#; well... they are back it it seems lmao

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[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.")

[humming-fly]

Inktober Day 25 - Alpha Gaming

Today I thought I'd go ahead and hunt down that new hedgehog game everyone’s so excited about, since I had a target giftcard and it's been a hot sec since I played one of these - was fully planning to hop on that cool winged shadow trend for the inktober to commemorate my success, but that changed 15 seconds into the first stage when I remembered I actually suck shit at sonic games 👍

[dapper-lil-arts]

Was makin a muscle study for fun and it wound up being that sunset shimmer anthro design I made because I'm delusional. good times. And of course I got carried away and didn't stop there

Twilight is ready.

[danikatze]

I'm so so tired and sad.. My dad passed away a few days ago; it wasn't sudden, he got diagnosed at the start of 2022 and we knew he wouldn't have many years left. And it got very clear that he was at the end of his life a month ago.

But the stupid thing is, most of my exhaustion isn't even from grieving him. I feel like I've barely had time for that. There are so many people who want to visit like, we've had almost non-stop visitors for a month. And it's amazing that people love my dad so much but hhh I'm socially drained.

And all the arrangements.. I wrote something for the funeral today and it was such a struggle and it was so emotionally exhausting. Thank god there's four of us helping each other out.

[cassmouse]

This is a Future Ramona Flowers appreciation post bc look at her I actually love her so much

[jabeur]

i'm saying this completely unironically but not letting sports dictate your mood is the best thing you can do for yourself if you tend to be deeply affected by sports results. like genuinely not kidding best thing i ever learned to do

[caluupin]

a doodle that I did a bit ago

[not-a-heretic]

never a frown with golden brown

(quick nigel study to recover from whatever tf that water drawing was.)

pose reference

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

NOOOOOOO DETECTIVE WILLIAMS WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU NEED MORE TIME YOU AND YOUR WIFE WERE MY FAVOURITE COUPLE!!!!!!

[millidew]

maizuru and milsiril are my favorite fucked up dungeon meshi mother figures

[do-you-know-this-adhd-character]

Do you know this (canon) ADHD character?

Proof: Said to be stated in canon on the wiki; does not cite which episode.

[skitskatdacat63]

This photo was life-ruining for me(and @sweatyflytrap ) honestly....

[triona-tribblescore]

HI TRIONA, HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

HIIII KREDENA!!! :DDDDD OMG HOW R UUU??? THRIVING HOPEFULLY uvu

I drew a little doodle of Ink for you cause all of the Undertale stuff your rbing is bringing back so much nostalgia :') THANK YOU :D

just for fun, I shall humiliate myself and put my first ink drawing from 2018 under the read more uvu'''''

SHEILD THE CHILDREN'S EYES-

[strawbebbiesart]

Haunted // Love Affair With A House 🏡💌

[triglycercule]

eusgahhhhh goddddd the lazy urge to just beg the internet to mansplain killer's lore to me in baby talk so i can finally GET IT and then the other less appealing urge to actually do an analysis on him so i can form my own opinion and observations. fucj