#dale would watch drag race and love it i think and i mean it

[sweetlemondream]

made these in a frenzy... dale cooper says happy pride diva

[jacqcrisis]

more lumberyard monster stuff including characters and monster anatomy. putting under read more cause LONG

characters: 

Sixer: monster man. no idea what he is or where he came from, only that he doesn’t want to go back. is generally playful, lazy, incredibly quick to learn, curious, and a trouble maker when he’s bored. loves his tv, the dog, eating, annoying Dale, sleeping, and Alvin. 

Alvin: lover boy. Tony’s nephew. Started working at the lumberyard not long before they found Sixer. is kind of quiet, gentle, relatively down to earth, clearly beat down already even in his mid-twenties, not helped by his verbally abusive and manipulative girlfriend who eventually becomes his fiancee as he doesn’t know how to get out of the relationship. loves working with him hands, modding/fixing things, old cars, all kinds of music, and chilling with Sixer.

Tony: the dad guy. first generation American. mom immigrated to U.S. from Mexico. loves motorcycles, making people smile, and his wife. is second pony to the owner, runs the saws, and is basically the lumberyard’s HR department. has four kids and is all-around a nice guy. see’s the yard crew as a second family. Named Sixer for his six limbs and is very proud of that fact. Thinks of him as his ‘buddy’.

Charlie: bull dyke owner. Took over the yard from her father. is happily married to a law professor. loves bourbon, her motorcycle, and her dog. used to smoke, has the smoker’s voice and laugh, and chews nicotine gum like her life may depend on it. is tough but fair. pretty no nonsense with most of her workers, but Tony who is both a family friend and her second in command and Sixer, who she dotes on in her own way.

Dale: Shitty guy. Hates paying child support. Just the worst. An HR nightmare before Sixer came along to keep him in place.

Brian: Alvin’s friend who also works at the yard. Likes to drag race, pick up chicks, and kind of instigates Dale even if he doesn’t mean to. Is kind of ambivalent to Sixer but likes the novelty of having this weird monster at the yard

McKenzie: cashier girl/secretary. Doesn’t work in the yard itself, but spends all day inside answering the phone and cashing out orders. Single-mother in her early twenties and Charlie allows her to bring her kid to work when she can’t get a babysitter especially with Sixer around cause he likes watching the kid. Kind of stuck up, kind of a party girl, but is fun to be around.

Scruff: Is a dog. Some kind of large shepherd mix. Loves to follow Sixer and is the one who initially found him on a rainy afternoon, injured and hiding behind the saw mill.

Angela: Charlie’s wife. visits the yard from time to time. Tony calls her the big boss because everyone watches themselves when she’s around. Is beloved by all save for Dale. Sixer has some kind of crush on her.

Monster anatomy bits: 

- Sixer is a strange mixture of ape, panthera, and reptile in body shape, while gait swaps between felid and simian depending on the situation. is capable of sitting on his haunches to get a better look around and capable of walking for a limited time on two legs, though very awkwardly. hips generally sit lower to the ground than shoulders while walking on all fours as forelimbs are slightly longer than backlegs. is capable of reaching speeds of 35mph for an extremely limited time and can leap up to 30ft horizontally though is capable of walking for days on end if needed.

- is covered in large golden brown plated scales that are smooth to the touch. from the shoulder to just before the hips are large thick black spines ranging in length that can be raised and lowered at will to be flush against the back or stand straight up. spines are used to sense vibrations and temperature changes in the air to make up for piss poor hearing. also has some very vibrant neon blue markings that show up after his winter shed during the springtime along his back and sides and that fade by mid-summer. 

- skull and face shape is vaguely human in that it is forward facing and very flat though with noticeable differences. face is covered in smaller thinner scales. eyes are larger, green-yellow in color with round pupils and has two sets of eyelids, one for blocking out light, the other for blocking out dust, debris, and water while still maintaining sight. nostrils are almost flush to the face and also large, covered by sensitive receptors that are activated by a chemical in his saliva, excellent at smelling. brow has bumpy ridges that stick out instead of eyebrows. jawbone is bisected and each side is capable of limited independent movement. has no lips. tongue is long and teeth are more ape like. has no external ear and is genuinely not great at hearing unless someone it talking directly at him. has a crop of black hair/fur on top of head that never grows longer than inch along with a few more psuedo-horns around the crown that are dull.

- six limbed. two hind legs and four arms, each ending in a foot/hand with four digits. one set of arms is slightly larger than the other and has larger claws and are used primarily for locomotion, climbing, and fighting/hunting. other set used for more delicate work. scales on the palms of smaller hands are notably thinner and more sensitive to touch for tool work, affection, and object manipulation. Tony jokingly calls the larger arms his ‘fightin’ arms’ and the smaller ones his ‘doin’ arms’

- from head to tip of tail, Sixer is about 12 feet long and from shoulder to ground when on ‘all fours’ stands at about 4 feet tall. tail makes up 30% of body length, is neither stiff nor prehensile, and is capable of a limited amount of wagging closer to the tip, generally used to signal mood though can be used to whip antagonizers.

-he sheds twice a year, the process taking about two weeks from start to finish and these have been dubbed as ‘hell weeks’ by the crew because they have a massive grumpy snappy itchy monster who rubs himself on every rough surface up to and including the buildings, forklifts, the lumber, any unfortunate cars, the fence, and Alvin for 12-16 days. the best way to deal with it is to hose him down twice a day or provide a small pool for him to soak in and give up on trying to get the garage broom from him which he uses to brush himself.

