*Snarls at you* Your HOOVES are not stronger than my ANGER. *Fucking kills you by stomping on your skull until you stop moving. Bits of brain matter are splattered up my leg* The magic of friendship cannot save you now.
[Image IDs: 3 flags:
The first flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: Darkest brown, chocolate brown, red-brown, gold, blonde, and pale blonde.
The second flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: Greige, light brown-gray, brown, dark brown, brown-black, and green.
The third flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: darkest cyan, dark royal blue, dark cyan green, light cyan green, lime green, and pale yellow.
/IDs end.]
— ❝ Cynophobia(link), equinophobia(link), and entomophobia(link) flags ❞
— Tagging @mousesquared and @mad-pride. This is not a gender , do not tag it as such
Please read my rentry before interacting ! Don't repost ! ♡
Pairing(s): Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Black!Reader, Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Afro Latina!OC (familial)
Notes: So I recently found out that our beloved Miggy has Equinophobia, or in other words has a fear of horses. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write about it! Besides that, I wrote this while I was half sleep and I didn’t feel like proof reading so please keep that in mind. I hope y’all enjoy!
Warnings: Fear of horses, a few annoying friends, Miguel pees on himself in front of all of you, biting (from the horse), children, sabotage, two grown yet childish idiots, passing out, profanity. Let me know if I forgot anything!
From the moment Janina was old enough enjoy anything, she’d loved horses. Her favorite show was my little pony, her first word was pony, and her favorite bathing suits have all had some form of a horse on them. She was obsessed.
When she’d asked for a Pony for her sixth birthday, you knew it was a no go due to her father’s equinophobia . What you didn’t know is that when you declined her request, she’d asked your parents the exact same question.
The two of them love their grand babies with all their heart. With the amount of money they have, they buy them everything they want within reason.
On a normal day, they’d never think a horse was a reasonable gift. But for a birthday? Heck yeah!
“NiNi, we have a gift for you, love.” Your mother spoke, pulling Nina into her lap.
“Really, Nana?” Nina asked, a small smile adorning her tanned face, “What is it?”
And when your dad walks into your large backyard, pulling a small horse next to him, all hell breaks loose.
Nina’s eyes light up and she leaps from your mothers lap, running her way over to her grandpa and the horse. “Wow, a real life horse! Mommy, daddy, come look!”
Miguel looks at you and frowns a little. You give him a look before turning back to your daughter and her newfound best friend.
“Daddy’s legs hurt a little right now, baby. I’ll come meet your pony.” You tell her.
You pat Miguel on the shoulder before walking over to your daughter and the pony.
“What are you gonna name her, baby?” You ask.
Janina huffs. “She’s a boy, mommy! You should never assume!”
You laugh at her slip up before apologizing.
“I’m sorry, baby. What’s his name?”
“Mommy Jr.”
“Mommy Jr?”
“Yeah!”
“But what about Sparkle? Or Stud? Maybe even Flashlight?”
“Well Uncle Johnny said I should name him Mommy Jr!”
You whip your head around to face both of her Uncles that go by that name.
There was Jonathan, your brother, and Johansen, Miguel’s friend from who knows where. Both of them shared a similar personality and were always getting your daughter into trouble.
“Which one of y’all idiots told my baby to name this horse after me?”
Both of them looked at each other and then back at you before bursting into laughter.
“You can’t lie, n/n. He kind of looks like you!” Johansen admitted.
“Yeah,” your brother joined in, “Y’all both got that grown man look going on for you.”
You continue to argue with the two, not noticing your father and Janina walking over to your husband. They pull him out of his seat to the side of you furthest from the horse.
“Aww, Miggy.” You look at him, quickly cleansing your mouth of all the curses you had aimed at Jonathan and Johansen. “It’s okay, we won’t let the horse eat you. Come here.”
Miguel allows you to drag him in the middle but he still squeezes himself tightly against you.
“How can I ever be a man if my six year old daughter finds out I’m afraid of horses?” Miguel whispers in your ear.
You turn to face him. “It’s a phobia, baby. Everyone is afraid of something.”
“Who do you know that’s afraid of horses?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
You don’t answer, only prompting to shush him and get him to loosen up.
“Time for a picture!” Your mom speaks. Your dad hands Nina to Miguel and he puts on the most realistic smile he could manage.
