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wafflewarriors · 5 years ago

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A Rewrite of History

Chapter 2—Wendigo

According to the show, Sam and Dean sweep around Stanford for a week. Of course, what was supposedly canon was now slowly getting changed as you interfered, and it was going to become harder to gauge what was next. And if that didn’t terrify you, the thought of being on the Winchester’s hit list did.

Aware that you theoretically had a five day head start, you decided to take on the Wendigo case before the Winchesters caught it in the papers. How hard would it be?

What were you kidding—you weren’t a hunter. This was going to be the hardest thing you’d ever faced.

You knew that your destination was Lost Creek, Colorado, but you stopped in Grand Junction to try and settle everything out. Your first stop was at a gas station, where you took a few minutes to stretch and think.

Homesickness had hit you twice through that long morning of driving. It was heavy and demanding. You missed watching shows with your best friend. Frankly, you missed when Supernatural was just a show.

The nozzle clicked, signaling that your tank was full, and you grit your teeth. There went nearly thirty dollars, all in one day. Down the drain.

Issue was, you were hungry. Walking into the gas station, you realized you didn't know what you were going to buy. What do people buy to eat when they’re completely broke? You thought for a minute, then remembered: college students. Duh.

You grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter for pbj's, a bag of dried fruit, a box of granola bars, a container of daily vitamins, and a cheap, refillable water bottle. You'd be eating cheap for a while. A very long while.

You breathed through your anxiety as you paid for the items, walking back out to your car; that was more money than you had planned on spending.

Next stop: the county library. They closed at nine, and it was eight p.m. You had one hour to do your research at their computers. If you were so ahead, then why did you always feel a step behind? An hour wasn't long, so you made a beeline for the computer, feeling self-conscious of your search history.

And, right. The computers were the size of microwaves. Fun. Let's just see if you could even work this thing. Hesitantly, you managed to open a browser. Good start.

You typed: wendigo.

You needed the wendigo sigils, or whatever they were. Because while you knew what the cases were about, you didn’t have 'dad's journal'. After scrolling through three useless articles linking to books, you found a lore site. They were called anasazi symbols. Protective circles to keep them away just like salt would. They were a bit complex, so you borrowed some paper and a pen at the desk and traced it over the computer screen. You were thorough with your research, because one bit of false information could leave you in the wendigo's den.

The Winchesters would be coming anyway, but you didn’t want to see what they'd do if they found you here. You were a suspect to Jessica's murder, after all.

Every time you shut your eyes, you saw Sam’s grieving face. You were probably beating yourself up more than Sam was. If you hadn’t taken that one rest, you would have been there. Jessica would have had a chance.

You wished you could tell him, tell Sam what happened, that it wasn’t you, but it was too late for that. Showing your face would be suicide, even if the mysterious note promised to keep you on the side of the living. There was only so much they could do before the Winchesters figured out a way to put you down and keep you down.

"Are you doing a ritual or something?" someone said behind you. The disgust and repulsion in their tone was as clear as a church bell.

You jumped and spun around, startled by the librarian behind you.

"Uh, no. No. Just a writer," you said. You weren't lying, really. You'd written some fanfictions here and there.

"Ah," she said, but she was still clearly judging you and the suspicious looking symbols. "Well, we're closing."

Damn. It was already nine? "Oh—right, okay. Thank you."

She walked away, and you stole two pens and notepad off her desk, stuffing it in your bag. You were probably going to need them.

///

As it turns out, you can't just impulsively buy flamethrowers. Not only were they hard to get, but they were also expensive. Way too expensive for your budget. In result, you were going to have to DIY and build a less desirable flamethrower.

You pulled up to the supermarket with a very odd grocery list in hand. You bought hairspray and a lighter. You just hoped it wouldn't burn your hands off.

You also hoped that soon you wouldn't have to burn a hole in your pocket. You'd spent close to one hundred dollars today in total.

The note did say that they wouldn't let you die, though. So that was something. You didn't really know what it implied, but they literally made you appear in a different universe, so you didn't want to mess with them. Not yet. Not until you had the Winchesters on your side.

That wasn't looking too promising though.

Pushing the thought away, you filled up your water bottle in the supermarket, knowing that it would be needed if you were trekking through the forest.

It was dark out. You know it'd be stupid to try and light the thing in the night, where it was more adept to hunt. You would sleep in the car, then head to Blackwater Ridge in the morning. That was the plan. A plan that might have you cross paths with the Winchesters—the last thing you needed.

You were already pulled into a 24/7 supermarket parking lot, which was nice. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. It was late.

You locked the doors, pulled the keys from the ignition, and crawled into the back seat. The way it curved your spine wasn't all that great, either, and you knew if you did this for too long, you'd be ensuring future back problems.

The leather was worn and sort of cold, but it cushioned you enough. It really did make you wish you had a blanket.

Instead, you hugged your little bag to your chest, thinking of your best friend, and also fearing for their lives.

///

Morning hit you pretty fast. The sun was blinding and soon the car was too hot to stand. You stretched, exiting the vehicle and appreciating the cool breeze for a while. This was the big day. The prize fight, huh?

Nah. This case wouldn't mean hardly anything to history in the long run. All it would do is tell the Winchesters to keep looking for their dad.

It was still changing history, though, right? Like, maybe they'd get to the next town faster, at least.

You didn’t really know what else to do. You couldn't just sit around and wait for history to change itself. You had a friend to fight for. You had to do something. Anything. Sitting around wasn't an option.

You weren’t cut out for this, though. You weren't prepared for what hunting entailed. And you certainly weren't ready to take on a Wendigo.

