melodictruama

[guiltyidealist]

new favorite YouTube comment just dropped

[werecreature-addicted]

maybe I'm just a little freak who likes body hair too much but I do find it annoying when people draw werewolves in a human form and they're like... clean-shaven pretty boys. If any man should look like something you pulled out of the fucking drain it should be a werewolf. A little body hair isn't going to bite you I promise. I don't know a ton about art to be fair but I'm 90% sure you can draw him with dirt under his nails and you won't throw up.

[whumpbby]

You know, that bit about "If you offend someone, make sure it's not Yunmeng Jiang and not their Leader specifically!" is just so fascinating to me.

Because - what happened?

What the hell happened to solidify the Jiang as the "find out" of Jianghu??

Like, sure, Sandu Sengshou "killed Yiling Laozu" so you probably don't want to mess with the guy - but a whole sect?? "Don't mess with them or they'll clap back" is a bit of a different fame than "he's torturing demonic cultivators!" - that former is an experience-based life advice.

So, what happened? Did JC punch someone square in the face during a sect conference? Called Sect Leader Yao for a duel and kicked his ass? Fucked up a bunch of trade representatives when they tried to take advantage of the fledgeling Jiang sect??? Took Jin Guangyao's hat and held it out of his reach????

And exactly how trigger-happy are the Jiang disciples to be known as the people you don't fuck with???

I need to know what the hell happened!

[shotmrmiller]

pretend boyfriend but it's in a time where roads are nothing more than muddy tracks, making travel slow and cumbersome. the town's buildings are a mix of weathered wood and crumbling brick, faded paint peeling off their facades. wanted posters, yellow and tattered, are plastered on every available surface, faces of outlaws and fugitives who roam the countryside depicted in greyish ink.

the townsfolk go about their lives with a wary eye, and you go about yours with a sharp one, in search of opportunity: a cowboy too drunk off his wits to know his right from his left. the humble borough of blackthorn doesn't need any more working girls, no more ladies with hair down to their corseted waists beautifying the arms of both bounty hunters and farm hands alike.

that's fine, you reckon. you've always had a knack for survival. your deft fingers have made a living out of slipping into pockets and relieving men of their hard earned coin pouches when they lose themselves in drink and laughter. its not an easier life than that of the ladies in the saloon but it's yours, and you've learned to navigate it with equal cunning and charm.

but as people say, anything that can go wrong, will and tonight nothing seems to go right for you. just as you'd been slipping the stolen bills from your latest mark in between the swell of your breasts, he stirs from his drunken sleep, bedsheet tangled in his spurs as he struggles to rise onto unsteady feet. his movements are sluggish, muddy brown eyes blinking against the dim light of the quaint room.

you don't wait for him to ask any inane questions, you know when you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. you run out the door on bare feet, fisting the rough fabric of your dress to lift it above your ankles as you barrel down the stairs.

your shoulders ache from bumping into patrons as you try to quickly weave your way toward the door, your breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. the saloon is a blur or faces and noise, the jaunty tune coming from the piano as fast paced as the galloping of your heart.

just as you reach the swinging doors, you glance outside through the dusty window panes and see someone right across the street in the patio of the drugstore.

the star on his chest gleaming even in the flickering light of the shop is distinctive. your heart sinks like a stone dropped into a well, the weight of the situation leaden over your puffed shoulders.

but you haven't made it this far while skirting around law and order without a sharp mind. your thoughts swirl in your mind as you run through options. a horse loosely tied to the hitching post out front, sleeping roll behind the saddle. you could take it but risk getting roped off by someone. slipping out the windows would draw too much attention. using the back door near the kitchen would have the owner on your arse.

shit. shit-

then you spot him. sitting alone at a table is a hulking, beast of a man. (his broad shoulders and burly frame makes him resemble more mountain than man tbh.) a small shot glass rests on the scratched surface before him, the only delicate item in his vicinity. the wide-brimmed hat he wears casts a shadow over his face but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. maybe that's why even the other patrons have given him a wide berth. (the knotted scar that runs from the corner of his cheek pulling his lips into a permanent, twisted sneer makes the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end.)

desperation fuels your next move.

your hand trembles when you place it on the the exposed skin of his forearm that's covered in a fine layer of grime, as does your voice when you speak.