- opportunistic omnivore that can eat almost anything. to lead a healthy diet, requires 70% meat/organ/bone and 30% veg. while svelte, he actually gains a little extra belly cause of the access to a local deer/rabbit overpopulation and the crew just giving him food all the time. 

- has a range of vocalizations and i still haven’t decided if he’s capable of speech or if it’s severely limited and the crew teach him to use asl cause it would make sense if he couldn’t form most words given mouth anatomy and I like it better than unexplained telepathy. i’ll probably go with that.

- genitalia are internal and male in nature. 

monster man and the lumberyard extra bits i thought of:

- Tony gives Sixer a T.V. but it’s only hooked up to local channels so at night he watches a lot of bad television and soap operas.

- Sixer starts crushing on Alvin very quickly, but does not understand how to romance Anyone, so he tries to do a mixture of whats instinctual for him and what he sees on bad T.V. Alvin brushes it off for years, thinking Sixer is Just Like That. it takes him a bit to realize he’s catching feelings because while he is book smart, he also is, regrettably, a himbo

- some sneaky government thing is looking for him. so is a local cryptid hunting group. They get alerted cause some hunters find the remains of deer who’s wounds look nothing like something a local predator could do. no one suspects to look in the dusty lumberyard, of course.

- for holiday parties and get togethers, either Charlie or Tony always hand off a bunch of food to Alvin, telling him to go give it to the ‘old man next door’ so he can get away from his fiancee for a bit and so Sixer doesn’t miss out on the festivities

[shortythescreen]

From the ask, would u be comfy doing an octane nsfw alphabet thing?

Note(s): NSFT/18+ under the cut. sure! i’ll give it a shot. no better way to dip my toes in than to do it with my boy! 

Octane NSFW Alphabet: 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When Octavio is coming down after an orgasm, or after a good fuck, he’s usually flushed from nipples to neck, and is preoccupied panting. When he finally manages to calm down, he grabs at his partner and mumbles a bunch of nonsense. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

There isn’t a part on himself that Octavio doesn’t like but he’s very confident in his abs. Why do you think he runs around in that little croptop? 

As for his partner, Octavio loves him some thighs. Juicy, squishy thighs that he can sink his fingers into? Thin, bony ones that he can hike up against his partner’s chest? He loves them, whatever they come. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Octavio is the type of dude that cums a shit ton. Makes a mess all over his crotch whenever he jerks off, fills up a condom an embarrassing amount. Will brag about it, because he’s That Way. 

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Octavio has had sex with several state heads kids. They would intend his parents parties with their parents and after a few drinks and bad choices later, well. Let’s just say Octavio is not welcome in the Psamathe State Building. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a lot of partners! Octavio likes men, women, and everyone in between. I think he’s slept with more folks with dicks than folks with pussies, but that doesn’t mean he shies away from the intricacies of them. Very enthusiastic lover, very eager to learn. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His partner sitting on him in any way is grand. Sitting on his face? Fabulous. Sitting on his dick and facing him? Oyeee. Sitting on his dick and facing away from him? Dale, amor, let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Octavio Jose Hildegard Silva takes almost nothing seriously. Sex included. The type of partner that blows raspberries into his partner’s stomach when he’s trying to go down on them. Would laugh at a queef or a fart. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

No hair. Aerodynamics. 

Just kidding. Octavio’s got a little bush going on but nothing crazy. He usually forgets to shave but he’ll realize he’s gotten a little wild when the hair starts to get tangled. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Octavio isn’t one for romance. He prefers to have fun, can’t take it when it’s slow. Might call out I love you if he’s with a partner he really cares about but that’s on the rare occasion he’s in a committed relationship.  

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jerking off when he was younger is one of the reasons that Octavio can go multiple rounds. He essentially trained his dick to be used to multiple orgasms in a short amount of time. His partner can thank him being a horny teenager for how many rounds he can go. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Listen, I’m not saying Octavio lowkey has a foot fetish but I’m saying Octavio lowkey has a foot fetish. Lives for his partner having nice, clean toes. Will pay for pedicures. Refuses to admit it but if his partner were to stick their feet in his face and some accidentally get in his mouth? Instant erection. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere there’s the possibility of getting caught. Thrill-seeking Octavio lives for having to cover his partner’s mouth in an office cubicle, in a supply closet, in a bathroom stall. Get ready for cramped, tight locations, where he can glue his body to his partner. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Octavio lives in a perpetual state of horny. It doesn’t take much for him to be intrigued, if not outright turned on. His partner talking about something they know really well, the information going completely overhead while they’re super knowledgeable? Nice. His partner working out, covered in a little sheen of sweat, breathing hard? Nice. His partner sitting on the couch, minding their business? Fucking nice. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Would not spit in his partner’s mouth. Weirdly is okay with spitting on their holes for lube, but even then he’s not here for those nasty, hocked loogies. It’s just... gross, amigos.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Octavio’s kind of selfish when it comes to oral. Definitely prioritizes getting head over giving head -- that being said, when he does give head, he’s VERY enthusiastic about it. Messy, sloppy, will leave his partner’s cunt soaked or their cock drenched.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If it isn’t clear, Octavio tends to move quickly. The sound of his hips clapping against his partners, the quick, steady thrusts of his hips inside of them, building faster and faster? That’s his speed. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Octavio lives for quickies. Especially ones at inconvenient times. He will start feeling up on his partner while they’re on the phone, or when they’re in a meeting, or when he’s just bored in general. If he can get them alone, the pants are coming off. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