You flipped the hairspray in your hand, reviewing your choices. Not that there were much of any.

You sat in the back of your car, with the door opened wide to let a nice breeze in. You tinkered with your materials, taking off the cover of the lighter, and began adjusting the adjustment wheel so the flame would be taller.

You climbed out, standing in the middle of the parking lot and looking around. It was about five in the morning, so there weren't many people up and about yet except you.

Curiously, you raised the can of hairspray. Holding it far from your body, you pressed. The flame burst forward, much larger than you had expected. "Holy—!" Startled, you flinched and backed into your car.

Damn.

After shaking off the shock, you smiled to yourself, and promptly threw them both in the back of your car. Shoving your nerves down, you got in the driver's seat.

Once you got on Interstate 70 and there was no going back.

After a quiet minute of thought, you had the car purring with life.

///

You pulled up to Blackwater Ridge feeling underprepared. You had one or two days before the Winchesters showed, and you wanted to be far out before they did. Not only was there a wendigo out there, but bears. Bears and bear traps. And, by god, you had a lighter and some hairspray.

Who were you kidding, you were screwed.

Be that as it may, this was happening. You were going to hunt this thing, find it's little cave, and torch it. You could do this. A little hike. That's all this was.

There was a sign on the side of the road as you walked up, announcing that chances of wildfires was 'High'.

Great.

This kid, Tommy Collins, was out there somewhere though. And the faster he got help, the better. So scrounging up every fiber of courage in your body, you stepped onto the forest trail, which was worn-down from past campers.

The trees started out thin and weedy, but as you trekked deeper, the shrubs thickened and the branches became knotted and gnarly. The trail got more scattered, and the brush got thicker. But maybe that was your imagination.

You gripped the hairspray and lighter like it was your lifeline—and it was, if you were being honest. It was the only thing keeping the monster and its claws from you, at this point.

You knew it was smart. Smarter than you, considering you had no back up. Just you, the woods, and it.

And freaking bears.

You decided to set camp for the night. These woods were large, and it would take a while to track down the wendigo's hiding spot. You replicated the anasazi symbols in the dirt with a stick. You made them large, so you'd have some space.

You chose a little patch of land where the dirt was fine and chalky; people had probably camped here in the past. There was a stump in the center—the break was natural. It must have been wiped out by a storm. It had moss around the base, and you hoped it would provide enough of a cushion to rest on.

Lastly, you had to get a fire going, but that would be the easiest part. You collected some dry wood, making a little stack. Then, you torched it. You were happy with the result.

You were a little lean on wood. You would need some more the last you through the night. Maybe two more handfuls and you would be satisfied.

You made sure not to venture too far from your camp. Gathering dry wood and dead brush was easy—Blackwater Ridge was high risk for wildfires half the time.

You dropped the first load onto the fire, then went back for one last bundle. You didn't notice at first—the crunch of dead leaves against your feet and your rough breath covered it up. But then, you heard it.

It wasn’t the noise that worried you; it was the lack of it.

No crickets or cicadas.

Nervous, you decided to call it a night, running off to safety like a child scared of turning off the light in the basement.

You made it to base camp, but your heart was going nuts. You really really didn't want to become wendigo-chow. You clenched and unclenched your hands, steeling yourself against the stump. You were safe. It couldn't get through the symbols. That is, if you drew them right.

What calmed nerves, anyway? Food? Right, food. You needed to eat anyway. You'd skipped lunch.

With shaky hands, you took out the bread and peanut butter from your bag. Shamefully, you spread it on with your silver hunting knife. Just on the tip. Better than spreading it with a stick or something. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like it couldn’t stab anymore. You cleaned off the knife with your shirt, which was already soiled from a day of hiking.

The sandwich was heavenly. Just to eat something after ignoring your hunger all day was calming you down a ton. You sighed, curling into yourself. The fire brought relief to your muscles, your stomach was happy, and you were safe—mostly. Hopefully.

You'd have most of tomorrow to gank this thing before the Winchesters came. Assuming you didn't run into trouble.

You were finally getting comfortable, when an unfamiliar man's voice rang out into the night. "Help!"

You startled up, glancing out into the forest. There was a man out there. Who was that? Who— You sagged in realization. Voice mimicking. It was trying to draw you out.

You didn't know if that was supposed to make you feel better or worse.

The wendigo knew you were here. And you were no longer the hunter. You were the hunted.

///

You couldn't sleep that night.

The orange glow of the campfire illuminated the trees and exaggerated the long shadows and threatening silhouettes. Not to mention the wendigo wouldn't shut up. It was trying to exhaust you. And damn, it was working.

Morning came aggravatingly slow. You knew the wendigo was close, because the birds refused to chirp, even though it was late morning. It was still watching.

You weren't in the greatest position. It could sit there all day, watching from the trees, but you couldn't. The only way you could get this thing in firing range was to step outside the circle. And it was definitely faster and stronger than you were.

"Come on out, you coward!" you yelled. "You want to kill me, and I want to kill you. So let's do it already!"

There wasn't an answer for a moment. But then you heard laughing. Deep, eerie laughing that the thing must have heard from past campers, and was now repeating.

It was mocking you.

"I see how it is," you said.

Your odds weren't great. You also had your silver knife, which could potentially kill it, but you didn’t think that was the best option here.

Then, you got a little idea. It was stupid, reckless, but it had the potential to buy you a little time. Maybe even kill the stupid thing. It was perfect weather for it—the sun was out, the vegetation was brown and dry.

So you torched the trees.

The thing shrieked somewhere above you, rustling and scrambling to get away from the flames. But something must have burned it, because it fell from the tree like a rock, growling and writhing in pain.