"hey-" you don't get to finish your sentence, feeling the words crumble into ash on your tongue when you realize you're out of time. the drunken idiot from upstairs is storming straight towards you, his nostrils flared, white etched on his knuckles. panic surges through you and so you move.

coming to stand behind the seated stranger, your arms cradle his large head, clammy palms flat on the sweat stained fabric of his union shirt. his body tenses under your touch, muscles cooling like a spring, but you muster all the bravado you can.

"if ya got a problem with me," your voice is steady despite the fear that's settled at the base of your spine, "take it up with my husband."

the drunk comes to an abrupt halt, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion, uncertainty, as he glances between you and the human(?) shield you're clinging to.

the room has fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. they watch with bated breaths, even the bartender had paused mid-polish, his hand frozen on the glass.

the man wavers, his resolve crumbling like freshly tilled dirt before you. but the final nail in the coffin is when your 'husband' grabs onto your arm and leads you to sit onto his lap, both your legs fitting on top of his one, feeling the tarnished buckle of his leather belt even through the couple of layers of your dress on your arsecheek, his arm cinching tightly around your waist.

his skin feels rough, scarred, yet warm, beneath your hand. (embarrassing that this surprises you.)

you can feel his voice vibrate from his chest and sink into your bones when he aids you in this mess you've created. "ya 'eard m'wife. piss off 'fore i make you."

his mouth twists into an ugly line but concedes defeat, telling your 'husband' to "keep his wh-wife on a tighter leash unless she's keen on ending up on a missing poster alongside the wanted ones."

when you turn in his lap to look outside the window, watching the drunk unsteadily get on his horse and leave, you give the man you're on a muted thanks and move to get up only-

the arm around your waist feels more like an iron band. you're can't get up. you can't leave. your feet don't even touch the wooden floorboards of the saloon. you turn your wide eyes toward him, lips parted in surprise.

he doesn't seem as surprised as you.

"wha'? thought you could jus' up and go 'bout your way?"

you open your mouth wider, to scream maybe, you aren't sure but he cuts you off with a sharp suck of his teeth.

"make trouble and there will be trouble. i'll drag your pretty arse to the sheriffs office by the hair."

the realization of what he is keeps you utterly frozen in place, any fight you'd had bleeding out of you.

a bloody bounty hunter. no wonder everyone had kept their distance.

"i'm gonna be finishin' this bottle and you'll be a good wife and draw me a bath in our hotel room."

(he plucks the dirty money from where you'd kept it and tosses it on the bar top, carrying you straight to where he'd hitched his horse and plops you in front, your back to his barrel of a chest. "youll bathe with me, gotta have you clean for our consummation.")

[3cheerzforvenom]

Reblog if you agree

[fluentisonus]

(typing this as I walk to work so this is not articulate but) thinking a lot abt how les mis w javert sort of. hm. questions? problematizes? the Idea of dogs & the domestication of dogs (metaphorically ofc) like it sort of looks past the 'man's best friend' angle entirely & makes you think things like. kind of fucked up of humans [the social order] to domesticate the wolf [person outside of society for whatever reason] expressly to turn against & cause harm to other wolves in order to keep them out [away from respectable society] & keep themselves safe but never truly consider it an equal [it'll always just be a dog]. kind of fucked up that the dog finds enjoyment & life's purpose in this

[purple-ravaged]

imagine if he was always weird as fuck part 2

[calusnt]

Head Empty Olive

Olive being my favorite stupid <3 My headcanon is that Olive claims that she is bad at LOTS of things (accept for swimming) mostly because she simply cannot focus on menial tasks. This is why she claims that she is "not good at finding things" because she is perpetually in her own little world <3

Here are some really quick doodles to pair with this

Yet another cartoon character gets bonked on the head. L. This wolf here knows how it feels.