Your mother peaks at you all from behind the the camera and smiles. “On three, say Mommy Jr!”
She begins to count up from one, but right before she says three, Miguel squeals and tries his hardest to jump onto you.
“Cielo, cielo!” He yells, gripping you tightly.
You look at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“He bit my pants!”
You look behind Miguel at the miniature horse who obviously can’t take a hint and nudges your husbands leg once again.
Miguel gulps loudly and looks down at the horse who—unfortunately for him—was staring right back at him.
Miguel shrieks and runs to the other side of you, away from the horse. The horse seemed to be in a playful mood and decided to follow Miguel wherever he went.
Eventually, your daughter grew tired of the run around and jumped from her father’s arms, running over to sit with her uncles. Your party guests watch in amusement and you try to block the horse from your husband.
To your surprise, the horse got around you and approached your husband. He passed out, and both Johnnys stood to their feet, looking over the table at your husband.
“Damn! That nigga scared of horses!”
A few hours later, Miguel blinks his eyes open, squirming uncomfortably as he adjusts to his surroundings.
“Babe!” You squeal, running over to the hospital bed. “You’re okay!”
Miguel side eyes you. “I recall being in the presence of a horse?”
“Um…” you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah.”
“Why was the horse chasing me?” He asks.
“Dumb and dumber put some apple slices in your pocket.”
Miguel frowns.
“If it makes you feel any better, I cut Jonathan’s wicks and put nair in Johansen’s shampoo. You know how crazy they are about their hair.”
Miguel chuckles a little and scoots over to the right, patting the spot next to him. You squeeze in there with him and rest your head on his shoulder.
“Besides that,” you start, “you had a panic attack and it was pretty severe, I guess. They said you’ll be free to go today, but they also had a few extra notes for you. You’re better off hearing it from a doctor.” You start to sit up. “I can go get one if-“
“No!” He protests, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him. “Stay with me for a little.”
“Okay then.”
“Did I worry anyone?”
“Nah, everyone was too busy laughing.”
“I passed out and people were laughing?”
“You kind of…” you take a deep breath and prepare to answer him, but a doctor walks in to check on him and notices he’s awake.
You promise to tell him later.
Bonus:
Ever since the doctor interrupted your earlier conversation with Miguel, his curiosity had been eating away at him. What happened to him? Why was everyone laughing?
He walks to the bathroom door and knocks on it.
“Baby?” He speaks loudly through the door.
“Yes?” You yell over the stream of water coming from the shower head.
“What happened to me when I passed out?” He asks nervously.
“We will discuss this when I get out.” You respond.
Miguel huffs before stomping his way to Nina’s room where she lay on the floor playing with her Shopkins.
“Nina?” He asks, taking a seat next to her.
She looks up at him. “Yes, daddy?”
“What happened when I passed out?” He asks, picking up one of her dolls.
“Oh, you peed.” She says casually.
His eyes widen. “I peed?”
“Yeah!”
Miguel gulps. “W-was it noticeable?”
Nina raises an eyebrow, confused by the big word her father had used. “What?”
He rephrases his question. “Could people tell that I peed?”
“Oh, yeah!” Nina giggles. “It was really bad. Mommy had to throw away your pants and uncle Johnny took a picture of you.”
Miguel chuckles, thinking his daughter was joking, but she only blinked at him.
“Why are you laughing daddy? I’d want to run away if I were you.”
A lightbulb goes off in Miguel’s head at his daughter’s words. He kisses her head before running back to you in the bathroom.
From the very first moment I saw one, I have always hated horses. I remember the event clearly, that first meeting with one of those wretched animals which shattered my innocence at such a young age. I must have been about 8 years old, my family was attending a country fair, and there was an advertisement for pony rides.
Now, up until this point in my development, I had never actually seen a horse in the real world. I'd seen them in picture books, sure, I even owned a couple of toy ones, but I'd never seen an actual, living horse. The shock of beholding the actual animal itself was a viscerally disturbing experience.
Everything about it was wrong. The sour, sweaty smell, the too-large eyes that seemed to eye me as though I were prey, the sharp-tipped hooves, and those horrible, enormous teeth. I watched the attendant give the pony a sugar cube from her hand, and winced in terror at the thought of it simply biting down upon her fingers and snapping them like carrots.
