FORTH EORLINGAS!!!
Today, we mourn Bernard Hill (King Theoden). May he rest among the halls of his father đ
I need something good pls đđ»đđ»đ„ș
If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.
Wooley and Slasher commission from @cobaltbeam and I am DYING! Itâs so beautiful!
The flower crowns are made with flowers that stand for each boy. Slash is fascinated by his little bug friend and Wooley is fascinated by something else⊠đ„č
Warnings: Implied Smut. Some dirty talk. Â Purgatory!Dean. (Look at that gif - it needs a warning!) Canon type violence.
Summary: What happened between when Dean popped out of purgatory and when he resurrected Benny. There's a "four days later" section of time that is unaccounted for. This is my attempt to fill that time.
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader (Y/N)
Word Count: 2685
A/N: This was an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
I LOVE Purgatory!Dean. Hope you enjoy - there might be a sequel.
đ Unbetaâd. All mistakes are mine. đ
Y/Nâs dad would have been very disappointed in her. She was no hunter, heâd made sure of that, but heâd certainly taught her to keep her wits about her and made sure she knew how to protect herself.
Yet, here she was, slammed against the cabin wall, with what felt like a band of iron at her throat. The manâs forearm wasnât crushing her windpipe, but it was pressing hard enough that if she struggled at all, she would crush it herself. She was made completely immobile by him. He towered over her, pinning her body against the wall easily with his own, much larger one.
She stared up at him and, despite her best efforts, knew her terror was evident.
The man was filthy, covered in blood and mud. His face was almost obscured by it, his brilliant green eyes sparkling dangerously out of the mostly dark, late evening.
She looked down at the massive fist that held a knife to her heart and was suddenly sure she was going to die at the hands of this bloody stranger. Without warning she felt tears well up in her eyes. It wasnât often that she cried, but sheâd promised her father she would take care of herself and stay safe and she hadnât even lasted a full week without him.
She closed her eyes and felt a tear escape to trickle down her cheek.
Suddenly the weight of the manâs body was gone. She opened her eyes in time to see him take his forearm from her throat and step back.
âWho are you?â He asked, his voice a literal growl. It was exactly what she had expected this man to sound like.
She tried to rally her scattered, terrified senses and take stock of the new situation. The man had let her go, he was still holding the knife, but it was lowered at his side. Progress.
âY/N.â She answered, stuttering slightly.
âWhat are you doing here?â He asked, his voice less of a growl, but still impossibly deep.
âIâŠthis is where I live.â Y/N said, which wasnât one hundred percent accurate, but it was close to the truth and she didnât know what to say that wouldnât anger him.
The manâs scowl deepened, Y/N hadnât believed that to be possible. âThis is Rufus Turnerâs cabin. Are you related to Rufus somehow?â
A light bulb went off and Y/N began to understand; at least she hoped she did.
âIâm sorry. NoâŠIâŠyes, it was Rufusâ cabin. ButâŠI donât know if you know, heâsâŠheâs passed away now. My Dad told me about the cabin a little while ago and when I had nowhere else to go, I came here. Iâve been here about a week andâŠwell, itâs started to feel like home I guess. And my attention wasâŠwell, I was distracted coming back up here. I didnât know you were in here until I came through the door, or I would have let you know I was coming, called out or something. But theâŠthe lights were all off.â
She knew she was rambling. The manâs utter stillness and intense stare were very disconcerting and when she was nervous she tended to babble.
She cleared her throat and tried again. âYouâreâŠyouâre a hunter, arenât you? A friend of Rufusâ? My Dad told me other hunters used the cabin sometimes too.â
The man was silent for another minute, long enough to make Y/N begin to squirm. His piercing green gaze was unnerving but also slightly mesmerizing and Y/N began to feel a little like she was in a trance.
Finally she saw the man relax ever so slightly, and put the knife away in an inside pocket of his dirty leather coat.
âYes.â
Heâd been silent so long it took Y/N a moment to remember what sheâd asked. But then she remembered he was confirming he was hunter and a friend of Rufusâ.