[beetlerings]

I love you funny elf

[alrightberries]

something something ghilan'nain being represented by a halla and fen'harel by a wolf,,, something something solas' personal quest happening in the exalted plains where a giant wolf statue overlooks the valley where halla roam,,, something something the exalted plains being the only area that has packs of wolves endlessly chasing after herds of halla,,, something something a poem by thomas wyatt that alludes to an affair with the queen, told through the lens of a man hunting deer and ultimately being unable to catch said deer because it belongs to the king,,, something something an old dalish tale in which andruil, ghilan'nain's lover, once captured fen'harel for a year and a day as punishment for hunting halla without her blessing,,, something something a wolf statue guarding the entrance to ghilan'nain's grove,,, something something all the paintings of golden halla in solas' sanctuary,,, something something a statue of a halla in front of solas' self portrait in the darvaarad,,, something something a small statue of halla on the fireplace, directly across the bed in the inquisitor's room aka solas' original room,,, something something solas knowing betrayal "well enough to carve her face from memory",,, something something "but Pride stopped her hand"

[constantly-deactivated]

How a Wolf pack works 🤔

[chronocrump]

did the 6 fighting game characters thing on my tweetr :3

[shaadowmilkcookie]

hi yall! todays warmup! one artist on twitter always draws his hat as a mouth of sorts, but i haven’t seen them in a while, and i missed it.

EDIT i found the artist i stole it from! @ akire_san_ on twitter! they do have an nsfw warning, so only for the older folks. hats off to them for the fun design!

[funki-shark]

Nah imagine,like,leo bleeding out or some shit and jason asks him what his blood type is and this little shit says 'wouldn't you like to know weather boy'. I'm sorry but I'm really not. Its a good idea.

Edit:

So...drew it

[ghcstao3]

repressed catholic guilt bisexual soap but he thinks he’s straight and that the way he sometimes perceives men is normal. that he’s just able to see that someone is conventionally attractive but that he’s not attracted to men. he’s not. he doesn’t like the thought of kissing one to even find out.

then ghost comes along. funny, charming in his own way, casual-about-his-sexuality ghost, and soap sees him and is thinking those same things he thinks about the objectively attractive men in spite of never seeing the lieutenant’s face and no, this can’t be right. he just likes ghost as a person. yeah, that’s it. wants to be his friend.

but then they get closer. and then one night they’re tucked into a booth in the back corner of a bar with the rest of the team and the topic of sexuality comes up. he sees the looks exchanged when he says he’s straight, then becomes overly conscious of the fact that he’s pressed right up against ghost even when there’s enough space for the two of them to have room.

ghost asks how he came to that conclusion. soap shrugs and says it’s just what he thinks is right—no, that’s not what i mean, i don’t care that you’re gay, i just don’t think i could ever be anything other than straight—and ghost asks whether he’s ever kissed a man. asks if he’s for sure straight with this strange, almost scared look in his dark eyes, and soap says yes. but no, he’s never kissed a guy.

then how can you be so sure? ghost says. price and gaz have long since slipped out of the booth.

soap shrugs again and tells him i don’t know. i just—

would you be willing to try?

soap stares into ghost’s eyes, then at the small expanse of pale, freckled skin that sits exposed to the world with his balaclava rolled past his nose. then he finds himself glancing down at pink, scarred lips, and his heart jumps. he says yes before he can stop himself.

then ghost is leaning closer, hand cupping soap’s jaw, asking if this is alright, and soap can only swallow and nod. something in his hindbrain scream wrong, you shouldn’t! but once ghost’s lips are against his, he knows he can’t ever go back to anything else.

knows he may not be straight, but may not be gay either, he’s not entirely certain—but what he does know, is that he likes ghost. he likes ghost so, so much, and he never wants to let him go from then until eternity.

and it seems to soap that ghost doesn’t quite want to let him go, either.

[dkettchen]

I do enjoy dressing her entirely in canon outfits/cuts and the occasional top she's borrowed from nami and being like ye canon!sanji sure does own a pair of 3/4 pants with ballerina loafers he sure did wear that before with his whole cishet man ass and we didn't bat a single eye at it