Cautiously, you made your way over, just in case the creature decided to get back on its feet. But it stayed, scratching at the ground.

You put the bastard out of its misery. It was more than it deserved.

Now to find Tommy.

You were walking a ways before you began to hear voices. People. You watched from behind a tree as the Winchesters and the Collins best friend came around the bend of trees. From where the mine was. They must have already found Tommy. Looked like Roy was alive, too. Probably because you had kept the wendigo busy for the night.

They hadn't seen you yet, their eyes were on the wildfire that was slowly spreading, but there wasn't much time before they realized they weren't alone. And you didn't want to be there when they figured it out.

Dean was the first one to spot you. When he did, his entire tone changed. "Hey!" He yelled, his expression became murderous. "Bitc—!"

You shot off like a rocket. You needed to get the hell out of here.

Dean wasn't far behind you. He yelled in your direction. His words were distorted by the thrum of your heart in your ears, but his tone was clear as a bell. He knew who you were, and he was out for your blood.

You faltered in your step. You forgot your bag. You needed your bag.

You hesitated, still intending on running away from Dean Winchester. But, hell, you needed that bag. It was all you had. And the further you ran, the less likely you'd be able to get it.

Cursing yourself, you turned around and ran past Dean Winchester.

He certainly wasn't expecting that. He was too stunned to even grab at you. He just skidded to a stop to process what you were doing before tearing after you again.

You weren’t far from your camp. You just needed to get your bag and then you'd be running for the hills again.

You reached your bag, but Sam Winchester was there, at the line of your anasazi symbols. Dean Winchester was behind you. They had you cornered.

You met gazes with Sam, whose eyes were filled with murderous intent. You completely understood where his hatred and anger came from. Jessica's death was the most recent grievance in his life. And to see your face? And to see the fire? It had to be tearing him apart.

You knew this was only cementing the Winchesters' views of you. They thought you were a killer who played with fire. Something 'thing' they had to gank.

But, man, you were trying your best. Changing the future was harder than it looked.

"Who are you," Sam demanded. It looked like he was holding every part of himself back to avoid killing you then and there. He had other matters at hand—Jess was dead, but he needed to find his Dad, and you were the only lead.

"Look," you said, rushed. "I didn't kill your girlfriend."

"Right," Sam sneered. "Like how you didn’t just light up half an acre?"

"I was smoking out a Wendigo. I did your job for you. Sue me," you said.

"Oh, I'm going to do more than sue you—"

You did not like that tone. You backed away as Sam closed in, only to find that Dean was also advancing from behind you.

Without even thinking about it, you rose up the can of hairspray and aimed for Sam's eyes. You pressed.

He immediately cried out, stumbling back and wiping at his face.

"Sorry!" You blurted. You stumbled back, raising the can to get Dean, but he anticipated the move and tackled you.

"Can't do the same move twice. Not on us."

So you slammed the hairspray can into Dean's temple. He fell to the side, groaning, and you rolled away. Clutching the bag to your shoulder, you began running.

You made the mistake of looking back, and stopped in your tracks. Damn it. You couldn't leave them like this.

You were going to make a sacrifice today, it seemed. One you would regret later. You dug in your bag, pulling out your water bottle. You tossed it their way, grumbling to yourself. What had that been, ten bucks? Ten bucks. Ten bucks so Sam could keep his sight and pour water in his eyes.

You ran off like a madman.

///

Tags: @rosaren2498 , @pillowjj

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thebibliomancer · 5 years ago

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Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 1 liveblog

Just a stream of thoughts.

There were seven tribes of Gelfling, all unique.... buuuut only three are important right now: the classy mountain Gelfling, the fighty forest gelfling, and the hippie underground gelflings

The takeaway is that astronomy is a ruse of the evil space lizards

Age of Resistance creators “How many villain voices can we put in one scene? APPARENTLY A LOT!”

Fun little nod at the seven deadly sins inspiration to have the Gourmet screaming about gluttony

The Emperor has a surprisingly deep voice for how scrawny he looks

The Chamberlain: I’m good at eavesdropping

The Scientist: -shrieking top secret information at the top of his lungs-

I think we just saw the first Garthim be born out of random evil mutation. Weird. I never considered them an actual real creature. I just assumed the Garthim Master created them. Even though he didn’t seem much of a brainy Skeksis

It’s downright weird to see Gelflings working for the Skeksis. I know in Lore that they interacted and Skeksis invited them to parties and stuff

These two protagonist gelflings treating dreamfasting like sex “Do you want to?” “Yeah if you want to” and Jen and Kira just doing it accidentally in the movie

Hey the Collector! You’re... very different from how you were in the Legends comic

Rian: “But daaaad I want to lead the guarrrrd”

Damn that’s a hell of a library!

“Why don’t they like questions? How else will we learn? Ooh now I have more questions!” Youre an endearing character, Brea

UNDERGROUND SAND WORMS

Oh no that moss was tainted by Evil

Rolly polly bugs as cart wheels is pretty cool

“Little things have a habit of being stepped on... by big things” surprising Skeksis candor

‘I was once beautiful but then I read a book’ - the Collector

Speaking of weird, seeing Gelflings chanting “All hail the Skeksis!”

Scientist watching hand dissolve “How very interesting!”

We’re also early enough on the timeline that other Skeksis still buy what the Chamberlain is selling

“Please, small words! Chamberlain is not smart like Scientist!”

He also does that simpler pidgin like talking he did with the Gelflings in the movie (where I think the explanation lost to having the Skeksis speak English is that he barely knew any Gelfling language). I guess he’s really playing up how dumb he is here? Or the creators missed the point of the movie scene and thought he’s always like that?