âYou canât stay here.â The man said bluntly before turning away to light the two kerosene lamps that sat on the table.
âWhat, why?â Y/N asked, taken aback.
âBecause Iâm staying here.â
Y/Nâs fear of the man fled in the face of his absolute audacity.
âUmâŠexcuse meâŠyou donât own this cabin. Rufus left it for any hunters to use, not just you.â
The man turned back to face her and in the now bright room she could see, even through the layers of muck and blood, that the man standing in front of her was unbelievably beautiful.
His face was sculpted into perfect lines and planes, like a master artist had carved him out. His jaw was strong, cut square and sharp and his cheekbones were high and flawlessly chiseled. His lips, however, were molded by more gentle hands, full and lush. Y/N was suddenly aware of a desperate desire to run her thumb across his ripe bottom lip, something she didnât think she had ever desired in her life before.
It took Y/N a moment to realize the man had said something, asked her a question maybe? Her brain was suddenly mush and she had to give herself a little shake to recover.
âWhat?â she asked stupidly, realizing her distracted response was likely undercutting her argument a little.
âAre you a hunter?â The man asked again, annoyance clear in his tone.
Y/N was tempted to lie and say yes, but she was nearly positive this man would see right through her.
âNo. ButâŠâ
âExactly. Then Rufus didnât leave you anything.â The man said, turning away to the table again to begin rummaging through a backpack that sat there.
Y/N could feel her temper flare again at the manâs abrupt dismissal. She folded her arms and began to tap her foot.
âI donât see why we canât just both stay here. Thereâs plenty of room.â
âBecause I have crap to do and I donât need a civilian getting in my way.â The man answered in his growling voice again as he swiveled back around to face her.
Y/N stomped up to him. She wished sheâd stopped a little further back so she wouldnât have to crane her neck quite so much to look up at him, feeling, inexplicably, that his immense height gave him a slight advantage in the argument.
Y/N tried to make up for this by pushing a finger into the middle of his chest. âLook, buddy. I may not be a hunter, but Iâm hardly a civilian. My dadâs been a hunter my whole life. I know what goes bump in the night okay.â
The man scoffed and flicked her finger off of him like she was a bothersome fly. âGreat why donât you call your dad to come get you out of my hair?â
âBecause I burned his body to ash a week ago.â
Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth as though sheâd said a bad word, or spilled a secret. She was silent for a minute, her mind reeling.
She shook her head and spoke from behind her hand. âThatâsâŠI didnât mean toâŠâ she sat suddenly, glad there happened to be a chair behind her.
Her hand fell into her lap. âThatâs the first time Iâve said it⊠thatâŠthat heâs dead. I havenât heard the words.â
Y/N felt her throat constrict around the lump of unshed tears forming there. She looked up at the man standing in front of her, his expression inscrutable. She smiled weakly.
âSorry about this.â She waved her hand toward herself. âItâs been a hard week.â
The man tilted his head slightly before he sighed deeply and pulled up the other chair and sat. He rubbed his hand across his face. âYeah, me too.â
A silent moment passed before he spoke again. âWhat was his name, your dad?â
Y/N swiped at the two tears that had managed to escape, marveling at the fact that she had now cried twice in front of this stranger. That was more tears than she had shed in years.
âSteven Lane.â
The man shook his head. âI didnât know him.â He caught Y/Nâs gaze again. âIâm sorry.â
Y/N shrugged a shoulder. âYeah, me too.â She said, echoing his earlier statement. A sudden realization dawned on her. âI donât even know your name. Sorry, I didnât ask. Rude.â She smiled.
He didnât return the smile, but stared at her hard for a minute. She soon realized her mistake; most hunters didnât like to give out a lot of information to strangers.
âSorry.â She said quickly. âYou donâtâŠâ
âDean.â He interrupted.
Y/N nodded absently for a second before her eyes widened and her mouth dropped into an âOâ. Fragments of information began to filter into her mind and she started to piece them together. His size, his speed and agility when heâd pounced on her coming in the door, his fierce demeanor, his aura of power and strength, his ridiculous good looks.
His bright green eyes.