[Looks into the camera like I’m on The Office]

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As I mentioned earlier, Octavio’s propensity to jerk off regularly when he was younger built up his stamina. He cums pretty quickly but he can get hard literally almost a minute after. Can go multiple times in an hour. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Octavio has owned one (1) pocket pussy ever and it was Too Powerful. He does not own any more toys. Would gladly try them out, though. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Octavio is a relentless tease. Will drive his partner crazy with the fleeting touches, the way he drags out giving them head. Still, his patience for teasing wears thin pretty quickly so what seems like forever for him might not be too long for someone more durable. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Super noisy! Talks a shit ton during sex. Usually he switches between English and Spanish. A lot of babbling, talking about how good it feels, how much he loves to watch his partner move, etc. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has definitely thought about trying to put his dick into one of those Chinese Fingertraps. Has not done it because even he couldn’t bring that to Ajay to fix. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Octavio’s pretty slim. He was definitely one of those really scrwany, really bony teenagers that became a scrawny, bony adult. However, after he started competing in races and running the gauntlets, he became more muscular. He’ll never be big, but he’s definitely. Lean, mean, fighting machine, with a really big dick, because for some reason skinny guys always have really big dicks? It’s like almost eight inches you guys. What the fuck.  

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As I said earlier, Octavio is in a perpetual state of horny. He’s always down to fuck. Always. It is really, really rare that he’s not ready to go. Wants to fuck and wants to fuck a lot. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends! Sometimes, he’ll roll over and go right to sleep -- especially after a couple of drinks. But if his partner is rearing to go again, he’ll stay up for however long they want him to. Especially if it means getting his dick even more wet. 

[writerman]

DO ME SOME BARD "WALKING IN ON" THRAN "SHOWERING" UNDER A WATERFALL IN THE FOREST. ADMIRING HIM AND HIS BEAUTY AND THRAN NOTICES. SUPER GAY PLS. YAAAAAS!

//Cue the cheesy 70’s porn music. Ahaha, I am kidding, I have nothing but joke about this with you for 2 weeks. I am finally round to getting this done, and I tried to make it smut-tastic for you. Think I failed on that front. 

-----------------------------------------------------

The height of summer.

Everything thirsted for water, the trees, the grass… sun baked plants, animals heaved their sweat soaked bodies into the shade and remained there for the duration of the day until night fell, and they could move unimpeded by the harsh glowing orb in the sky.

Thranduil had suffered too, as the sun set he stole away into the darkening forest alone, his feet taking him exactly where he needed to be.

A pool in the depths of the forest, found in a clearing nestled amongst the shadows of the tallest trees.

The bright moon above bathing everything in a  pale silvery light, only the sound of the night birds and the babbling of the small waterfall that connected the stream to the pool could be heard.

The lord of the forest wasted no time in divesting himself of his clothing, his heated skin ached and it longed for the cool waters that lay still and so tantalisingly near.

His heart raced as he sensed a presence nearby, so sudden it had been that Thranduil cursed himself mentally for allowing his mind to wander but the heat had left him feeling sluggish, his skin felt taut from the intensely dry air and his eyes heavy, but it did not halt him in his actions. With measured movements he removed the last item of clothing and set it with the rest.

This presence, a stranger perhaps… he would not let it bother him, the spirits of the forest were oft mischievous but left well enough alone, meaning only to tease before going on their merry way again.

The branches of the trees reaching high above him swayed with a light breeze and the blond felt relief wash over him, this reprieve from the sun and his fierce gaze felt as though a blessing had been given from the Valar.

For a moment Thranduil remained still listening to the sound of the forest around him, the life that slunk in and out of the darkness between the shafts of moonlight that penetrated the canopy above, always there, always vigilant.

Something was watching. A spirit?

No...

The sound of panting from a strange and ravenous thing… dangerous a creature that stalks with hunger that clenches at the stomach and the heart.

A wolf walked among the trees, ah, something that wore the guise of a wolf, eyes hotter than the sun that had blazed so mercilessly down over the lands that day, movements far more erratic than that of a graceful creature such as a wolf, but just as hungry.

He wondered idly how he must have looked, his pale skin glowing under the light of the moon, was he in danger of being devoured before the nights end?

So vulnerable now without the shield of clothing to protect him, but rather than dwell on the beast, that may or may not be hounding him, Thranduil stepped into the cool water a sigh caught in his throat that came out a purr.

Glorious.

For a moment everything was quiet, the threat seemingly vanished from his surroundings. He leaned against the edge of the pool, his hair splaying over the grass as he let the cold seep in to his skin to his very bones.

Never had he wished so much for the harshness of winter.

Before he had time to think his head was yanked back and his eyes met with a gaze so heated he’d feared Smaug himself had risen from the dead.

The hand that had tangled itself in Thranduil’s hair tugged again and the elf turned his face from those lust darkened eyes, his neck exposed and a shudder passed through him unbidden.

The game had begun, Bard had found him, taken him by surprise and as such Thranduil was the pray to this hunter. He had no control over the nights events, only when the sun rose in the sky would he have any say in what was said and done.

The man slipped into the water beside him, barely a sound made as the pool rippled around them, the night birds were still singing but the elven lord could scarcely hear them over the sound of his harsh breathing.

“You started this game, and I shall end it. You nearly lost me, but I knew you'd be here- you wanted to be caught.