My parents must have thought that my wide-eyed, silent terror was due to being overwhelmed with excitement, because they wound up pushing me forwards, where the attendant helped me up onto the pony. I wanted to scream as I felt myself forced onto the hideous monster, I wanted to beg to be let off, but I was still utterly paralyzed with fear. The attendant began to lead the pony forwards, oblivious to my horror, but the pony knew how I felt. It knew I was afraid.
Without warning it broke free from the attendant's grasp, the rope loosely held in her hands slipping free quickly, as the pony galloped forwards as fast as it could. Finally, I found my voice, and began to scream to be let off, to get away from this monster.
I got my wish sooner than I might have guessed.
The pony bucked, and I found myself flying through the air, crashing into a fence with a gut-wrenching snap as my arm broke from the force and I experienced the worst pain I had ever felt up to that point in my entire life. Blinking tears out of my eyes, I watched as the maddened pony began to rush towards me, seemingly preparing to finish the job. Mercifully, it was at that point I fainted.
Ultimately I was mostly okay, at least physically. There was no lasting damage, as it was a clean break which healed up nicely. The otherwise incompetent attendant successfully managed to keep the pony from ramming into me in the nick of time. Emotionally, however, I would never be quite the same again. It was the first time in my entire life that I was actually, genuinely afraid of dying, and that changes you.
My parents never believed me when I told them that I knew I hated horses from the first instant I saw the pony. They always assume it is simply a false memory, that I was projecting my trauma backwards, but I know the truth. From the very moment I looked at that disgusting animal, I knew that there was something terribly wrong with horses.
All this was decades ago of course. I'm an adult now, more than that in fact, I'm retired; a "senior citizen" as they say. I suppose people have started to get offended by the term "old woman". My parents are long since dead and buried and in all honesty I am very likely soon to join them. Perhaps sooner than I deserve.
My home out in the country isn't especially large, nor especially extravagant, and until now it has served its ultimate purpose quite well; to be somewhere cheap where I can live out the rest of my days in relative comfort. It is a simple old farmhouse, small but with two stories, in good repair and relatively easy to maintain, even at my age. The major downside is that it is fairly isolated from the rest of the world, surrounded by fields as far as the eye can see, but up until recently that felt like more of a blessing than a curse. Now however, I long to be in the city, surrounded by concrete and people, far far away from this place. All because of the Horse.
I cannot help but capitalize the word when I refer to this animal, for it is surely the purest and most hateful representative of its kind. It is a Horse to surpass all other horses, the most foul and despicable member of a species characterized by foulness and despicability. It is, to put it quite simply, the Worst Horse.
My first encounter with the Worst Horse was a few weeks ago now I think, perhaps a month, though I must admit I am unsure of the exact date. I was out hanging up some clothes to dry, and I recall it was a fairly pleasant, sunny day. Or at least, it was until the exact moment I saw the Horse. Almost instantly, the wind seemed to pick up, rustling the tall grass and putting a chill in my bones. A cloud passed over the sun, darkening the sky faintly as I stared at the creature across the field. It was staring back at me.
Living out in the country, it is not entirely rare to see the occasional horse, it is simply an unfortunate fact of life, and as much as I despise the creatures it is not within my power to criminalize the act of riding one. However, it is considerably less common to see one unbridled and unmounted, standing utterly still and staring at you with assuredly malicious intent.
I was obviously deeply uncomfortable, and found myself paralyzed, as if I were once again the frightened little girl confronted by that fairground pony. The Horse was similarly motionless. I am not a religious woman, laugh at me all you want but it always felt difficult to keep faith after my first interaction with a horse. I couldn't reconcile the existence of a benevolent creator with the existence of horses. In that moment, however, I wished I had something to pray to.
At first, I couldn't tell quite what was causing such an extreme reaction. It was a shock, to be sure, but I am a grown woman, not a scared child. I shouldn't be reduced to a quivering statue from the mere sight of my phobia, hundreds of feet away. It took me a few moments to realize that it was the Horse's eyes that had disturbed me.
Most herbivores, horses and their damnable ilk included, have eyes that face sideways, in order to give them a better field of view to spot predators. The forward facing eyes typical of wolves, lions, and other such animals are due to their need to effectively hunt down and kill prey. The Worst Horse has eyes which face forwards.