âWinchester?â She asked in a whisper before answering herself. âYouâre Dean Winchester.â
Sheâd heard the stories of the Winchesters almost her whole life. First John. Then SamâŠand Dean.
He nodded abruptly and looked away. She was suddenly, acutely aware that she was basically fangirling over him. She shook her head and tried to get a grip.
âSorry.â She said, apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time since coming through the door. âI...itâs justâŠI know who you are.â
Then one more piece of information filtered into her frazzled mind. âI thought you were dead.â
Dean slapped his palms onto his thighs before rising from the chair. âYeah, I get that a lot.â He grabbed up the backpack from the table and moved toward the couch. âLook, I just need the day tomorrow and then Iâll be out of here. But I donât want to answer a lot of questions okay, so letâs just stay out of each otherâs way.â
Y/N nodded slowly. âSure, we can draw a line down the center of the cabin a la âI Love Lucyâ.â
Dean looked back at her, his expression saying he was unimpressed with her attempt at humor. Then suddenly his face crumpled and he grabbed his left arm tightly, a small grunt of pain escaping him.
Y/N jumped up. âOr you can let me look at your arm and patch you up.â
Dean stepped away from Y/N quickly. âItâs fine. Just a cut. Itâs healing.â
âWell, let me look at it.â
âNo!â Dean barked at her, all his tense anger returning. âThis is exactly my point. Iâm fine and I donât need anyone poking at me.â
Another wave of pain hit him and he half sat and half fell on the couch. His teeth were bared in a painful grimace as he pressed hard on his forearm. Y/N was very used to dealing with salty hunters who were too stubborn to listen to reason. She grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen counter and returned to stand in front of Dean.
âTake off your jacket and pull up your sleeve.â Y/N ordered, feeling surefooted for the first time since walking into the cabin that evening. This was what she did. This was how she fought the good fight. She was a healer. Never able to go to school like a normal kid because of the life she and her dad lived, Y/N had, nevertheless, excelled in science and had always wanted to be a doctor.
That was impossible, of course, she knew she'd never become a doctor with her shoddy schooling record. So she learned to be a healer. She taught herself. She studied medicine, folklore, magic, and botany and combined them to become a hunter healer. She took care of her dad, but also all of her dadâs friends and a lot of victims that her Dad and his friends managed to save.
So she issued her directive and expected Dean would listen. But he ignored her easily. Not daunted, she simply climbed onto his lap, straddling him and pushing the jacket off his shoulders. It wouldnât be the first time sheâd forced healing onto someone bound and determined to suffer.
But in her comfort in her role as a healer she had momentarily forgotten that she wasnât dealing with an old hunter or a traumatized victim. In spite of the pain in his arm, Dean was a virile, powerful, healthy, grown man; a hunter legendary for his strength and skill.
He grabbed her wrists tightly and she gasped as she was startled back to the reality that she was sitting in Dean Winchesterâs lap and he had complete control over the situation. For some reason that idea, an idea that should have scared her, instead caused her stomach to tighten and heat to pool at her core.
Dean continued to hold her wrists firmly, but not painfully as he shrugged his jacket back onto his shoulders. He lowered their hands to rest between their bodies on his lap.
âI said, Iâm fine.â His voice was a low rumble in his chest and it fell on Y/Nâs ears like a drop of smooth bourbon on the tongue.
He let go of her wrists but made no move to get her off his lap. Y/N didnât want to move, so she reached into the first aid kit and pulled out some rubbing alcohol and gauze.
âAt least let me take care of some of this blood and these cuts on your face.â She said, her voice more of a ragged whisper than sheâd meant it to be.
Dean shook his head slightly. âMost of it isnât my blood.â But he didnât stop her from reaching out and gently cleaning away some of the blood and mud from the small scratches and wounds along his hairline.
Y/N could feel Deanâs scorching gaze intent upon her face as she worked. It made her breath catch and her hands tremble slightly and she desperately avoided catching his eye for fear her heart would just stop beating.
