henry seemed so well put together all of the time, that him constantly running out of common household supplies or food is so outside the walls of what Alex expects from him. --- or, Henry and Alex are neighbors and Henry has a habit of stopping by unannounced.

as I drop my guard by villageidiot

Henry is so certain about so many things. And then Alex Claremont-Diaz happens.

let him be soft (let him be mine) by congee4lunch

“I’m always cute,” Alex kisses the mole on Henry’s cheekbone. “Yeah? Does your work wife tell you that?” Henry grumbles. “I don’t have a work wife,” Alex breathes out, smiling against his mouth. “Why need one when I got the real deal waiting at home for me,” He licks at the mole on Henry’s upper lip. “All pretty and mine for the taking?” in which henry wants to be alex's wife, in so many words. alex wants all that and more. their relationship ebbs and flows.

(la)cross(e) my heart by weather_stained

Alex is determined to start a lacrosse team at his college. It's his junior year, and he's closer than ever. That is, until he finds out someone else is trying to start a rugby team, and there's only enough funding for one additional sport. Clubs Day comes around, and he finds that his rival is no other than the insufferable Henry Fox. Alex definitely doesn't spent more time staring at Henry instead of running his booth, but if he does, it doesn't mean he's obsessed with him or anything.

Blooming Lovely by Celaestis

Floriography (language of flowers) is a means of cryptological communication through the use or arrangement of flowers. "Yes, but we all know she hates chocolate. I feel like it's harder to say a big passive-aggressive 'fuck you' with flowers, that's all." "Orange lilies," Alex blurts from behind the counter. The man stops, turning his full attention on Alex. Alex realises pretty is an inadequate adjective; he's hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. Y'know, objectively. "I beg your pardon?" ---- 5 times Alex gives Henry flowers, and one time Henry gives Alex flowers.

Something About the Sunshine by schmulte

Henry Fox is a famous musician just breaking out on his own. He's got money, fame, power, everything he could want in life. There's just one problem: he's hiding a big secret. When he meets Alex, the brother of a fan from Texas, one fateful night out in LA, Henry's life will change for the better. AU of the Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

i ask you how you're doing (and i let you lie) by matherine

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones. “God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.” Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

Risk is Just a Board Game by allmylovesatonce

Henry and Alex go out for a fun night out, but it turns into so much more when jealousy gets the best of Alex in ways he's just starting to figure out. When a fight leads to something neither of them ever counted on, a new arrangement is born: friends with benefits. It feels like the perfect solution, even though their friends are positive it'll backfire. When feelings inevitably complicate things, they have to try their best to make it through in one piece.

Taste the Way You Bleed by chamel

“It’s been 427 years,” June says matter-of-factly. Bea nods. “Ever since Alex’s first bi-annual vampire orgy.” Her gaze flickers away from her cards and over to the camera. “Henry got flustered and snubbed him, you see.” “If anyone knows how to hold onto a grudge, it’s Alex,” June sighs. “They hardly spoke for the next two centuries.” Bea plays a card. “Then Pez suggested a change of scenery, and we all moved to Brooklyn.” “Now they’re just Like This.” (A What We Do in the Shadows AU. Two centuries of living together haven't made Alex and Henry any better at getting along, but when a possible vampire hunter moves in across the street, Alex will be dusted before he lets anything happen to his nemesis.)

14:23 by politics_and_prose

Officer Henry Fox and 9-1-1 Dispatcher Alex Claremont-Diaz have one day of work left before their much anticipated honeymoon.

They Were Tentmates! by inexplicablymine

“Due to worsening weather conditions,” Charles takes a deep breath and then puts his hand on his face as if he is rubbing out the deep crease that has formed between his eyebrows, "coupled with the predictive index for the night, we are going to double up on tents. Your tent partner will be the same partner you had in the car on the drive down today, so get comfortable with them. It’s going to be a cozy night.” Alex is a liar. It got worse. So much worse. He turns in horror to Henry as Henry looks up to meet Alex's eyes and grimaces. Great. Tonight is going to be one long night. ______________ Medard might be the Patron Saint of Weather but there was no saving Alex from the fact that he would have to share a tent with that posh pretentious British asshole. Or, an unseemly storm while camping means that in this treacherous tale they are tentmates! (oh my god they are tentmates!)

ace up my sleeve by bananzie

Alex always liked kissing Henry. Kissing Henry was soft and so full of love and life that it made Alex's toes curl. Whether it was over breakfast, after classes, or just because, kissing Henry always made Alex melt just a little more into a puddle of love. Except— Then Henry's hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats to trace the soft skin there, and Alex couldn't stop the stiffening of his spine if he tried.

