#wip. bloodhounds

[muddshadow]

find the word —

words courtesy of @isherwoodj and @akindofmagictoo <3 tagging you back and also @faelanvance @pinespittinink @baroquesse @revenancy @the-void-writes @calicoy and anyone else who feels like it <3 to you i bestow the words ASH, ACHE, CLEAR, COLD.

RAISE // bloodhounds

...she’d been considering a possibility, one that emerged this past year with the slow, solemn recognition that accompanied all dreadful truths, and one that had been sufficiently judged with rejection, reluctance, and compromises. It’s not what I think. It couldn’t be that. It must be something similar. But Neve was raised to untangle puzzles, and how could she ignore the thousand knotted strings that wove together Rowan? She couldn’t. Not when she watched him share stories across the dinner table, not when they surrendered low-toned secrets around a fire-pit or a dawn-crested balcony or in the silent embrace of the pilot’s deck, and certainly not now, as she plucked through the tattered wires of his detached prosthetic. Rowan told a great many truths, and all of them were shadows. Pieces missing, unmentioned, momentous.

Rowan spoke suddenly. “What're you thinking?”

TALL // bloodhounds

Tulan smiled, and it was almost warm. “Look how you’ve grown, Nevelyn.”

When tears burned in her eyes, it felt wrong and overwhelming, and Neve retreated back into her arms. She still didn’t know what to think, but she felt, felt, felt, the bittersweet weight of old memories and a stolen future, the drawn-and-quartered quandary of a man devoted to violence who had loved her like a daughter.

“I never thought you’d end up so tall. That surprised me.”

It hurt to be present, but she had nowhere else to be. Meeting Tulan’s gaze still proved too challenging, so Neve stared at the table and wrangled her thoughts into words.

LOW // the inherited haunting of trystan song

“The universe fucking hates me today,” I say, mostly to myself.

Magdalena still graces me with an answer. “Don’t be rude, Trystan.” She wears a yellow dress and sunhat, coiled hair a black cloud beneath it. A cigarette fits between her fingers, nails perfectly manicured and nighttime blue. They’re always a different color. She bores quickly. I’m hoping I can bore her out of a conversation, since I already have a catastrophe planned.

Magdalena lowers her designer sunglasses and glimpses me over. “You look terrible.”

ROYAL // the inherited haunting of trystan song

“Is that a soda in there?”

“No. It’s a high nutrient fruit juice, made with–”

“Great. Hand it to me.”

He does without looking and continues sifting through the fridge drawers. I don’t catch any of his unintelligible mutters. I don’t try to. I’m already knocking back my first shot of Crown Royal and get straight to work on the second and third. Chasing it with high nutrient fruit juice isn’t as satisfying as Dr. Pepper, but it does make it interesting.

OVER // twice-dead scavengers

The evening before the triplets left, House Finch held a grand celebration. All twenty-seven Finches attended; not counting the married-in spouses and step children, who were never counted, and not counting Tatum, whose presence was no longer expected or desired anywhere near the Finch doorstep. Only special occasions brought the entire esteemed and estranged family together at one table. A special occasion to pry for information, confront old rivalries, and to discreetly glimpse over Grandmother Ruvilka and assess if she was anywhere closer to death.

Tonight, the conclusion didn’t waver from the previous decades. Grandmother remained at the head of the table and deathless.

RUGGED // twice-dead scavengers

Bright pain erupted in her shoulder, scathing and rendering her blind. Geneviere dreaded losing her other arm, released a short, husky shriek at the thought, but the knife was a quick dart and not a rugged hacking. The phantom tore the blade free of her trapezius. Geneviere collapsed forward. Blood wept down her arm, mixing with sweat and ink.

Several strides away, the mist collected into the distinctive shape of a person, hunched on their heels and watching her, this time with a voice.

“You’re the weakest,” the phantom said, tone hushed like dawn and roiled deep by storm, “because the others don’t care about you.”

“Ouch,” Geneviere mumbled. Mostly because of the stab wound.

[toastydumpster]

los babos (wip)

[kaiserouo]

Who the hell runs akimbo p2020 anyways?

[seamayweed]

WIP wednesday sunday!!!

aaaa thank you mona @jinxiaobao for tagging me 💙💙💙

it's been a long time since i felt inspired to make a more complex gifset, but... i think this was probably the last one i worked on. was going to make it for a couple events, but that obviously didn't work out lol.

it's part of a batman/joker kim gun-woo & kim myeong-gil gifset due to all the batman/joker references in the show and because i've always loved a good hero/villain dynamic, drawing some inspiration from the comics as well as posters for the nolan-verse movie. wanted to try out some animations and effects too, though i haven't gotten around to doing them yet haha.

tagging @feydpauls, @nubreed73, @baek1nho, @jinhogae, @elena-gilbert

[solarshade]

WIP - Blóðhundr ❤️

[dyrewrites]

Bloodhound -- never too far

This is the first scene of the series that Before Deluca ties into, and it contains a pretty big spoiler for that book.

->So proceed with caution if you worry of such things<-

It was a beautiful January morning, the first of it even, and the only day Deluca refused to take any cases. Yet there he sat, in his favorite coffeehouse bordering the Canalasso, staring at a quickly cooling cup on his table, wincing for the shouts in his ear.