I feel your heart racing, how it flutters and flies in your chest like a fragile creature caged against its will.” Bard voice was more a growl as he spoke, but oh the sound of barely concealed lust thrilled the elf, though no words would come his tongue let every word die as Bard leaned into kiss and nip at his still exposed neck.

What were words when the man at his side could drag out moans that sounded like songs sent to the Heavens?

The pleasant chill in Thranduil's bones was long gone, the shudder that came was not from the night air but from the absolutely delicious feeling of letting go of his power.

To have this man, this man he so dearly adored and trusted, take that power from him with ease was a balm that soothed his stresses away.

Leading a kingdom for thousands of years was hard and left him weary, but now after years alone he had found someone that he could lean on.

Bard never judged Thranduil when he found him too tired for conversation after a long day of debates and paperwork. Bard never expected more time than Thranduil could give, and for this the elf was eternally grateful.

The King of Dale was a support he never expected to have. A wholly new experience to have a man stand by him and hold him up if he truly needed it.

“Thranduil, are you alright?” The blond was pulled from his thoughts by Bard's concerned voice and he felt a flush creep over his pale skin.

He heard Bard sigh and watched as he moved back, he felt the hand tangled in his hair release its grip and he stepped back to give Thranduil space to stand up.

He followed Bard as he moved away all the while offering him an apologetic look, reaching out he let his palm smooth over Bard’s cheek.

Meleth, I apologise, my mind wandered,” Thranduil began, his tone conciliatory hoping his bowman did not hold any ire towards him, “It was not you, please do not think me capable of of being tired of you so easily.” At his words Bard gave him a stunned look and he surged forward claiming Thranduil’s lips with his own.

When they parted again Bard spoke.

“I admit in the past I worried and, perhaps, in the future I may also be, but right now do not fear what I think. All I know is that you look so lovely under the moonlight.” The Bowman’s words mumbled- his lips now only inches from Thranduil’s loathing to be parted from the other even for a second. His deep brown eyes met with clear blue and a sigh escaped Thranduil’s throat.

Even in tense moments he could rely on Bard to lift him up for a spell, he worried at times he would live on a pedestal in Bard’s eyes but the bowman had taken him down a peg or two since they had been married.

For that he would leave his heart in Bard’s hands without hesitation.

“These wandering thoughts of mine, they almost always come to rest on you.” Thranduil spoke quietly, having the decency to look, somewhat, embarrassed by his admission.

Bard quirked a brow, a sultry grin forming as he rest his forehead against the elf’s.

“Oh?” The sound of pure lust that returned to Bard’s voice and how he sounded so suddenly wrecked, it sent a thrill to Thranduil’s very centre and he without further words he lifted his arms to Bard’s waist and pulled him so that they were pressed against one another again, though he would not deny that the fact Bard was still dressed seemed unfair to him.

As though he had heard his thoughts, Bard pulled off his shirt and tossed it on to the banks of the stream where it landed with a wet slap against the grass, for a spell Thranduil merely watched as the other undressed.

A small sigh escaping as he imagined what that body felt like against him, how it had felt the very first time and how it would feel that very night under the moonlight.

The sighed earned another brow quirk.

“Care to share those thoughts of yours, don’t be so cruel as to keep all those naughty thoughts to yourself.”

“I would much rather show you what I had in mind than tell you, haven’t I left you teetering on the edge of lust all night, should I not allow you to take control and take from me what you wish?” The game was back on and Bard relished the feeling of Thranduil relinquishing his power, the exhilarating feeling of having the most powerful man he had ever met at his mercy was slowly chipping at any resolve he had when it came to holding himself back.

There were no more words between them, Bard dragged Thranduil to him lips at the elf’s neck, one hand pressed at his lower back to keep him close and the other between Thranduil’s legs.

The chilled water did not bother them, even as Bard roughly turned Thranduil so his back was to him, pushing him over the edge of the side of the pool, the water splashing up around them at the sudden quick movements.

He was roughly bent over with one pale cheek against the grass, and Thranduil moaned as he raked his fingers through the dirt gripping at tufts of grass, this is the power Bard exuded that Thranduil so dearly begged to witness and now as he was in throes of passion he thanked the stars that his wish was granted.

The sun was rising, the gold and orange glow that streaked over the sky gave promise of another searing day- the birds already up and singing as loud as they could from their still shaded roosts.

Bard was still sleeping, but Thranduil had been awake for an hour already watching the forest wake up, listening to the songs of the trees, the dawn chorus ushering in a brand new day… though at every moment his mind wandered he found his gaze moving back to his husband.

He slept soundly in the grass, his clothes slung over a low branch to dry before they returned home. Thranduil had not yet dressed, he relished in the feeling of the cool wind against his kiss bruised skin- though he was weary he was ready for the day.

Any tension he had held on to had been washed away with the nights events and while he knew this day would be long, the heat making it nigh unbearable he knew he would remain in good spirits.

Now that he and Bard were no longer parted, their family would reunite and all would be well in his world once again.

For now he would allow the day to start without him, for now he would lie in the grass at his husband’s side until responsibility called out to him with the voice of his royal aides.

Then and only then would he move to consider answering their call.

[waywardrose13]

The Hunter Diaries- Chapter Eleven

Series Masterlist // Rose’s Masterlist

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester had been your best friends for as long as you could remember. Being Bobby Singer’s adoptive daughter, it was sort of inevitable to know the brothers. You knew you’ve had a crush on the elder brother for a long time, but you always thought nothing would happen between the two of you. You’re not the picture perfect model and you aren’t the image every girl strives to be. But maybe, just maybe, you were wrong, and he’d like you too.