‘Hey buddy why not drain essence from Gelflings?’ Dammit Chamberlain!

The Sanctuary Tree can talk, but only to dunk on people

Sanctuary Tree: “Touch the montage flower”

Mira and Rian are incredibly horny for each other

Rian: “The Skeksis have forbidden us from going into the catacombs”

Mira: -didn’t even wait for him to finish before rushing in-

Ornamentalist: sees a shiny “Want!”

And we learn that the true monster is peer pressure. And also the giant greedy lizards

Brea: “If the Skeksis are all powerful, and they have everything, then why do they require tithes from even the poorest Gelfling?”

“They want us fighting each other for the left overs!”

A librarian: ‘Those are some dangerous thoughts, princess. Gtfo’

“The Sancturary Tree is a tree!” Thanks for the insight

“Trees can’t talk!” “Except when they can”

“No arguing with trees! HA HA HA!”

So the Sanctuary Tree has sent Deet on a quest so she has to leave her hidden elf village. And she doesn’t even get a green tunic out of the bargain

I’m going to be cross if Mira gets her essence sucked out

Gourmand: “I eat when I’m stressed”

Chamberlain: “HmmMmmm you must often be stressed, yes?”

Gourmand: “All the time!”

Welp. Nice knowing you, Mira

Wellllllllp

And that’s how the Skeksis learned to drink soul goo

Geez, it doesn’t even leave a soulless body behind. She just sort of exploded

This is very much a “Did you bring enough for the class” situation

Also Rian was watching the whole time. He saw the Skeksis drink his girlfriend

And then he dramatically cries a single tear... which falls into the Ritual Master’s mouth. Giving away that he was watching

Whoops

Chamberlain: “We are the lords of the crystal, yes? Even if Rian talk, none will believe. They will shun him. Cast him out. How can they not? To believe him is not to believe themselves. Skeksis reign a thousand trine and will reign a thousand, thousand more until last sky in star goes dark. Gelfling will submit, head bowed, back bent as they have always done. Gelfling want to be ruled. Gelfling need to be ruled. Because Gelfling are weak! Gelfling are small. And Skeksis are forever! We took the Crystal. Thra belongs to us now. And is nothing... NOTHING Gelfling can do!”

-montage of various protagonists getting ready to age of resistance-

Tldr everything is SkekSil’s fault

#dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #liveblog #episode 1

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taltos-seidmadr · 5 years ago

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I was tagged in a “Answer questions, tag people” thing by @apocalypticglitter so now I must oblige my civic duty! Thank you for tagging me!

Answer 17 questions (+1 because 18 is my favourite number) and tag 17 people (if you can)

Nickname: Sithi Sun sign: Sagittarius Height: I’m like... Three stacked cans of whoop ass. In a trench coat huge sweater. Hogwarts House: the valid one aka. Hufflepuff (Don’t @ me) Last thing I googled: BULL FROGS?! This is @mkingamess ‘s fault. I was curious how big they really are Favourite musicians: UHHHMM this is a super hard question for me to answer tbh cause my taste in music fluctuates daily. I will give a shoutout to some musicians/albums that I can think off the top of my head and imo don’t get enough recognition:

If you are into industrial metal/EDM type of shit, Hatari is really fucking lit. Some may know them from the Eurovision already. I just accidentally stumbled into them via the Discover Weekly on Spotify like half a year before the competition

The Magic Got Killed by Too Tangled - literally the two most attractive voices in the world, listening to this always makes me feel painfully bisexual

The self titled and only album of Fear and the Nervous System is is a curious experience. I have literally never heard anyone in my life sing with as much harrowing intensity and passion as this singer, to the point that I don’t even know if I would call it singing anymore... but it does work and fold into the instrumentals very well, creating a rather unique mood. Genuine “Let me wallow in my depression for an hour before I move on” kind of music. It might click with you, might not. But I do think it’s very underrated.

Pagans in this corner of tumblr I think would enjoy the shit out of Faun, they got many good songs but my absolute fave is Egil’s Saga

Song stuck in my head:

youtube

Probably best young scrolls track to date. Spits more fire than the Red Mountain, yo.

Following: around 300 Followers: just passed 1k(?! That’s a lot?! Should I do like, a giveaway or something) 🤔 Amount of sleep: What a weird question... I slept about 7 hours last night. Lucky number(s): 3, 7, 8, 18 Dream job(s): illegal back-alley cyberpunk prosthetics designer/repairman (dont have the qualifications or the technology but one can dream) bog body that starry-eyed semi-feral singers write songs about (possibly attainable?) village cryptid (probably already achieved the status but unfortunately not getting paid for it) artist (I’m doing this one, so hooray!) Wearing: I’m in my sleepwear already lol. It’s a pair of wide comfy black pants, and a big moss green shirt with a geometric pattern (there used to be gold and silver paint on it but that unfortunately faded out, now it’s just black). Favourite songs: My answer is same as above really... Idk harrass me in my askbox maybe I will recommend you some songs. Instruments played: I could play a little guitar at a time, but I’ve forgotten most of it.

Hey, this is only 15! I will add 3 more:

Something that I’m not good at but thoroughly enjoy: Videogames, hands down. My motoric skills and reaction times are less than desirable, lol. Nevertheless I’m a huge gamer and I just love to immerse myself in imaginary worlds. My favourite Halloween costume ever: I once recreated this dress from scratch with a fairly acceptable degree of accuracy My favourite myth of the god(s) I worship (if doesn’t apply, your favourite folk tale): I fear this is going to be an unoriginal answer, but seriously... could anything top Thrymskvidha?