There was a small abrasion on his chin and as Y/N dabbed at it gently with the gauze, her focus shifted to Deanâs plush bottom lip. It looked so soft, such a contrast to the rest of him. Her thumb was so close now; she could probably get away with touching it under the guise of checking his lip.
And before she could stop herself or admonish herself for her lack of boundaries and propriety, she was swiping her thumb along the silky smooth line of his lip. She heard a quick inhale and couldnât actually tell if it came from Dean or her. Her thumb rested in the middle of his lip and almost reflexively Deanâs tongue pressed gently against it, before pulling the very tip in between his teeth and biting softly.
Y/N slid her gaze to his finally and the smoldering heat she found there did indeed make her heart skip several beats. Her breathing more ragged than ever, she pulled her hand away and replaced it with her lips. The kiss was chaste and soft, her movements deliberately slow, giving him ample opportunity to pull away or push her off of him.
When she pulled back slightly his eyes were still open and he studied her. When he finally spoke his voice was so soft and low she could only just make out his words.
âYou shouldnât stay here, Y/N. You should move.â
âDo you want me to?â
âYou should want to.â
âWhy?â
Dean grabbed hold of Y/Nâs hips and pressed her down on his lap so that she could feel the hard bulge that pushed against the front of his jeans. Y/Nâs eyes widened and Dean nodded.
âBecause I really donât want you to. I want you to stay right where you are. I want to rip the clothes from your body and taste your skin. I want to pound into you until oblivion hits. Because itâs been too long and I donât have it in me to be gentle.â He paused and grabbed Y/Nâs face between his palms.
He pulled her lips to his and crushed them against his own. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot, hard and wet. He pulled away only far enough to pull her bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it before biting down, leaving an imprint of his sharp white teeth in the soft skin.
âNo, I wonât be gentle.â
Y/N felt a shudder of anticipation race through her.
"Don't be.â
That was adorable â„ïžâ„ïž
much better footage of the haka that shut down parliament today
The 212th medics have enlisted the help of one very tired Marshal Commander in order to wrangle Obi-wan âitâs not broken if I can still move itâ Kenobi post mission. There are holo recordings now being circulated around as blackmail.
When a character doesnât realize theyâve been, like, shot or whatever and they hand brushes against their side and comes away wet with blood, and theyâre just staring at it like wtf is this and then their knees just totally give out on them and they sink down, maybe gasping a little as the reality finally hits them. Thatâs good stuff.
In his spare time (ha) Elijah likes to code little apps for mobile devices that he releases under a pseudonym. Mostly highly intricate and difficult puzzles and games, there are also throwaway apps that he makes and never updates. For certain apps, he deletes the programs entirely after a certain time (like if the hype dies down or it becomes too buggy to fix) and either remakes it or just forgets it entirely.
Thereâs a website someone made that includes full, free to play, desktop versions of the games heâs already deleted that people like or still enjoy. Elijah fully supports the one who runs the site, even offering to pay for the domain for them.
The apps themselves are always free to play and absolutely never play ads.
â„ïžđâ„ïžđâ„ïžđ
I wish I could draw people đđđ
[Image ID: Digital painting of Commander Fox and Riyo Chuchi from Star Wars: the Clone Wars. They are depicted standing in a Coruscant alleyway, shown facing one another from the knees up. Riyo wears a light purple dress with gold ornamentation and a dark indigo shawl with sweeping designs. Her headpiece and hairstyle is similar to hers in the Orto Plutonia arc, added teal beads the only difference. She is on the left and looking up at Commander Fox, who is in his standard Coruscant Guard Armor sans helmet. Riyo looks concerned, while Fox is downcast. The two are holding hands. End ID.] Thanks to @padmeâamygdala for letting me add their image ID to this post!
This doubles as fanart from @amukmukâs amazing fic, âPerception,â and as a contribution to day six (Secret: private, secluded, undercover) of @foxiyoweek. :)
I wonât spoil anything, but in this scene, Fox was just reminded of how low many peopleâs opinions of clones are. It makes me angry and breaks my heart at the same time. T____T
I had sooo much fun with the paint job on Foxâs Phase I armor, and playing around with Riyoâs fancy outfit was challenging but also a good time!
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