Do they know when I order, or have I scorned more witches than I remember? Rubbing his brow, he informed the shouts—his contact with local human authorities and a man he knew too well—that he was bothering a detective for Hunter work, “Sono un detective, sergente, non un cacciatore.”

The man was not amused, and snapped, “So fucking detect!”

Smiling for the anger, and switch in language, Deluca chose to tease it into a rage. Swallowing a sip of cooler—but not cold—coffee, he cooed salacious and deep into his phone, “make me.”

Small the gasp, bitten quick, but heard—enjoyed—before the man growled. “Andiamo, Del, sono i tuoi—” the smoke-choked voice coughed, tried again, “I don’t know if they’re vampires, werewolves or just creatures, but they’re yours and this is what you do, isn’t it? Why you’re not hunted by the Co—”

Cutting the man off with a pointed scoff before he could finish the sentence, and further ruin his coffee, Deluca didn’t speak the curses bubbling to follow. He smiled as the angry—frustrated—poliziotto cleared his lungs and whispered to a softer voice heard sudden, and agitated, through the connection.

As the man apologized for the switch to a language his wife didn’t understand, Deluca scanned the delicate lighting of the coffeehouse. While rolling around on his tongue were worse curses, things he could impart to that soft voice with less than a whisper—feeding them into her thoughts with little effort on his own. Manners in which he could ruin the man’s entire life for ruining his coffee…

But he wouldn’t speak those either.

When the placating ended, Deluca returned to the man in his ear and kept his threats clean if not friendly, “Why the English, Alessandro, worried your wife will hear all the filthy things you want to whisper to me?”

The voice in his ear stammered, growled, and huffed before it spoke, “It was once, Del, once. And if I recall correctly you ran off right when things were getting—”

“Good?” More teasing, playing with the man.

“Dangerous, Del, I was going to say dangerous.”

“Deluca, Sergeant, anything less is reserved for lovers,” he savored the repeated huff, the heat he could build despite distance, and it played in his voice, “is that what we are?”

“The disturbances, Deluca, find out what they are, why my people are dying and get whatever it is to follow the fucking rules,” lowering voice and tone, he added, “or I get the Council down here to test that immunity you so enjoy.”

Immunity the word but ownership the meaning. He evaded, kept his hunts distant and careful not to draw their eyes—not to force blame on who owned him—but the Sergeant was an act of starvation. A mistake refusing to wash away. One he continued to make as the man begged him to return again and again...to bite and bleed and drink him raw.

Until he begged for more.

Never too far, Deluca promised himself. “I’ll do what I can, tomorrow,” he promised the Sergeant, sighing again as the line died without a goodbye. He didn’t particularly like the man but he had a sweetly sorrowful taste he enjoyed. And a pleasantly rough touch he’d not enjoy again, how weak I am to want it.

Eighty-Five years.

Deluca managed alone for eighty-five years, content to watch, to experience the closeness he craved as vicarious delights through blood alone. Well, not quite. He was anything but content. He hunted none but men, flirted even, and a few of his feedings were more intimate than he cared to admit.

When they weren’t acts of grotesquery, leaving naught but offal and smears of blood behind.

Never too far, he promise again as he begged forgiveness from one too far to hear, it is all I can do not to shatter without you, my dream. I miss you, want you, love only you.

Silent confessions notwithstanding he would still find himself with lips on neck, hands gripping, teeth hungry...all of him hungry...before shame stabbed and his voice sputtered with command. And, as the men he lured—seduced—were forced to stop, to forget, Deluca sped away wet with guilt and sick with want.

Never too far.

Last January he threw himself off the roof of their house.

[ziinniart]

My warmup sketch for today. :] They’re the only legend I play when I boot the game every once in a blue moon... I need to play more. Tried to keep this warmup to under 30mins but I think I’ll visit this image again.

[raywolfaran]

WIP of @sinbento's Bloodhound desing in The Centurion Skin.

Based on the Royal AU fanfic made by them and CallMe_Clear - (cuz I'm assuming this is how they look as I read... sorry if i'm wrong).

[Reposting from the Bird App] (Ene. 28 '23)

[houndings]

I wasn’t kidding when I said my tumblr is gonna all my WIPs

Anyways a lovely user on twitter pointed out that BH has assholey behavior with pulling the dead mom line and thought it was more amusing to see Mirage squirm with awkwardness and it’s been living rent free in my head. 

[charlie-ver]

trying my best lol

[muddshadow]

character meme tag —

i saw @the-void-writes​ do this and i got to work hehe!! featuring my art and some of my fave ocs!! tagging some folks i think might be interested in making memery? @magefaery​ @jezifster​ @vacantgodling​ @cream-and-tea​ @bloodlessheirbyjacques​ @tc-doherty​ or open tag!!! i would love to see!!

blanks below if you’re interested :3c

[toastydumpster]

Sometimes I forget about the placeholders when going over an animation and jumpscare myself

[monosdescentintomadness]

aggie.io solo session going off the shits rn. 

what the hell how did that happen.

[bottledcarneasada]

working on a boonehound thing

[enfuseiasmus]

Fusehound, ugh how I crave this couple.

[ryvenarts]

I want to try and make more with clay this year, really want to attempt the boy :')

(That and I need a new pen holder)

This was my first attempt at a bloodhound for whisk last year.