Fun facts:

When I was born, I almost died.

In spite of my entire family being devout Christians, I remember believing in some form of reincarnation at such an early age that I had no business knowing what the word reincarnation even means. I was in fact very convinced at a time that I’m either one of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side, or from the generation before that. (Now that my religion is what it is, honestly I don’t really know if this is true or not. But I thought this back then for some reason.)

I’m left handed.

Before moving to Germany, I sang in choirs my entire life, some of which were fairly professional level, I guess? We would go to international competitions and stuff.

I don’t know if this was a weird coincidence or the spirit world itself shifted reality around me to protect me, but I somehow never heard the Frozen theme song in its entirety. In my life. Not one time. Not even when it was on the radio non-stop. If I managed to catch it somewhere, it was always when it was just about to end.

I used to want to be a professional animator, but when I grew up and researched about the profession more, it didn’t seem like it was worth the hassle. Regardless I’m still obsessed with animation, I watch cartoons all the time and I would like to teach myself how to animate even if just on an amateur level.

I have no idea how to tie a shoe with only one bunny ear. I was taught the two bunny ears method and that’s all I’ve ever known.

Some things that I associate with Loki that have absolutely nothing to do with the lore or anything include snow, a very specific shade of blue, roses, cherry (but only the scent or flavor, not the fruit) and various forms of iridescence.

Like probably all kids who are into metal, I also dreamed of becoming a rockstar a little bit, but more interestingly, in my fantasy I was going to be blindfolded on stage and I thought that would be my schtick as a performer, for some reason. Of course the cloth would have to be sheer in order for me to be able to see just enough to orient myself on stage. It’s somehow both hilarious and bone-chilling to look back on now, that another and actually kind of obvious solution to the orientation issue never occurred to me on my own

The green shirt mentioned above is the only green piece of clothing I own.

I don’t believe in astrology. :/ (Sorry...?)

When I was a kid, I entered a nationwide contest to write a faux folk tale and my tale made it to the semifinals.

The only “what is your favourite” type of question I can give a straightforward answer to is what my favourite book is. It’s The Neverending Story by Michael Ende (who would have thought!)

I knew I was nonbinary my entire life, but I only learned that there is a word for it when I was 25.

Besides my native Hungarian, English, and a little German that I speak, I also learned Japanese and Norwegian (in highschool and during university, respectively) both for 3 years each, and I was on roughly B1 (low intermediate) level in them at my best. I don’t remember much of Japanese, and I only understand a little Norwegian when it’s in front of me to read, but once German is no longer the priority, I would like to relearn them at least a little bit.

One of my completely useless talents is that if we talk to each other and I have a drink in my hand, I will somehow supernaturally detect it from your brainwaves when you are about to tell a funny joke and will attempt to drink just beforehand. This has happened so often that I can now suppress the instinctive urge to try to swallow the drink halfway wrong and choke on it. If you were planning to assassinate me this way, it would not work.

The reason why 18 is my favourite number is because my life seems to be entwined with it in a weird, almost supernatural way. For example an unnaturally large number of things that are important to me (including my birth) happened on the 18th of a month.

Since there is no Halloween party I’m going to this year, I don’t have a specific costume but I will definitely take my make up kit regardless and go absolutely feral with it just to be in the Halloween spirit a little bit.

Whew man... it was really tough to come up with 18. I’m more boring than i thought.

I tag:

@mkingamess @ragnarokfox @forest--walker @quietdedication @spellbookofthelostandfound @ast-heljar @cloudy-skyes @d-em-t @suilebhride @edderkopper

Anyone who wants to fill this out can consider themselves tagged as well. Tag my name in it too so I can read it.

#sithi's posts

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raven-conspiracy · 6 years ago

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If you don't mind my asking and I'm sorry if you get this sort of question a lot, how did y'all become aware of/able to see the Good Neighbors around you? I think we share our the land with handful of Neighbors, but I'm mostly relying on my intuition and haven't successfully been able to identify who's there, just that there is someone out there, much less develop two-way communication. Do you have any advice?

This is a bit of a difficult question to answer, so I’m sorry in advance, anon. I don’t remember a time I couldn’t see them. Oh, I remember times when they were scarce, sure. Some people have “the sight” as children and never have it trampled down. I spent a few years trampling it myself, not wanting to see anything anymore, but I cultivated it again.

So let’s talk about cultivating it, because I think it helps no matter your situation. I want to be clear: nobody is extra special for being “born with it,” and in all likelihood we all are, then have it discouraged by disbelieving adults. But nobody is a super special witch for hanging on to that skill into adulthood. Don’t let anybody tell you that they’re better for seeing what you’re not seeing. (I see that kind of thing a lot in magic circles, so I just want to encourage you.)

First and foremost I recommend looking. Sounds kind of simple, and it is. That’s what I did as a child: I went into nature and I looked. Learn some faerie lore, learn what kinds of things they frequent, learn some local legends. Then find those places and just… look. Wait and look. Leave little offerings and look. Announce the offering is for the fey, and perhaps leave. Just keep coming back and doing it, staying longer each time. To find small fey, find small things, and give small things. The fey of the twisted root in the yard, the fey of the little pile of stones by the stream. Bring them fruits and flowers and acorns and the gifts a child gives.

