#hunter!ian

[lilac-hecox]

THATS RIGHT YOU'RE THE IANS DAY PERSON.

okok so. Vampire!Damien/Ian, yeah? maybe a Vampire!Damien/VampireHunter!Ian?? I see a potential enemies to lovers situaton??? Ian's been a hunter for years, and Damien is the first vampire that's escaped him.

Hunter!Ian/Vampire Damien! - Truce

--

Ian fires his crossbow and the arrow whizzes past the too fast darkened figure and sticks firmly into the wood frame of the vampire’s bedroom door. Ian is surprised. He rarely misses with his trusty bow, and he is quick to pull a fresh arrow from his quiver, loading it up for another go.

He whips around to scan for the vampire, his eyes searching the deep darkness for any hint of movement. At the very last second Ian sees that dark shadowy figure lunging at him from behind. Ian whirls around and fires the bow and he hears a hiss of pain so at least he knows he’s made contact with the creature.

It isn’t enough though and Ian is quickly knocked to the floor on his back, a heavy weight on top of him. Then, Ian is staring up into golden eyes.

The silver haired vampire had been struck in the shoulder, the bolt of the arrow sticking out. A deep red of his blood stains the white of the vampire’s shirt, blossoming around where the arrow had found its target. The silver-haired vampire clutches Ian’s throat with black tipped claws.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you, hunter scum,” the vampire growls.

In all the years Ian has been hunting vampires, this is the first time he’s ever really been sure that he’ll likely be killed. He swallows but works to show no fear, not wanting to give the beast satisfaction.

“Hmm, I thought the famous vampire hunter would prove to be more of a challenge.”

“You got lucky,” Ian grits out.

The vampire presses on his throat, “Did I, now? Perhaps I am just stronger than most.”

“I’ve killed stronger,” Ian says.

“Yes, like my friends, my grandfather,” the vampire says, “you’ve been a known enemy to the Haas clan for years lowly hunter.”

Ian sucks in a breath. Shit. This is a Haas? The youngest. He had read about him before…

“Damien,” Ian says.

Damien’s face shows a smug sense of entertainment, “You’ve heard of me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I don’t think you see the peril you’re in, Hunter,” Damien says, “to me you are like a mouse, and I am the cat. I could end you.”

“You say while bleeding all over yourself.”

“This mouse is quite brave,” Damien says, leaning in closer and baring his teeth the same time he squeezes harder at Ian’s throat, stopping his flow of air, “and stupid.”

“G-Go ahead and kill me,” Ian grits out, “I won’t be the last hunter to come after you.”

Damien clicks his tongue, “Where would the fun be in that? If I kill you I feel the rest would be child’s play compared to you.” Damien briefly sniffs at Ian’s neck. Ian grimaces and leans away, but he’s locked under Damien’s strong form. “Besides, you smell divine.”

“Try to drink from me and I’ll gut you,” Ian threatens though he’s in no position to prove it.

Damien chuckles, “You’re an interesting little human, aren’t you? I like to think I am the most civil Haas family member so far. I don’t kill indiscriminately like my cousins. Some would call me progressive.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Really? I don’t recall insulting you. I’ll make you a deal little human. I’ll let you go and you’ll leave and we’ll both live to fight another day,” Damien says.

Honestly, the proposition is a good one but Ian has no reason to believe a monster would tell the truth. He has few options though, so he nods.

Damien backs up and in a split second he’s back in the shadows. Ian stands and cradles his arm where he had hit the stone of the ground. He scans the shadows, but the monster had held up his end of the deal. Ian shoulders his bow and makes towards the window, intent on scaling his way back out of the small castle that Damien calls home.

He’s got one foot on the ledge when he hears that honey-sweet voice, “See you again, Hunter.”

[idwsonicnews]

Sonic the Hedgehog: Amy's 30th Anniversary Special Preview Pages

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Aaron Hammerstrom Inks: Matt Froese Colors: Reggie Graham Letters: Shawn Lee

[bumblekast-thumbnails]

BumbleThumble for October 4th, 2024

Lineart, @kiimeranova

Coloring, @nintendoni-art

[worldwhererosesbloom]

Roger shaking his maracas while blasting out A Kind Of Magic at the MRT in 1994 🪇 🪄

From my RMT collection.

[musickickztoo]

Mick Ronson  *May 26, 1946

[preservationofmoments]

[sassenach77yle]

The tent flap was closed, but there was a candle burning within. He coughed politely outside, and Rollo, seeing where they were, wagged his tail and uttered a cordial woof !The flap was thrust back at once, and Rachel stood there, mending in one hand, squinting into the dark but already smiling; she’d heard the dog. She’d taken off her cap, and her hair was messed, coming down from its pins.“Rollo!” she said, bending down to scratch his ears. “And I see thee’ve brought thy friend along, too.”Ian smiled, lifting the little tin.“I brought some grease. My aunt said your brother needed it for his arsehole.” An instant too late, he re-collected himself. “I mean—for an arsehole.” Mortification flamed up his chest, but he was speaking to perhaps the only woman in camp who might take arseholes as a common topic of conversation. Well, the only one save his auntie, he amended. Or the whores, maybe.“Oh, he’ll be pleased; I thank thee.”She reached to take the tin from him, and her fingers brushed his. The tin box was smeared with the grease and slippery; it fell and both of them bent to retrieve it. She straightened first; her hair brushed his cheek, warm and smelling of her.

Without even thinking, he put both hands on her face and bent to her. Saw the flash and darkening of her eyes, and had one heartbeat, two, of perfect warm happiness, as his lips rested on hers, as his heart rested in her hands.