This is a story of love, death and demons. A story about a girl who fell in love and hopes to survive long enough to act on it.

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: Language, blood, Aamon

A/N- Two? One? More chapter(s) left. I’m still not sure. This chapter is incredibly important and you may or may not find out what the fuck Aamon is.

TAGS ARE OPEN

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Aamon was restless. The moon was to rise in a little less than two hours, which means that the ritual had to be prepped and ready to go by then.

It had been nearly a week and a half since he had taken you from your home. A week and a half of hearing your sarcastic and smart-ass remarks. He couldn’t hurt you, for he needed you for the ritual, so he simply ignored you. He brought you food that you left untouched for nearly five days before you got so hungry, you scarfed down anything you could. He locked you in a room, but it was suited to your comforts. A large canopy bed sat against one of the walls, a large bathroom with a jet tub was off to the right and the room was lit during the day by windows making up two of the walls, overlooking a deep valley of lush, green, snow topped trees and tall grasses. Blue mountains sat far in the distance, the sun waking you each morning by peeking over them, spreading its rose tipped fingers across the land and into the valley below. A tall bookshelf inhabited much of the east wall of the room by the locked door, full of various genres and languages, all ranging from different time periods. They were your only form of entertainment in your confinement to the room and you had already read close to a third of them.

A knock sounded on your door and you lept off your bed, standing straight and tall as Aamon walked in, his jet black hair moving like waves down his back and around his shoulders as he walked. “Hello, love.”

“Come to kill me yet?” You asked. He sighed, shaking his head.

“You ask me that everyday, yet the answer is all the same,” He said. “‘Not quite, but you just wait’. But, unfortunately for you, today is the day.” He smiled at you and held out his hand. You eyed it suspiciously, taking a small step forward.

Just as you had planned for the last week and a half, you brought the jagged piece of metal you had broken off your bed and jabbed it into his neck, pushing him down and sprinting from the room. He let out a growl of rage, a crimson fountain spouting from the side of his neck from where he pulled the metal from his flesh.

“You won’t get far, Y/N/!” He yelled. You panted as you sprinted down the twisting hallways, turning into corridor after corridor, desperately searching for a way out. You seemed to be in a castle almost, the walls cobblestone, torches lighting the your way.

A large wood door sat at the end of the hall and you sprinted as fast as you could, pumping your arms and breathing heavily as you ran. You smashed into it, pulling on the handle.

“Come on!” You yanked at the locked door as hard as you could, glancing behind your shoulder. Your impending doom was almost set in stone and your heart raced in your chest at the mere thought of it. You gave yourself up, yes, but the thought of you dying in merely two hours set fear deep within you. You weren’t ready to die, not without seeing Dean one last time.

Your thoughts were cut short when a hand tangled itself in your hair, yanking your head back, your throat exposed to the monster above you.

Aamon’s eyes burned like embers, his lips curling back over his teeth, multiple sets of dagger sharp canines breaking through his gums. Your eyes widened as you watched the new teeth peek through.

He bent down, latching his teeth into your flesh. You screamed at the searing pain, your skin breaking easily, your blood flowing hot into his awaiting mouth. He drank deeply before lapping at his fresh bite, throwing you to the ground. You brought your hand up and pressed it against your neck, backing up down the hall and away from him. He brought his hand up and wiped his mouth, smearing your blood across his lips and staining his ashen skin.

“Holy… Shit…” You croaked. He smiled down at you, his fangs retracting back into his gums.

“I’m anything but holy, love,” He said. He gripped your hair and tugged you up. You groaned and hit at his chest, but he only chuckled. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N, but you left me no choice. You disobeyed, which means you needed to be punished.”

“You’re… A demon-vampire? How the fuck?”

“We need to work on your language. I don’t want you using the last hours of your life letting filthy words spew from that beautiful mouth.” He smirked down at you as he dragged you down the hall, his hand tightly gripping your hair.

“This may work,” Bobby said. “But I’ve never done it before.”

“Just do it,” Dean snapped, his pacing beginning to annoy Sam. Bobby sighed and set the large spell book on his desk, flitting about the room gathering ingredients.

“You should have called your angel friend,” Bobby grumbled.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Dean hissed. “I screamed myself hoarse in the junkyard. The junkless bastard won’t get down here.”

“Excellent.” Bobby replied dryly. He placed his bowl in the center of the desk and layed the ingredients out. His stomach was clenched tightly with anxiety and he had to resist the urge to drink himself to a stupor. You were the apple of his eye, the only reason he hadn’t committed suicide years ago. He loved you with every inch of his being. You may not have been his biologically, but you were his daughter, the only thing keeping him sane. The only thing that brought him happiness and love.

He carefully measured each needed ingredient and poured them in carefully. It had taken him the whole week you had been gone to find a spell that had at least a fifty percent chance of working. Keeping his fingers crossed, he grabbed the map, pouring the potion over the parchment. Taking a match, he lit it, dropping it onto the corner. The map burst into flames, the orange blaze going around the edge of the map.

“Inveniet eam,” Bobby said. The flames roared, raising high and tall. The old hunter cringed from the heat, watching the map burn and flake away, leaving a small circle of wrinkled parchment. He glanced up at the boys before looking down at it.

“She’s in the state, somewhere in the Black Hills.”

“The mountains?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

Dean jumped up, automatically grabbing the small piece of map and heading towards the door. “Let’s find her. Let’s find my Y/N.”