You can attract beneficial fey with a cultivated offering place near your home, outside. When I was a child, I built them grand halls out of garden carnations bent over each other, with carpets of moss and tables and seats of pebbles, and a stick for a maypole. I brought them berries and any herbs that smelled nice. “Cultivating” a relationship with them–that’s a good word for it, since I did it by literally tending a garden spot I designed for them. Of course, at the time I thought all faeries were the tiny ones with pretty wings, and those are the ones I got. (Good thing, too, since I was only a child.)

When it comes to cultivating a relationship with them, consistency is key. Repeat your offerings, repeat your locations, keep saying nice things. If someone showed up at your house with a present and asking to see you, you might wait to see how many times they come back and if their intentions are benign before opening the door. You might soften towards them if, when they come, they do a little yard work, and don’t ask for anything in return.

For some spirits of the land, it would also be helpful to bring them offerings and share in a ritual meal with them. (I’m bringing up Red Meals a lot lately; it must be the time of year.) Communing with them and honoring them will help them understand that you are a person 1) open to seeing them and 2) who is polite and willing to “speak their language.” If you have well-known types of local spirits, looking up specialized offerings for them will help please them. A ritual meal can be a powerful tool, but could also lead to spirit initiation, which can be a frightening thing. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible. Just do it to honor and connect and, uh, don’t ask them to, like, rearrange your soul.

If you are more into ceremonial magic and grimoire tradition magic, you can create and consecrate a copy of the Fourth Pentacle of the Sun from the Greater Key of Solomon, which will help you in that spirits will more easily be seen. The kind you can see, though, is not very well under your control.

I must warn however that with your home, you ought to consider putting up protections against fey, if no other kind of ward, just in case somebody wants to follow you in. Even well-meaning fey have a different idea of goodness and helpfulness than we do, and many times a spirit trying to be friendly can be an unintentional menace.

When you begin seeing them, it will be strange. It might start with a feeling, and your eyes might focus in a general area, and you just know there’s something there and for some reason you can’t find it. Like it’s constantly out of focus. It might develop into seeing things moving, flits in the corner of your vision, or seeing “invisible” disturbances in changing shapes. Sounds might come to you in sudden strange words spoken in your ear. The spirits might take the form of animals watching you. If a wild animal nearby is interested in you and watching, it could be related to spirit activity. (I can’t believe I have to say this, but it’s Tumblr so I have to: please look up warning signs of rabies in wild animals and don’t ever touch them. A lack of wariness in animals, especially ones that approach, can be one sign of an active rabies infection. Also be wary of vector species such as foxes and raccoons. Tune in tomorrow for another episode of, “Incredible or Infectious”!)

As you develop the sight, your mind’s eye will understand certain things about their appearance that your eyes don’t. It’s difficult to describe, but it’s very clear when you experience it. If you are very lucky, you will someday have a full visual on one of the Folk. Audible messages, I find, are easier.

So, start small, both with your actions and in the type of spirit you’re looking for. Believe me, you can work with “more important” spirits later, but you need to “learn the language” and get the training wheels on when it comes to how they communicate and what tricks might be played. Otherwise, it might be a bad day when you meet some grand underground king.

I hope this helped!

#anon #asks #fey #fairies #faeries #magic #spirits #spirit work #land spirits #local spirits

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wijopat · 7 years ago

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In search of Peregrine the tall, and Meriadoc the brave

Long ago there lived a pair of brothers, or brothers they seemed to me. Tall and strong, with all the vigor of youth in their smile and wisdom beyond their age in their eyes. I seem to have forgotten their names, my memory is of tree and root, not of muscle and sinew. I sent them south with my friend grey wise old Lord of Man and Elf. His name was something shorter, but in my memory he lives on in a glorious day, a time of battle and song, of wizards and kings and dark lords, of loss and victory... of promises made.

They were the kind of small men, or short ones. A name that is too short to describe what it was that made them who they were. They had minds of moss and flowers, of a warm home and a hearty meal, the minds of simple pleasure and hard work, of reward and forgiveness and purpose. They had faces that opened out on the world, like a doorway, a doorway that from within lay peace and rest and song. They had the earth hum of children, yet age in their voices like men. The day they left Angrenost I did not mourn the passing. It was not until the east wind blew and the sun passed into the land of shadow and the Dwarf-Elf company walked among my trees that my mind was again occupied with thought of lords and journeys. Journeys like the ones from long past when I last left the forest. I hear talk now of peace and safety, of kings men and strong roads, but the borders of my land are not what they once were, and this will be a long journey indeed. Hum hmm either way, off I must go. For I have hardly passed the mountain, and Fladrif has not answered my call, or the wind has blown it over the peaks, or a birds song has taken it off into the sea. Either way, I have not been hasty enough it would seem, for the sun has fallen on me too many times, and again I find the winter wind blowing around my feet and rousing my joints. I must walk among the trees if I am to find the Shire. “The Shire” I say to the trees I pass, but ever I walk, and ever they say “northward old Fangorn”. I have caught scent of men, and to avoid them I must walk around the mountain. Hum hmm I go, up over stone and hill. Snow would stop a lesser Ent, but I am the oldest left and strength yet resides in my roots, let no wind fell the tree that bends I say.

It has been a long walk indeed, the trees that dwell on the ever changing slopes grow short and die early, but they sang me onwards. “The Shire” I said, but of the talk of man they had not heard, and their reply was of warmth and of water, of sorrow, regret and of a land were life grew tall as I. Hum hmm I blow my call often now to keep the warmth in my trunk; my roots and branches turn and snap in the brittle cold and growth is slow this far from the Isen.