(i would stay forever if you say) don't go by coffeecatsme

The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away. A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was. To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Downburst by cricketnationrise

Amy’s sudden shout of alarm cuts off whatever Zahra was going to say. Alex stares at Amy, uncomprehendingly. His heart is racing, his body already flooding with instinctive fear, brain scrambling to catch up, to process what she said— Cash is at his side between one blink and the next, practically tackling him to the ground and oh— That’s a gunshot.

and i'll lay right down in my favorite place by mangotarts

“Speaking of your boyfriend, all you mentioned was that Alex was watching some show then made some off-hand comment but it wasn’t so off-hand if it’s what landed us here, was it?” Henry clears his throat. “Um, yes, that’s right. He’s been obsessed with this one television series that’s set in seventeenth-century England. I watched a few episodes with him the other night and I will admit, the plot is rather captivating.” Henry glances at Bea and sees that he has all of her attention. He continues, nerves starting to settle into his body when he recalls what Alex said. “We were both immersed in an episode when he suddenly blurted out how good I’d look in the attire of that era.” in which henry takes alex's supposed off-hand comment into consideration and alex is. well, alex is unprepared for the repercussions of his words.

a new name (or two) by viciouslyqueer

Alex jokes about Henry taking his last names, and isn't expecting Henry's reaction.

the poem you make of me by cmere

"Just, you know," Henry says. "If your mum weren't the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you'd be doing instead?" After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention. Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

Hashtag Soulmates by everwitch

Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated. Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

Satin and Lace by absoluteaudacity

Henry has a surprise for Alex on his birthday.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You by @sparklepocalypse

In hindsight, Alex should probably have known that letting Henry borrow his clothes for the weekend would absolutely wreck him. But Henry had fretted about his wardrobe being too formal for a casual visit to the lake house, and Alex has developed somewhat of a Pavlovian response to the way Henry’s brows furrow and his mouth pinches when he’s anxious. Once the words “You can just wear my stuff, no worries,” were out there, there’d been no stuffing them back into his mouth. Here’s the thing Alex should’ve taken into consideration: Henry would look hot dressed in a garbage bag. So the morning after their lake house arrival, when Henry steps out of the shower and into a pair of Alex’s swim trunks and Alex’s Arrels Barcelona shirt, Alex takes one look at him and drops his phone. (Movieverse; Henry wears Alex's clothes at the lake house and Alex reacts accordingly.)

i will be back next week with a christmas/holidays/new years list! as always, if you want to be tagged in the future just let me know!

tags: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

[peanutsoutofcontext]

Snoopy of the Day

[peanutsoutofcontext]

He deserves this btw

snoopy of the day

[smalltownfae]

Looking for blogs that do book reviews or book related posts and have similar tastes to mine in order to find more excellent reads so please let me know if you are a fan of 3 or more of these:

Realm of the Elderlings series by Robin Hobb

Nightrunner series by Lynn Flewelling

Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

Discworld series by Terry Pratchett

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

First Law series by Joe Abercrombie

Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tokien

The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Winter Rose/The Changeling Sea/The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia A.McKillip

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang

Gentleman Bastards series by Scott Lynch

Shades of Magic by V.E. Schwab

Greenhollow Duology by Emily Tesh

Black Water Sister by Zen Cho

Sistersong by Lucy Holland

Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin

Dawn/Kindred by Octavia E. Butler

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

I read mostly fantasy, but some classic literature too and I have been trying to get into historical fiction. I prefer long series if the characters are complex or entertaining enough. Books being queer is a plus.

[i-hate-snoopy]

My review on "Snoopy come home"

"Snoopy come home" is where snoopy TRULY shows his true colors. In the short film, Snoopy is nothing but an asshole to all the children in the neighborhood for no FUCKING reason, as-well to his former owner, Lila.

He literally leaves without saying goodbye to anyone, after receiving the letter from Lila. Then he turns around and acts like he fucking cares. If I was at Snoopy's going away party id be pleased as punch, it would be a fucking miracle for me. If only he actually cared about Lila and stayed then maybe I wouldn't hate him as much. I still hate him, of course, but what he did to Lila was so fucked up it just fed into my hatred.

NOT TO MENTION, HIS FUCKING STUPID ASS DECIDED TO SHAKE HER FUCKING HAND INSTEAD OF GIVING A PROPER GOODBYE. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO CRY LIKE A FUCKING BABY IN THE BEGINNING AND ACT LIKE YOU CARE ONLY TO TURN AROUND AND BE A TWO FACED BASTARD BEAGLE. IF I WAS LILA, I WOULD'VE CALLED ANIMAL CONTROL ON HIS ASS! and that bitchass bird too. He's guilty by association.