“So I know what you are now,” You said. You sat in a metal chair, your hands cuffed to the arm rests and your ankles bound to the legs. Aamon stood a few yards from you, preparing for the spell. “You mind letting me know where I come in to all this?

Aamon sighed, his blue eyes flicking up to you. “If I must,” He muttered. “As you know now, I’m half vampire, half demon. A ‘Sato daevam’ if you please. We’re an incredibly rare species. I’m the only living one at the moment. But you… You are the key to unlocking my true potential.”

“How?” You asked shaking your head. “How can I possibly be the key.”

“The spell requires harvested angelic grace from an indirect source. One of many ingredients of the spell. You, my dear, have that. Have you ever wondered how you heal slightly faster than other people? How you have this… Spiritual feeling? How you make everyone around you happier? You’ve got angel grace in you, love. And I need it.”

“What will the spell unlock?” You murmured.

“Excellent question, my dear. As of now, I cannot create new Sato daevams. I can’t drink the copious amounts of blood I always crave, for the vampire part of me is still partly human, and I’ll get sick. That being said, the part of the vampire that is still human doesn’t have full power. I’m not as strong, I can be killed. But once I cast the spell… Oh, Y/N, you won’t believe what I’ll be capable of. I’ll be unstoppable. And once I become at full power and the spell is completed, one of the seals will be broken, inevitably taking us one step closer to freeing our rightful king.”

“Lucifer,” You breathed. Your heart clenched, tears welling in your eyes. Not only will you break a seal, you’ll be the key to unleashing an immortal creature into the world. One that will no doubt rein absolute terror on the world. And you’ll be at fault for it.

“So,” Aamon said, holding up a silver tipped knife, the moonlight gleaming through the skylight, shining perfectly on the silvery blade. “What do you say we get started?”

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[thranduil-png-blog]

Thranduil - Battle Scars

The Battle for the lonely mountain was moments away. I was racing myself towards the remains of the town of Dale, trying to find my husband Thranduil. I felt as though my frantic searching was hopeless until I caught a glimpse of that brilliant blonde hair.

"Thranduil!" I call out, bringing his attention away from the man he was speaking with, he looks to me eyes wide before stepping forwards,

"Y/N, you can not be here. The war starts, I will not let harm come to you!" He proclaims, cupping my face into his hands, staring down at me,

"I shall fight alongside you. Even if it means I die. It will do more harm to me knowing I wasn't there to defend you if you got hurt." I say, looking up into his bright blue eyes.

This is an anthem for the homesick, for the beaten, The lost, the broke, the defeated. A song for the heartsick, for the standbys, Living life in the shadow of a goodbye.

Thranduil sighs, looking over you once again, contemplating your request. He slowly nods, before turning back to the man and giving him a single of some sorts.

"Come my queen, the battle begins." Thranduil whispers, hoisting me onto his elk, and riding towards the misty mountain.

Do you remember when we learned how to fly? We'd play make-believe; we were young and had time on our side. You're stuck on the ground, Got lost, can't be found. Just remember that you're still alive.

"This reminds me of when we played as children, except this is real." I recount, remembering Thranduil and I's childhood. He chuckles, stopping in front of the river across from the 13 dwarves. I quickly zoned out what they were saying, trying to figure out what the noise of marching was coming from, the dwarves of the iron hill had arrived...

"I will have war." Thorin spits, causing my attention to turn back to the scene in front of me,

"Very well." My husband seethes, signaling his archers to shoot at the dwarves making their way over the peak of the distant hill.

I'll carry you home. No, you're not alone. Keep marching on, This is worth fighting for, You know we've all got battle scars. You've had enough, But just don't give up. Stick to your guns, You are worth fighting for. You know we've all got battle scars. Keep marching on.

The fight was as intense as one could possibly imagine. All around me, dwarven and elven blood was shed. It sickened me immensely,

"Why must we be so barbaric? What's it all for? A pile of white gems easily found in the rivers near the kingdom?" I mutter, driving my dagger into a nearby dwarf.

That's when the orcs made their way out of the mountain...

This is a call to the soldiers, the fighters, The young, the innocent, and righteous. We've got a little room to grow. Better days are near, Hope is so much stronger than fear.

"Y/N! Get behind me, now!" Thranduil shouts, dragging me behind him, his swords pointed at anyone who dared to get near him.

"Thranduil, we must work together or our armies will not hold these orcs! We will all perish!" I announce, the fear visible behind my eyes,

"Melamin, you are right. Come, we must rally the troops." Thranduil murmurs, driving his elk towards the King of the Iron Hills.

"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!" I shout, the elves following suit and attacking the orcs that continued to push us back farther and farther.

So if you jump, kid, don't be scared to fall. We'll be kings and queens in this dream, all for one, one for all. You can light up the dark, There's a fire in your heart, Burning brighter than ever before.

"Thranduil! They're attacking the city! The women and children will all die!" I exclaim, steering my husband's elk towards the city,

"Melamin, it's too dangerous, we mustn't go there!" He tries to reason, I simply shake my head, making the elk go faster and faster into the city,

Before I could reply, I found myself fighting off orc after orc, my husband soon following suit. As I chopped off one orcs head, I muttered a quiet phrase,

"'Ksher, Dolle naa lost."

I'll carry you home. No, you're not alone. Keep marching on, This is worth fighting for, You know we've all got battle scars. You've had enough, But just don't give up. Stick to your guns, You are worth fighting for. You know we've all got battle scars. Keep marching on.