The mountain lost, and I won. Hah hmm if they were here to listen to my song of life breaking ice, of hands crushing stone and throwing off all that this world has left by way of death and anger, how they would shout. Not shout as I do, echoing off the trees and the sides of the mountains, nor call as a bird does, singing for himself, but shout. Shout as they do for each other, and call as if their world is in front of them calling back in tune. I have almost forgotten the joy of triumph, of victory. But down here, down on the side of the mountain I must rest, for walking can be hard with injury, and as strong as I am, the mountain still stands. I fear if I do not I will not find water like this from down the slopes for a while yet, and it will be no good to the ent-friends to arrive unseemly.

The “ent-friends” I now say to the trees as I pass, but there comes no answer. I lay on the slopes of the mountain for too long it seems, I felt the call of winter blow through my bones and the song of spring growth under my toes but for my life I slept, for warmth and strength I wondered a short distance, and forgot of my journey and purpose. Awakened by the cries of the trees around me, I heard tell of fire and men, hear the earth thrum of fleeing animals, and so moved on-wards knowing that I was unwelcome by all save the learners of the old lore who reside over the south range, far from where I walk. The king preserves Fangorn, but I am not in Fangorn no longer, funny as it may be to say; ho humm the Ent-friends would laugh at my sorts, the bandying of words and laughter was their sort, and though I had heard it often never had I learnt more of it than from my brothers.

What will I say to the ent friends of my journey ho hymm I think as I walk among forests, the trees here are younger than knowledge of me, and I find my going to be slow as I teach. But they will appreciate that ho hmm. Once I would have sat and told of our history for years, but these trees know of haste and speak of men in a pace that would make a Fangorn birch blush with new growth. The mountains grow tall in the north, perhaps the wind blows their edges and pushes them up. I ask the trees that grow here, but they only mourn, and justify their silence thusly. Walk as I might, it was hard to find a tree that was not mourning, though no fire did I see, nor smoke. Eventually I came upon an Oak, standing aside from the forest in a clearing. Down I sat beside him, and inquired as to his age. Cry did he not, and though it took for the sun to fall for him to answer, he spoke of the clearing as a plain, and of an age long beyond the years of the saplings around. Then his story did he tell. Long it was, a refreshment from my hot battles with mountains and cold tears from younger trees. He told of a time before the singers in the forest. When the shadow besieged his land, and the shadow of the shadow. He told of them settling in great fortresses, and falling before great enemies, and the bodies soaking into his roots as the elder shadow crept over the sky. He told of the city for which the trees wept. Ho humm the city of wisdom he called it, though not in so short a fashion. The city is empty of song, and now holds naught but dust and the dusting. So onward I walked, towards the city. There they may know of ent friends and, and... and their home, the place I wished to go. My destination. Hmm

Grand it was, set apart in a great valley, where the worries of the trees grew dim and the song of old could be heard dimly echoing from its peaks. I stood for a moment, and observed men enter and leave. They upheld it as a place of great honour it seemed, and enter it I intended, though fear I feared would ensue.

The laughter was what woke me, and about I looked from my glen. The water fell from, if I was not mistaken, the Bruinen in the distance, and it’s sound rocked me, tempting me into sleep once more. The sight of small ones walking about my legs took my attention before I could drift, and my attempts at moving were shaken by them running around my trunk. It would seem I did not go wholly unnoticed though, as my final shake of my branches sent them running from my sight, shouting in Westron too fast for me to quite hear what they had said. Just as my eyes adjusted, and I forgot what I had awoken for, I heard a beautiful voice, smooth and patient, speaking over the sound of the water. “See children? The trees shake with the wind, but bend not from the trunk in anger this far west of old Fangorn”. I did not need much longer to rouse myself from slumber at the sound of my name, but ho humm too long it seemed, as the man-wife and her company departed for their shelter. And so roused did I find myself alone, under stars I hummed to the trees news of Ent-friends, but none came. So I hummed of the ancient Oak, and back came the reply. He had aged it seemed, and lost his voice, but still none could grow beside him as his roots stretched long and far and still he grew. I took comfort in this, and hummed to him knowing that although his reply was distant, he could hear my call.

I had hummed not for a moment when the sun pierced the mountain and the sounds of man could be heard below. Horse clatter on stone came first, then laughter and voices. So stand I did, and wandering I went until upon a host of men in metal I came, and shrieking the man-wives and small ones ran, and as metal flashed in the morning sun and spears were pointed in my direction I hummed a man tune, speaking as I had not in an age. “I seek the Ent-friends”, pausing to see if I had the correct dialect I looked upon a familiar face, as though long ago had I met his likeness. “Ent, we have not had your kind since the time of the King Elessar, hail, I am Ent-friend, though I fear I am not of who you enquire”. And with that he sheathed his blade and knelt low, and accompanying him his company did, and emerging from the distance, at his beckoning, came the ones who fled. Hum I did, searching for words to questions fading from memory, “Not you man, I seek ent-friends, though if they are taller or shorter than your own kind I cannot recall, man they are not. Northward I go, seeking my friends, I would appreciate a guide, as the trees remember not my name, and the roads change with the wind”. Standing and thinking, the man turned aside and spoke to his entourage, but distant did the wind carry his words, and though all but two, one of the small ones and the largest of his company, with a silver breastplate and a great white tree printed on it, akin to the one on my speakers own tunic, did leave, he answered. “I will lead you, though ent-friends are not common among my people or any other left east of the sea. If northward you would go, I may lead you to the Beornings, who stand far taller than I and still hold the forest and its wonder in reverence, or north eastward take you to the people of Dale, who are short and simple and have love for the forests and rivers, though nothing else lays where you wonder save the ice and remnants of death”.

