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#hunter backpacking
spinaroos-47 · 18 days ago
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Doodle pile! It’s mostly out of my head but i asked some people to give me some requests too
@tiredgothskeleton (joehills), @bernardo-draws-and-cries (eda wearing the shirt), @hard-times-paramore (astronauta), @russkayas (hunter in comfy clothes there in the middle), and @animationadventures (hunter with a satchel talking with Vee, which i decided to make it about my Hunter backpacking fic in development)
(and also i drew a small Hunter from @jess-the-vampire’s AROFAM au)
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valxntinex · 4 months ago
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disney pretty please make ALL the bad batch a disney plus icon. hunter and the kid who needs to be on a leash just isn’t enough for me
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subrosasteath · 8 months ago
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One chapter into Tentacles and Marty has:
-saved Luther from falling in the water
-Established he missed Luther a whole lot
-offered to share his gizmo with Luther
- and avoided telling Luther something that would scare him
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spinaroos-47 · 3 days ago
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Assorted Hunters from like, a month ago fjsndnf
The first image the outfit was based on a drawing @casabuho did btw
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kerkusa · 11 months ago
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csp’s new timelapse feature is pretty cool so have a sneak peak on the lineart for a ghost hunting crowley
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fashionfox94 · a year ago
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I got this backpack a few years back at supercon and figured what better time to set it up than now! Quarantine and being furloughed has given me time to finally get around to all of the projects I've been putting off. It's been nice to be able to stay somewhat productive during all of this.
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disastergaykillua · a year ago
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I don’t have any real reasoning behind it, but I think that gon would really like trail mix
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arriathedragon · a year ago
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I’m watching Hunter x Hunter and I saw this outfit and just. Died. I have no words. XD So, I had to draw it. I present: Goth Bee Killua.
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR EDIT MY ART
Reblogs are appreciated
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ofmonstersandnothing · 11 months ago
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May, 2015 - Victor, Colorado (Part 4/5)
I dreamt of blood and oranges that night. I have that dream a lot, now I think about it. The scents hang thick in the air, painting a dark fog from within which I hear the sound of flesh ripping and bones crunching—the thick taste of iron that would remain stuck in the back of my throat even weeks later no matter how I’d try to wash it down. I think normally this is the point in a story where a hero shows up to save the day, but no hero ever came and so for me, that particular fantasy died that day. Instead I watch the oranges from the bowl on the table above my head roll across the floor through the pooling blood and I swallow hard on the bile that rose in my throat and keep my hands clamped over my mouth trying in vain to stifle the sound of my own breathing. I really hate that feeling—that instinctual urge to flee—the taste it leaves in my mouth, like I’d been sucking on the blade of a rusty knife. The sounds stop, replaced by heavy footsteps through the pool of blood; my father always was a large man. Then my father’s face appears from the fog, looking for me under the table—the only other heartbeat nearby—painted with bloody tears dripping from bloodlust eyes and lips peeled back from sharp teeth in a cruel smile. I scramble out the other side, too young to change and run that way—too young to understand what’s happening at all beyond that part of me that knows my mother is lying lifeless and butchered on my left so don’t look there. I look anyway—I can’t change the past no matter how I wish I could—and I find fiery silver, the kind I remember burning my hands on when I was smaller. It burns this time too when I pull my mother’s knife free from her belt—she hadn’t tried, maybe she couldn’t bring herself to—and turn to face the monster instinct tells me I can’t outrun. And once he falls dead, I break—I scream like I’d never screamed before… …and cry like I’ll never cry again. 
The next morning’s sun found me far enough away from the camp I could barely smell the campfire mixed in with post rain damp and leaf mold on the breeze. For a long moment, I stayed there in my soft earth nest among the roots of a tree dwelling on the deaths of everyone I know, painting them gruesome ends they might meet if they continue to stay with me as they have and trying to decide if they might make me cry the way those first two did. Then I stood, stretching long limbs and flexing large paws as sharp claws dug into the earth for a moment. I didn’t remember much from last night as narrow jaws stretched in a yawn, only running through the woods chasing wild animals and the carnal bloodlust that had flooded my senses with an iron haze halfway through the evening. As I shook earth and leaves from the thick fur across my body, it changed, rippling into skin as my bones cracked and broke, reshaping themselves with a familiar dull ache as I pulled the mask from my face. My skin was splattered with animal blood, my hands stained nearly completely red as likely my mouth was as well but neither thought bothered me as much as it probably should’ve. A chill ran down my spine as if my senses had just caught up with the rest of my body to remind me it was cold as hell here this time of year without my thick fur coat. I flexed my fingers again, pulling a face almost unconsciously at the sticky feeling of mostly dried blood before climbing to my feet to follow the sound of the creek nearby.