Thranduil and I were quickly surrounded, and it wasn't going to end well. I was dumb and let my focus falter for a split second, and it cost me greatly. I attempted to steal a glance of Thranduil and ended up with an orc blade through my abdomen.

"Thranduil!" I screech, falling to my knees, the pain overtaking my body. I could feel more stabs being placed into my back, my blood quickly pooling around me.

"Melamin! Oh Melamin!" I could hear Thranduil sob as he fought his way through the orc pack, calling on some of his guards before rushing to my side amidst the war surrounding him. I could feel his arms under my knees and back and the sense of being weightless overtakes me.

"Amin mela lle Thranduil." I stutter, coughing up a small amount of blood. He looks down at me, his eyes soft and pain filled,

"And I you." He replies, tears falling from his eyes. Soon enough, the pain took over and I found my eyes going heavy,

"Goodbye Thranduil, may Illúvatar watch over you." I cough out before closing my eyes and taking my last breathe.

On and on, like we're living on a broken record. Hope is strong, but misery's a little quicker. Sit, and we wait, and we drown there, Thinking, "Why bother playing when it's unfair?" They say life's a waste, I say they lack belief. They tell me luck will travel, I tell 'em that's why I've got feet. Left, right, left, right, Moving along to the pulse of a heartbeat. This could be the last chance you have to fly. Do you like the ground? Want it to pass you by? Man, you had it all when you were just a kid. Do you even remember who you were back then? What do you want in life? Will you be twice as strong? What would you sacrifice? What are you waiting on? Don't stop, march on.

The elf king's sobs could be heard all throughout the battle field. Who could blame him? He had just lost his love, and to a filthy orc scum, what a horrid way to go. He walks through the battle, your cold and lifeless body enveloped in his arms. He never should have let you join him in this battle. He should have just listened to his gut and sent you home. But no, he had to let you join him.

"It's my fault she's dead." The elven king whispers out, his eyes unable to produce any more tears. "I'm sorry sorry Melamin. Please forgive me."

I'll carry you home. No, you're not alone. Keep marching on, This is worth fighting for, You know we've all got battle scars. You've had enough, But just don't give up. Stick to your guns, You are worth fighting for. You know we've all got battle scars. Keep marching on.

He had to be strong for you, for Legolas, for his people, but, the pain was unbearable. He couldn't stand not being able to lay his eyes on your face, to stroke your cheeks with his hands, to sleep with you in his arms. As he neared the gates of his kingdom, the healers had already been waiting for him, when they saw you in his arms, their faces filled with fear and sorrow.

"It's too late. She's long gone... I-I want a statue of her placed at every entrance to the kingdom. Everyone must know who she was, and what a great queen she had been." Thranduil proclaims, setting your body onto the ground of the healer's quarters,

"Thranduil..." One of the healers says, but is quickly silenced by the kings hand,

"I must finish those orc scum for slaughtering my queen. She will have not died in vain." He seethes, his normal calm and warm demeanor turning cold and sour, "no one kills my lover and gets away with it. Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au' Y/N."

[forever-dreaming-cullen]

[Fic] Oakmoss and Elderflower

Image credit @fontofnothing

I was inspired by this post regarding a comment in Dragon Age: Inquisition Multiplayer about Cullen and I started writing this short piece a while ago. I finally got around to finishing it and thought I’d share it with you.  Sorry, no smut this time, just some Cullen fluff with a touch of angst thrown in.

In case you’re interested, the Inquisitor in this story is my first Inquisitor, Perrine Lavellan. She’s a little conflicted about her Dalish heritage: she loves her clan but thinks that they should be more inclusive of the other races, yet she idolizes Keeper Deshana and doesn’t want to disappoint her. Since she was my first, I have a soft spot in my heart for the silly Elf.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story. Likes, reblogs,and comments are always welcome!

Read it on AO3

 Oakmoss and Elderflower

Perrine watched her Commander as he shifted in his seat for the tenth time in as many minutes.  He was still paying attention to the discussion around the War Table, but she could tell he was struggling. The lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows were scored more deeply than usual, and purple shadows bloomed like bruises beneath his honey-colored eyes.

Frowning, she got to her feet, causing Leliana to stop talking and Josephine and Cullen to turn their gazes toward her.  She cleared her throat.

“I think we’ve done enough for tonight, wouldn’t you say?” She indicated the guttering candle flames. “It’s late, and I’m sure we could all do with a good night’s sleep.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, sharing a glance with the other advisors.  He rose to his feet and grimaced, a hand going up to rub the back of his neck. “Indeed, it has been a long day.” He gathered his papers and nodded to her, then to the other women before turning and heading for the door.

Her eyes followed him as he opened the large War Room doors and disappeared into the hallway, and she missed the knowing look the other two women shared.

Perrine stood outside Cullen’s tower contemplating whether or not she should go in. He was probably already in bed, and if he were already lying down, she didn’t want to make him get up. The man had looked dead on his feet.

She bit her lip and fussed with the buttons of her tunic. Only last week he had told her that he had quit lyrium, and from everything she knew about it, it had to be wearing on him, even If he didn’t insist on doing the work of 10 men.

Giving the door a soft knock, she slipped quietly inside.  She shifted from foot to foot in the doorway for a moment — his office was quiet and dark.  She frowned; he must be in bed — she should go. She was about to turn to leave when Cullen’s voice boomed down from his lofted bedroom.

“Who’s there!”

