Water is people!
I FUCKING CALLED IT.
my eyes just welled up with tears omg
that’s mark patting martin
look at martins face i
(Source: fireemblem, via kyurem)
thanks for the suggestion anon this fusion is uNF
(Source: trick-r-bleed, via holmes-and-watson)
Drabble: Kill me.
Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.
Tyson could never kill a friend, but he could put a dog out of its misery. It was the kindest thing to do.
That’s what he told himself at least.
Liam Baker was a hard man to kill. An ever harder beast to kill. But as a wolf? Wolves can be killed as easy as one, two, three.
Tyson invited Liam over after running into him after work. He’d added a few extra cases to the other man’s work to tire him out. To make him vulnerable. He took the other man to his home to let him get a rest, a responsible friend. He removed the man’s clothes to stop them getting torn, accidentally removing a few of the blue buttons from his shirt in the process, after convincing him he’d sleep better in his wolf form. He even gave Liam a sleeping pill from the medical team to help him get a dreamless sleep, a pill that was taken reluctantly with the help of puppy dog eyes. A pill that had the side affect of trapping Liam in his wolf form, something the half wolf was too exhausted to notice. Tyson may have forgotten to mention that the pill would allow him a dreamless sleep but would make him even more tired.
Being the responsible, caring friend that Tyson was he decided to stay with Liam to help him feel better. The poor dear was obviously overworked and could do with a friend to look after him at a time like this. The former soldier spent the day showering Liam in love. He had employees deliver Liam’s favourite foods, cooked to perfection. He cuddled the wolf; running his fingers through his fur, rubbing his belly, and scratching behind his ear. He washed Liam’s fur gently and brushing out any tangles, he had such a lovely coat. He even let him fall asleep, curled up in his arms.
He stayed sat on the bed for an hour, stroking his friends fur and quietly singing him a lullaby. His voice crackled and tears prickled his eyes as his sung, knowing this would be his last memory of his friend. The final act of their performance. Then the clock turned to two am and Tyson was working again. He took his knife from his rucksack and gently turned Liam over, from his side onto his front. Tyson caressed the back of the wolf’s skull, keeping him asleep as he exposed his neck.
The knife plunged in. The knife tore across. Nerves severed. Main arteries torn. Brain punctured. Instant painless death.
Painless for one of them.
“T-three,” chocked out Tyson as tears streaked his face. His body shook. Convulsing with pain. He couldn’t breath. Throat too dry. He’d murdered his only friend. Liam’s blood stained his hands, his clothes, his soul. Bloods that came out of his friend’s body like a fountain. Soon Tyson was sat in a puddle of blood as he hugged the corpse. He couldn’t leave him, not like this. He buried his head into the body, trying to get comfort from his only friend. He could taste the blood as he sobbed, it poured down from his neck into the wolf’s fur. It coated Tyson’s face. The blood could be washed off but the metallic taste would never leave Tyson’s mouth. He could forever be gagging on his betrayal.
He should have started clean up. He should have removed the evidence but he didn’t. Not until the following night. Instead he went straight to his owners, blood still on his skin. The blood would always be on his skin. His owners had been waiting and welcomed him with open arms, with praise. Their pet was all grown up. Their pet was weeping openly and having a panic attack over killing his only friend, but he was all grown up.
A lot of things changed that night. No, Tyson didn’t stop serving his owners. He stayed loyal, he would always stay loyal, but Tyson was no longer their Pup. He was no longer the shy retreating man who tried to make friends. He was an attack dog.
There were no questions asked just knives drawn and blood shed.
The only sign of who he might have once been before was his sentimentally. Killers often take prizes of their kills and Tyson was no exception, not any more. He took keys and kept them in a biscuit tin under the bed. But there was one exception. One that was different. Tyson was never without a homemade toy wolf. Wherever he went the wolf came with him; it went around in his rucksack, it sat on his desk at work, he cuddled with it at night.
He’d made it himself when he’d been removing Liam’s body from his home. Something had broken in his mind that night and he couldn’t bare to leave his friend, so he made a new friend.
His favourite treasure.
He’d carefully taken Liam’s pelt, making sure it took no more damage, as he used the knife to remove it form the wolf’s corpse. He cleaned the fur before cutting it then stitched it together carefully with the silver twine he kept for his maps to the size of an average stuffed toy. He’d stuffed his friend with some cotton then picked up the shirt buttons from the floor. He’d stitched two on as eyes and cut Liam’s belt to make his friend a collar. He broke the knife he’d used to slaughter his friend and crafted a circular name tag from the blade. He even had it engraved.
Reblogging from my roleplay account.