  I sat in the icy water washing the drying blood from my skin when I heard someone approach from behind me—the familiar mix of nutmeg, tea, and half demon coming from the same direction I’d smelled the campfire earlier so I knew who it was without much thought. “You almost look like a Gwragedd Annwn.” I stopped washing for a moment at the sound of Jack’s voice, “Would you marry me if I offered you some lightly baked bread?” I flashed him sharp, still bloody teeth over my shoulder. “I’m a carnivore, remember?” I paused to cup water in my hands and wash my face off, “Not Welsh either.” He chuckled at my nitpicking and I could still feel his eyes on me as I raked fingers through my wild red hair in an attempt to tame it enough I could tie it up out of the way. “Where are your clothes, little each-uisge.” I snickered at that one, running my tongue over my teeth and ignoring the lingering taste of blood as I turned to answer. “You know, I’m not actually sure off the top of my head,” I paused, closing my eyes to inhale the scents around us in search of anything familiar, “that way I think,” I pointed down river when I caught traces of fox and madness in that direction. “I’ll go find them—” the words died on my lips while I watched Jack pull his henley over his head. “What’re you…?” Then again when he tugged it over my head, a silent ‘o’ crossing my lips as I put my arms through the sleeves and he shrugged his coat back on. “It’s better than nothing, at least until you find them,” his words were punctuated by his zipping up his jacket, “you know which way camp is?” I nodded slightly, still trying to decide how to feel about my situation, “I’ll meet you there for breakfast then.” “Thanks.” Jack nodded to show he’d heard and turned back into the trees. I watched him go, still for a long time before I shook myself out of it and started in the direction of my own trail. 
We hadn’t talked since that morning, and though it was a solemn silence, it wasn’t an uncomfortable one this time. We were in a largely open area by the time the sun had peaked that day and by evening, there were few large trees in sight. That’s when it started raining, sending both of us running for cover under the nearest boulder. It wasn’t a large space. We stood pressed close as the sun began to set and the rain, rather than letting up, began pouring harder. Jack didn’t seem to mind anywhere near as much as I did. “Reyna, can I ask you something?” I could hear Jack speaking, but I couldn’t really make out his words in the rain so I turned to face him. “What?” I gestured for him to repeat himself. “Can I ask you a question?” I frowned at him. “That is a question.” He smirked at my noncommittal answer. “What did you see in Michael?” I wasn’t sure I should answer his question, but at the same time… I shrugged. “He’s as damaged as I am.” Jack frowned at me. “Did he make you smile, or laugh?” I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. I thought back over the years a moment, trying to remember a time when Michael had honestly made me smile… or laugh. “No…” I trailed off, my voice abnormally quiet, “not really.” I paused a moment before I started to ask why the sudden questions, but he answered me before I could even find the words. “Did I?” I swallowed my answer at first. “Sometimes,” I spoke quietly as I looked up at him again, “but I don’t see why…” Jack reached up and brushed the hair from my forehead before letting his fingers trace down the side of my face and my voice faltered. Standing this close, he was unbelievably warm and I couldn’t help but be drawn closer despite myself. I’d continued fumbling for the correct words to phrase my question, but neither of us was really listening anymore and my voice finally died on my lips as I felt his fingers begin to lace in my hair and my gaze flickered up to meet his for an instant. That second was enough for me to feel as though I were drowning in amber and I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He’d moved only slightly, but suddenly I could feel his breath and my gaze flicked to his lips as I wondered briefly if he still tasted the same… ...like poison. It sure as hell didn’t feel like poison. My senses felt sharper than ever. I was aware of every move he made, even the slight confounding hesitation in his motion as he moved to wrap his other arm around my waist, like he was dealing with a wild animal expecting it to lash out… though… maybe he was right to treat me that way. He was a hair’s breadth away when the same not quite human chattering I’d heard the day before echoed through the trees, this time much closer and in an instant, I’d snapped out of my reverie and into the collected calm of a well trained Soul Collector. Jack seemed taken completely by surprise when I pulled away from him, dropped my bag against the tree to bolt out into the rain. “Reyna!” He seemed to get over it quickly as he shouted after me, about to ditch his pack and give chase, but I disappeared amongst the boulders before he could move to follow my trail.
Some days, I think I must be the luckiest person alive to survive some of the shit I pull. Other days, I think God must seriously want me dead with the way my prey often seems to be hunting me and/or I fall right into their path. The hunch today would fall into the latter category was confirmed when I slipped from a ledge and found myself stumbling right into the middle of a Nimerigar camp. I’d thank my lucky stars except the hunting party was home at the moment and as I fell, a dozen or so sets of large black eyes fixed on me. My options after some quick calculation were to take on the tribe armed with an as of yet unidentified poison with no real defenses and armed with only a pistol and hunting knife, or to take them on armed with sharp teeth and claws protected by a pelt thick enough to at least slow down the arrows. So I pulled on the mask. By the time it was over, the taste of blood fresh and stale was thick in my mouth and even dizzy as I was, I stood chugging water from my flask trying to wash it away. But my world was foggy and getting worse; I’d minimized the wounds I’d received, but I was still nicked in places and even with my ability to heal, enough poison had gotten into my system to have an effect. I barely managed to get the cap back on my flask before my legs gave out and my vision went dark.
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