As I came to this uncomfortable realization, a crow went flying past the Horse, its cawing echoing back towards me across the tall grass. There was a flash of movement. The bird's cry was interrupted with an abrupt crunch. The Horse chewed the mass of bloodstained black feathers for a moment before swallowing the pulverized bird with a disgusting gulping motion.
It was at this point that I was able to successfully remember how to move again, and found myself running into the house in a daze, locking and bolting the door behind me before running to grab the shotgun I keep in a locked case for emergencies. By the time I had finished fiddling with the lock and loading the shells, the Horse was long gone, thought I can hardly imagine where it could have vanished to. There is nowhere to hide in these vast, empty fields, and I should have been able to see it even if it had traveled a mile away.
I was hesitant to relay my encounter to any of my acquaintances. I have few living friends, and due to never marrying have borne no children, but I do keep in contact with my brother on a somewhat regular basis, and generally try to call him whenever anything interesting happens. In this case, however, I worried that he may question my sanity. Tales of disappearing, carnivorous horses are hardly a sign of mental stability after all. This is not to mention the fact that he is well aware of my aversion to horses, and treats it somewhat disrespectfully as a bit of a joke. Given the probability of being treated like a lunatic or a clown, I decided to keep the entire affair to myself.
A few days passed before I saw the Worst Horse again, although that didn't stop me from feeling paranoid whenever I dared to go outside in the meantime. It was around 11 o'clock at night, and I had woken up in bed with the most unnerving feeling of being watched. My bedroom is on the second story of the house, perhaps not a good idea at my age but frankly I always liked the slight bit of exercise from going up and down the stairs. This made it particularly disturbing to see the Horse's long, terrible face staring at me hungrily through my bedroom window.
I found myself once again paralyzed, feeling rather as though I were a rat staring up at a king cobra. I must have sat there for minutes, eyes wide in pure terror of that awful, terrible Horse. It was slightly too dark to get a very clear look at it, but I could make out those evil, predatory eyes and the faint gleam of its teeth. I could swear neither of us blinked during the whole time we watched one another. Eventually, the face lowered down beneath the windowsill, slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. I heard a faint snort that, for the life of me, sounded like laughter, followed by the clopping of hooves as it rode off into the night.
I didn't see the Worst Horse for a while after that, but I could tell it was still lurking around the property. I would find piles of dung with shattered bits of bone sticking out of them, and would occasionally hear the faint sound of whinnies or the clopping of hooves drift down on the breeze. On one occasion I heard it skulking about the back of the house, snorting with that derisive, almost human laughter. I just kept very still, waiting for it to go away. There was another sound, a sort of gagging, retching noise followed by a wet splat that made me feel sick to my stomach, and then I could hear the Horse galloping off. I waited for quite a while before checking the back door to make sure it was gone.
When I did, cautiously creaking open the door ever so slowly, I found a pile of hundreds of faintly yellowed horse teeth on the back porch, covered in a thick translucent slime. I put on some disposable rubber gloves and tossed them all into the garbage.
I took to leaving the gun case unlocked, and would frequently wander around the house with the loaded shotgun in my hands. I didn't leave the house very often anymore, I was always just waiting and listening for that infernal Horse to come back. I still didn't tell my brother. This was just something I felt that I had to deal with on my own.
It was 3 days ago that I woke up in the middle of the night to loud thumping hoofbeats, as if the Horse was trying to break down the walls. This time, I was prepared, I had fallen asleep with the shotgun leaning upon the wall by the bed, and I was fully ready to use it. I had taken to sleeping fully clothed, so after putting on my shoes I marched outside, looking for any sign of that awful, terrible, wretched Horse.
I found it. It stood atop the house, silhouetted against the full moon, staring down at me with those ghastly forward facing eyes.
This was the first time I'd seen the Worst Horse up close and clearly, and it was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. It opened its jaws in a wide yawn, revealing rows upon rows of blunted, huge teeth, seeming to occupy almost the entirety of its mouth. Its fur was covered in the thick frothy sweat typical of horses, but it seemed slightly yellow in color, and gave off a noxious steam in the night air as if it were some sort of acid. The worst part, however, were the legs.