Charlie brown should've never welcomed him back. All the other kids were justified for hating him in the end. He literally just came back because he got all those fucking gifts, in conclusion, snoopy is a self centered, asshole, who should've been left in the woods. There is NO DOGS ALLOWED for a reason. He should've stayed with Klara FOREVER! HE DESERVED THAT, HE HAD IT COMING.

[theoddcatlady]

Mr. Ferguson

I think the whole street breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the EMTs take a body bag out of the Ferguson house. I was only about ten or eleven at the time and it’s been a while so some details of my childhood are lost to time, but I can’t forget Mr. Ferguson.

There was never a Mrs. Ferguson in the picture, as far as I know. He lived in the house on the corner, the one with the bright yellow shutters and the gorgeous garden out back. The garden didn’t make up for the rotten old bastard he was. I wondered once if he was nicer when he was younger, when he didn’t have to walk with a cane and could actually get around without help, but my dad set me straight on that one. Mr. Ferguson had always been a terrible person and the neighbor from hell.

All day long, Mr. Ferguson would sit on his front porch in his rocking hair, grasping onto his black cane as he stared out on the street. If someone walking their dog even got close to his yard, he’d start spewing threats about what he’d do if the dog took a shit on his lawn. If a kid put even a toe on his property, he’d get up from that chair and start shouting more terrible things. I learned my first cuss words from Mr. Ferguson, he didn’t censor his language even among the smallest of ears. And he wasn’t all talk. One of my friend’s dogs wandered into the Ferguson yard, just sniffing around as beagles do, and Mr. Ferguson beat that dog bloody. The poor thing had anxiety for the rest of its life and if you so much as passed the Ferguson house with it the dog would lose its mind.

Other than him, our neighborhood was a friendly place. Summers were full of cook outs and pool parties, winters had Secret Santa gift exchanges and someone was always willing to help shovel out your driveway. You’d never be hard pressed to find a babysitter on short notice, odds are your friend had a teenage daughter willing to make a few bucks to make sure the kids were on bed in time.

But not Mr. Ferguson. People did try to bring him in on the fun sometimes. He’d scoff and tell them to leave him alone in no uncertain terms. Mom said he just wanted to be miserable. I didn’t understand how someone could want that and well, I still don’t.

One hot summer morning though, his caretaker came in to do a check and found him in his garden, dead as a door nail. Probably a stroke or a heart attack.

My mom made us go to the funeral. I don’t know why, she probably hated Mr. Ferguson the most and we were like one of five people that went. One of those people was the priest. At least it was short, the priest just said a few words about how we should treasure our lives and be good to others and then Mr. Ferguson was chucked into the ground.

That was that… or so I thought.

The accidents started happening just a week later.

I was at my friend Michael’s house, we were playing board games when we heard the crash. It was so loud it shook the house and Michael dropped his soda. Root beer spilled onto the carpet as we tried to figure out what that sound was for a second.

Then we heard his dad screaming bloody murder.

Forgetting completely about the spilled soda, we ran out to the garage where he’d been working on changing the oil in the car.

Michael’s dad was pinned by the car against the garage door, face white as a sheet as his head lolled to the side. I saw blood splattered against the off gray color of the metal and I puked while Michael ran inside to call 911.

It was luck that he survived. He never walked again and health issues plagued him for the rest of his life, but for a guy crushed by a car that’s probably best case scenario.

It was an accident, sure, but a weird one. The car just suddenly launched forward as Michael’s dad stood in front of it. But there was no one in the garage with him. So yeah. It was just an accident.

But accidents started happening more and more often.

The next one was at the final pool party of the season. We were all at the Benson house because they’d just gotten a brand new hot tub. There was probably like twelve kids running around, the sun was shining, the barbecue was sizzling. I had just gotten out of the pool to grab a lemonade and was chatting with Annie when I heard the pop.

Mrs. Benson and her friends had been relaxing in the hot tub, making jokes and laughing until the pop. Their bodies suddenly went rigid before they began rapidly jerking about and twitching. Mr. Benson shouted if she was all right and I heard this gurgled yell before Mrs. Benson went under.

The kids stampeded out of the pool and I smelled something burning before I realized that the hot tub was on fire.

Mrs. Benson and her sister ended up dying on the way to the hospital. The other woman ended up surviving but not without some serious electrical burns. Electrocution via hot tub. Just an accident. But there was one more accident we all missed until we returned to the pool to see a little body floating at the top. Three year old Maggie had fallen in during the chaos and drowned.