She froze. “It’s uh, me,” she squeaked, fidgeting with the buttons on her tunic.

“Inquisitor?”  His question was accompanied by the sounds of movement overhead, and seconds later, candlelight pooled on the stone floor beside the ladder. Cullen appeared at the loft’s edge. He knelt at the top of the ladder and peered down at her. “Is there something the matter?”

“No, it’s just that I – I just wanted to see if you were all right…if you needed anything.”

Even in the dim light, she could see the smirk pulling at the scarred corner of his mouth. “Actually, there is something with which you can assist me, if you were so inclined, of course,” he said, getting to his feet. “Please come up.”

 “A-all right.”

When she got up to his loft, she noticed two things: one was that the odor of elderflower and oakmoss permeated the air, and the other was that Cullen wasn’t wearing a shirt. He sat on the edge of his bed in nothing but a thin pair of cotton breeches that he probably slept in, and he held a small jar in his hand with a white paste inside of it.

For a minute, she was captivated by the sight of his muscular form: the wide shoulders and broad chest that tapered down to a slim waist. She had never seen him without a shirt, and Creators, he was magnificent!  The muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he shifted on the bed, and her eyes were drawn to the soft golden down that covered his pectorals before narrowing into a thin line down his flat stomach and disappeared under his loose trousers.

The sound of him clearing his throat brought her out of her daze, and she flushed to the very tips of her pointed ears. “Uh, you needed something, Commander?”

He lifted one golden brow, and his smirk widened. “Ah, yes, Inquisitor. Would you terribly mind rubbing this cream into my neck and shoulders?” He rolled his shoulders and scowled, his cheeks tinged with red. ” I’m afraid the girl who usually does this for me could not attend me this eve.”

Her mind raced as she stood a few feet from the ladder, shuffling her feet. Her gaze flicked from him and the floor, then back again. He wanted her to touch him; to put her hands on his naked skin. Her heartbeat picked up its pace, a live thing thrumming in her chest and her vision narrowed to twin specks before she remembered to breathe. Gulping great swallows of air, she stepped closer to him on trembling knees.

“Okay,” she whispered as she accepted the jar from him.

She stepped behind him, her heart still fluttering madly in her chest.  She stared at the broad expanse of his shoulders and back, thickly muscled from years of training and hard action. She had often wondered what his body would feel like, and here, now, she had the opportunity to find out. His lightly freckled skin turned golden in the candlelight and seemed to beckon her touch.

“Are you all right?” His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she became aware that she had been standing there doing nothing for too long. “You — you don’t have to do this if you don’t wish to.” He tried to turn his head to look at her, but winced and raised a hand to rub his neck.

Poor man, he was hurting, and here she was thinking about him in that way. “I’m fine,” she blurted, quickly dipping her fingers into the ointment in the jar and pulling out a glob of it. She lifted it to her nose before starting to work it into the skin of his neck. Before she could stop them, the words were out of her mouth. “This liniment is why you smell so good?”

He chuckled. “You like the way I smell? That is good to know,” he said, lowering his head to give her more access to his neck. “An apothecary in Kirkwall made it for me —  I use it every morning and before bed, and I find it helps to keep my aches and pains manageable.”

“Is it the lyrium withdrawal?” She gathered more of the fragrant cream in her fingers and worked lower on his back, dragging her thumbs down his spine towards his shoulder blades and back up again. His skin was soft and warm, and his muscles were firm under her touch. The little pebbles of tension under his skin and in his muscles dissipated under her touch.

Cullen groaned. “Maker, that feels so good.  Go just a little harder, if you please.” She did, and he continued, “I am sure the lyrium withdrawal isn’t helping matters, but,” he let out another groan, “I have been a soldier for many years, and a few aches and pains are quite natural at my age.”

“But you can’t be much more than thirty years of age,” she blurted and blushed. Luckily he couldn’t see her crimson cheeks from where he was sitting. Creators, the way this man made her feel!

“I’m five and thirty, actually, and quite old enough, I assure you.” He hummed his pleasure as her hands worked loose a stubborn knot between his shoulder blades.  “Maker, I think I shall have to have you do this for me every morning and every night from now on. You have remarkable healing hands, my lady. Even my headache is waning.”

Her hands paused in their ministrations. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Not that she minded, exactly, but…”I-I..” she started to say when he turned toward her, color high on his cheeks.

“Oh, I –I only meant-I mean, I didn’t mean- Maker’s breath!” Cullen ran a hand over his face. ” Forgive me, Inquisitor, of course, I did not mean that you should attend me…only, your hands are the Maker’s gift, and I wished for you to know that.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly, his eyes turned to molten gold in the candlelight. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

Mythal’enaste, the way he looked at her just now, it made her heart flutter, and she was almost dizzy with the scent of the liniment and of him. What was he doing to her? He was her Commander and a shem; he was a decade older, as well. She could see her Keeper’s face scowl in disapproval if she were to bring such a one home. Then, she remembered that she had promised Solas that she would accompany him to the Dales. She would tell him they could leave as soon as he could be ready.  It was best that she didn’t linger in Skyhold for a while — until she could exorcise these treacherous notions from her heart.

She straightened her posture and pulled her hand back from him, nearly crying at the loss of his touch. “You’re welcome, Commander,” she said. “I – I have…to go.”   Without looking back, she turned and slid lithely down the ladder to his office and ran out of the door leading to the rotunda.

She didn’t see the crestfallen look on her Commander’s face, nor the way he’d watched her run away from him with mournful golden eyes.

~fin~