Did you know that horse legs are, anatomically speaking, toes? The reason there is but a single hoof is because that is its toenail. There is a medical condition called polydactyly, in which one possesses additional fingers or toes. In horses, this typically results in additional, smaller hooves sticking out at odd angles from the rest of the leg. In the case of the Worst Horse, however, it just meant that it had multiple stunted, twisted limbs branching out where they ought not to be, some just twitching faintly, others sprawled against the roof of the house like some sort of horrible spider.
I wanted to kill it. I wanted to unload two barrels of hot lead into the thing's disgusting, horrific form, to end this nightmare and allow me to live out the rest of my life in peace. I raised the gun to my shoulder and took aim, lining up both barrels to the horse's general direction as best as I could with my shaking arms. The horse took a step closer, still staring, daring me to act, daring me to pull both triggers.
I couldn't do it.
I couldn't will my fingers to move. It was as if I was a statue. My mind screamed at me over and over again, overwhelmed with hate and fear, shrieking out kill it kill it kill it but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't do anything.
The Horse whinnied with cruel, inhuman laughter before scuttling off the roof and galloping away, the echoes of its foul giggling fading away into the night. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees and began to sob.
As soon as it was morning, I went to go call my brother, to tell him everything that had happened and to beg him to let me stay with him and get away from this awful place and the Worst Horse. I didn't care if he laughed at me, I didn't care if he tried to get me institutionalized. I just wanted to be out of this place. I dialed his phone number, but nothing happened. There wasn't so much as a dial tone. I tried again. And again. And again. The phone line had been disconnected. Something had cut the wire. I was certain that if I ran outside to check, I would find that it had been severed with a set of far too many blunt, equine teeth.
I decided to simply drive down to the city, get a hotel and call my brother from there. I packed a small bag and was about to get into the car when I noticed how low it was sitting upon the driveway. I inspected closer to find that each and every tire was completely flat, as though they had been kicked repeatedly by sharp, stiff hooves. I was stranded.
I'm trapped here. I don't know why I've been writing this all down. In all likelihood none of this will ever be read. I suppose I just want to get it out of my head, to set everything down on paper to organize my thoughts.
The Worst Horse has been circling the house for a while now, day and night, just running around it in circles and whinnying. At first it was perhaps a hundred yards away, but it's been getting progressively closer and closer, spiraling in towards the house. I keep the shotgun with me at all times now, though I'm not sure if I intend to use it to fend off my tormentor, or in case I prefer an easy way out rather than being left to the mercy of its sharpened hooves and rows of blunt teeth.
I wrote earlier that I didn't believe in God, but that's not entirely true anymore. I think that the Worst Horse is God, and I know in my heart of hearts that it hates me just as much as I hate it.
- - -
The above note was recovered from the home of Gladys Rosewood in the summer of 1990, after a wellness check was called for by her brother, Stephen Rosewood. Police found that her home appeared to have been broken into, with the door smashed in and significant signs of struggle within the house itself. A double barreled hunting shotgun was found on the premises, one shell fired, and pellets of buckshot were found embedded in a wall nearby. There was no sign of Ms. Rosewood anywhere on the property, and it is unclear where she could have gone. Most curiously, dozens of muddy hoofprints were found through the premises, including on the walls and ceiling.
Further investigation has failed to locate Ms. Rosewood, and due to the absence of any additional evidence the case is considered cold and she has been declared dead in absentia.
Headcanon time.
What does Tareque think of unicorns? What would he do if he ran across one?
@apalestar Lettin' me do a ramble~
Hmm. If this is in regards to the equinophobia, it would largely have a much similar first response.
While he'd have a vast amount of respect for it (just as he would with @wildskissed's pegasi, for example,) he'd be utterly terrified of it.
More graphic details below the read more.
Especially since a large portion of his phobia is based upon being mauled by a combatant's rather "mutated" steed on the field that had some pronounced visible teeth, and I would imagine most fantasy setting equine beasts would still have their natural wolf teeth (usually removed by 2-3 years old to accommodate a bit if I recall correctly? I'm not a horse person, forgive me.)
That's precisely where the shifty scar under his right eye came from.
^ This one. So.
tldr; He would respect it very warily and from a distance.