Mr. Benson moved away after that. Losing both his wife and youngest child in that house just killed something inside of him. But after he moved away, we all saw it happen.

His backyard became overgrown by plants. Not over a few weeks, like what happens when a house is uninhabited and there’s no one to mow the lawn. The very day after they’d left that house the backyard was now filled with dandelions, daffodils, lilies. and all sorts of flowers that shouldn’t naturally appear in the late summer.

It was like a garden.

Accidents happen, sure. But not like this. Not when a guy who’s been working home improvement his entire life ends up toppling from a ladder and breaking his spine. Not when a mom trips and falls face first into the open dishwasher and ends up getting impaled on a knife. Not when a toddler was left alone for just a few seconds and ends up nearly drowning in the bathtub.

Dogs ran into the road and ended up getting hit by cars. Kids fell from their bunk beds and cracked their heads like eggshells on their dressers. Teenagers got into fatal car wrecks. It was a mess.

Two other families ended up leaving our neighborhood and their yards had the same fate as the Benson’s- completely grown over. A morbid beauty.

Fall came and the yards grew brown but the gardens seemed to be even greener. The whispers started about a ghost. A ghost that was such a miserable old bastard in life and was now a nasty poltergeist in death.

Mr. Ferguson had never left our neighborhood.

It all came to a head when a tree was struck by lightning and a large tree limb crashed into our living room. I’d just tripped while picking up my things and suddenly the roof caved in above me. I was lucky I was on the ground. If I’d been standing, well, I’d probably not be telling you this story.

Two nights later my mom woke me up. She looked grim.

“Come on. We’re going to see Mr. Ferguson.”

When we walked out of the house, I saw everyone on our street was out. Everyone had this same grim look on their face. The deaths, the mutilation, it’d forever tarnished our street and we’d all had enough. We walked down the street, I saw several guys walk into Mr. Ferguson’s house with mallets and chainsaws, but we kept going with a few of the others. I saw that several of the adults were carrying shovels and containers of lighter fluid.

We walked into the graveyard and my mom led them right to Mr. Ferguson’s grave. She took a deep breath.

“… Start digging.”

It was the frantic endeavors of people who believed they were cursed. Dirt flew in the air and nearly pelted me in the head a few times. I hid behind my mom, who just stood there stone faced.

Even now the accidents weren’t over. A man tripped in the hole and his leg snapped like a twig. He wailed as he was dragged away by a few others before they got right back to digging. Someone else got smacked the face with a shovel and blood coursed down his face from his nose as he just kept on digging.

Finally the coffin was reached, the lid cracked open. Mr. Ferguson’s body laid inside. He didn’t even look dead, it was like he was just taking a nap.

Then they started pouring the lighter fluid in. It covered the corpse’s skin, his clothes. They probably added more than necessary. My mom struck the match and threw it in, shielding me from the sudden burst of flames.

I didn’t get to see the body, but I swore I heard that old man’s yelling as his body burned.

It was over after all that. The gardens were all dead by morning. The accidents stopped. And although we’d lost so many of our friends over the past year, we recovered. New neighbors moved in. We welcomed them into our fold. One or two asked about the property on the corner, the one that looked like a tornado hit it, and we’d just say it was vandals. They stopped asking. We never talked about what we did to Mr. Ferguson’s body. And soon we just stopped thinking about it.

I grew up on that street. Even now I only live a few blocks away. And for so long I wondered why our family was practically the only one untouched by the tragedy. We never got hurt, even when the tree branch came crashing into our living room.

I think I found out the answer. See, my mom passed away a few months ago from breast cancer and I’ve been going through her things. She’s always been such a good, kind woman and it was great seeing pictures of her helping plant the garden behind the church and teaching at the local school.

But in the bottom of the box, hidden under dozens of other albums, was a picture from when she married my dad. Unlike the family picture with the groom, all it was was my mom and an older man. I didn’t recognize him until I flipped the picture over.

On the back was written ‘Pauline Walters (P. Ferguson) and The Father of the Bride.’

[unwelcoming-neighborhood]

“ Oh great. . it's the mutt. ”

“ you've gone fully insane or some shit - ? the hell you talking t— no way, can't be those bastards again . ”

“ new audience, mutt. ”

“ call me that again and 'm ripping those four arms of yours. ”

“ can it, I don't have time for your dumbassery. ”

[ YOU CAN NOW ACTIVELY ASK BOTH HOWDY PILLAR AND BARNABY B. BEAGLE ]