Then one of those hands cracked against his cheek, and he staggered back like a drunkard startled out of sleep.“What does thee do?” she whispered. Her eyes wide as saucers, she had backed away, was pressed against the wall of the tent as though to fall through it. “Thee must not!”He couldn’t find the words to say.

His languages boiled in his mind like stew, and he was mute. The first word to surface through the moil in his mind was the Gàidhlig, though.“Mo chridhe,” he said, and breathed for the first time since he’d touched her. Mohawk came next, deep and visceral. I need you. And tagging belatedly, English, the one best suited to apology. “I—I’m sorry.”

She nodded, jerky as a puppet..“Yes. I—yes.”He should leave; she was afraid. He knew that. But he knew something else, too. It wasn’t him she was afraid of. Slowly, slowly, he put out a hand to her, the fingers moving without his will, slowly, as though to guddle a trout.And by an expected miracle, but miracle nonetheless, her hand stole out toward his, trembling. He touched the tips of her fingers, found them cold. His own were warm, he would warm her…. In his mind, he felt the chill of her flesh against his own, noted the nipples hard against the cloth of her dress and felt the small round weight of her breasts, cold in his hands, the press of her thighs, chill and hard against his heat.He was gripping her hand, drawing her back. And she was coming, boneless, helpless, drawn to his heat.“Thee must not,” she whispered, barely audible. “We must not.”It came to him dimly that of course he could not simply draw her to him, sink to the earth, push her garments out of the way, and have her, though every fiber of his being demanded that he do just that. Some faint memory of civilization asserted itself, though, and he grabbed for it. At the same time, with a terrible reluctance, he released her hand.“No, of course,” he said, in perfect English. “Of course we mustn’t.” I—thee—” She swallowed and ran the back of her hand across her lips. Not as though to wipe away his kiss, but in astonishment, he thought. “Does thee know—” She stopped dead, helpless, and stared at him.

“I’m not worried about whether ye love me,” he said, and knew he spoke the truth. “Not now. I’m worried about whether ye might die because ye do.”

“Thee has a cheek! I didn’t say I loved thee.”He looked at her then, and something moved in his chest. It might have been laughter. It might not.“A great deal better ye don’t,” he said softly. “I’m no a fool, and neither are you.”She made an impulsive gesture toward him, and he drew back, just a hair.“I think ye’d best not touch me, lass,” he said, still staring intently into her eyes, the color of cress under rushing water. “Because if ye do, I’ll take ye, here and now. And then it’s too late for us both, isn’t it?”Her hand hung in the air, and while he could see her willing it, she could not draw it back.He turned from her then and went out into the night, his skin so hot that the night air turned to steam as it touched him.

67 GREASIER THAN GREASE~ An Echo in the Bone

[citizenscreen]

Ian Hunter, Warner Baxter, Myrna Loy, and director John Cromwell during production of TO MARY - WITH LOVE (1936)

[scullysconstant]

I'll let you take Rollo. I'm sure he willna mind keeping you company. Aren't I the lucky one?

OUTLANDER | Where the Waters Meet (7.06)

[bloodtiesstilllives]

Not only did they play things that go bump in the night, they also played cowboys. Yee Haw!

Bonus

A hunter and a Sheriff. Pew pew! And yes that is his official Sheriff's vehicle behind him.

[musicmags]

[idwsonicnews]

Update: Sonic the Hedgehog: Fang the Hunter #4 Preview

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Thomas Rothlisberger Inks: Rik Mack (@rikdraws) Colors: Valentina Pinto

[countrymusiclover]

Eclipse of the Heart

Jaidlyn Forbes came home in the middle of her years of college to look out for her younger sister Caroline. When she returns home, she never expects to be captivated by the raven haired Damon Salvatore. But will being with him change everything her mother taught her to be.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @melvia-ito @kmc1989 @tallrock35

[oldschoolfrp]

"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" -- Rather than the traditional 4, these are "the lords of the undead vassals of Orcus, Prince of the Undead" as designed for D&D by Ian Cooper and illustrated by Alan Hunter (from the "Fiend Factory" column in White Dwarf 22, GW, Dec/Jan 1980) It seems logical to give Orcus some powerful undead commanders for his legions. Today I might reskin most of them as variant death knights:

Each rides a nightmare, can control, animate, and summon undead, and wears a unique helm that grants additional abilities.

Lom, First Lord of the Undead, is a skeleton granted a psionic strength of 100, carrying a large +2 magic sword. Samazan, Second Lord of the Undead, wields the Axe of the Golden Minotaur, a +3 weapon that can summon 1-10 minotaurs all armed with +3 battle axes. Ky, Third Lord of the Undead, is a "supra-lich" granted demonship, a 23rd level magic user wearing the Skull Crown bestowing numerous mental powers. Ogaa, Fourth Lord of the Undead, wields a +5 trident and a Net of Entrapment.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

August 9th, 1982 - Queen Story!

Queen Live Performance!

Freddie Mercury performing on stage at East Rutherford, NJ, USA, Brendan Byrne Arena

'Hot Space' World Tour

➡ After the show Queen attend Queen Party at Danceteria in New York City ↘

Freddie Mercury and Ian Hunter (lead singer English rock band Mott the Hoople), attend Queen Party on August 9, 1982 at Danceteria in New York City.

📸 Photo by The LIFE Picture Collection

[person4924]

oh look it’s me always choosing the gay, neurodivergent, mentally ill guy in a show that had a traumatic childhood as my favorite character