Considering his words carefully I thought to myself if either of these places were where I wished to go, and though he called to me long, I thought silently. When I had given it ample time, I disagreed and looked around. It seems autumn had settled, and around me lay the leaves that had fallen, evergreen I remained, the only one among the host of trees, my thoughts went to the Oak, and hum I did. His call came back cold, distant, and forgotten, many trees around him had grown and he was short in stature now, though shrunk he had not. I hummed around for a while longer, and pulled my roots from the stone. Strong had I grown in this vale, though even more distant now seemed the song of its inhabitants. I hummed loudly, in the tune that men may hear, searching for my man with the tree on his breast, and from the buildings came an answer, though of whom I could not tell. “I look for the man with whom I spoke earlier”, and a hurried reply of “just a moment dear Ent, I am an Ent-friend, and have been waiting for you, I shall send for my master”. And at that I rested back in my holds, and watched a rider hurry from the stable, though before I could rest he spoke to me again, and asked if we may speak at length, I was glad and agreed, and each time it seemed I was lost in thought he would inquire again, quite impatient he was, as though he feared me dozing off while we were speaking. Tired he grew, as mortals are want to, and before he retired he implored I not fall asleep before the morrow, as he wished to speak with me again. Humm himm I agreed, I desired his conversation as much as he mine, because though he was impatient, deep was his knowledge of the history of man as it had befallen. And so on we went for many days after that, before one evening I implored him as to the state of my request, assurances were made it would not be long, and jokes made that even I was becoming impatient. “My friends would have enjoyed your company too, laughter is rare among my kind”. But looking up I realised to bed he had gone, and to myself had I spoken once again. Ho humm, I suspect tomorrow will bring the rider to meet me, or I will be off to complete my quests on my own.

As the sun grew and the birds sang from my branches, I felt in the earth the thrum of horse and rider. I moved to intercept them, impatient I was to be off on this day. Three horses there were, followed by a great host, and upon the three horses sat three men, all in likeness enough to be family, though age sat on the brow of two of them, and youth was clear in the other. I spoke to the young one, as he seemed to be the man whom I had met long ago, “where is the guide I requested to take me to my Ent-friends?”, puzzled he looked back at the grey bearded two, and one of them answered me hastily, “it was I who you spoke with last, before you entered your great slumber”. I hummed then, thinking to myself what he could have meant, him. I had spoken to someone young and full of strength. And so it came to be that my hums turned to wails. Never before had I been so foolish, for the short lives of mortals were lent too to those of the Ent-friends. My deep booming echoed off the walls of the valley, and back came the hum of the entire forest around me. My roots I tore from the earth and the ground around me shivered in fear of my wrath, and briefly I paid heed to the fear on the faces of the men before grief overtook me and down came my fist like a hammer upon an anvil of stone. Troubled as I was, I regret my actions to this day, greater than any regret save one, for in my arms lay my friend, teller of lore and learner of the Ent way, his body lay limp and lifeless as the stone upon which I had meant to rend my fury.

Deep in the ground I lay him. Ent-friend I told the trees, and planted in above his head an acorn from the greatest of Oaks, that I may one day know him again. My guide, a king of Gondor I learnt, told me I had slept for over a century of man years, and long since would any Ent-friend save of the lines of old have passed. I was told that my poor Ent-friend had lived his life waiting for me to awaken, as had his father, and they had tended the gardens of Imladris and learnt of history and lore so that I could speak with someone to match my knowledge when I awoke. He told me that much of what we spoke of was recorded, and that whilst I rested and thought he slept, many candles burned for long hours detailing my history as it was told, and my language and culture, and secrets lost to the passage of time. Vast was my sorrow, but yet did I wish to pursue my quest, and so I, the oldest of living things left yet under these stars, and my guide, the oldest of men in halls of stone or wood, set out.

Eager he was to know of my name, and although forgotten it was to me, the Oak had remembered, and echoed the name Fangorn down through the trees. And so I told my guide, and he rejoiced, for he had delved deep in the lore of old and learnt of the exploits of Ents, little as they are, and so he told me that my friends must be the Hobbits of the Shire, and that though they had passed from sight, and their kind had dwindled and disappeared, their land was kept from human settlements as the first King Elessar had decreed. My sorrow and my regret aside, I asked of the brothers who had walked with me from Fangorn and taken Angrenost, and for the tale of their lives to be told to me in full.

For days we wondered, and I learned of Pippin the Tall and Merry the Brave. Of how Pippin went on to serve the stewards of Gondor as a warrior, and recalled with wonder how Merry came to be a squire of the king of Rohan who fought an evil sorcerer and cast him down, and that they each played their part in the salvation of their home. I wept for Merry, learning of his lame arm as he had carried it through his life, and laughed at the thought of my foolish friend Pippin becoming Thain of all of the Shire. So many names and memories had ever affected an Ent before this day, and my hum could be heard in the farthest trees of Mirkwood and Lorien, echoing the sadness and joy of the Hobbit-folk, and deep in my chest I felt that I owed them something I could not repay. And so in this way we came to the borders of the Shire, where the trees were glad and yet recalled the folk who dwelt here. My guide, the King, bid me farewell, and said that I would remembered forever as Hobbit-friend, a title as such I new I never deserved, and I sat on the outskirts of the Shire and watched him leave and wept, for never had a greater honour been bestowed upon one of my kind.

For long I sat there, weeping and laughing in equal measure, I felt the trees grow thick around me as they too learnt of my friends the hobbit, and Ent they did not call me, nor Fangorn, but Hobbit-friend. At last the trees grew so thick that they carried my hum far south, and west, and I realised that in this forest I was not the only power, for out of the west came a hum likewise, and on the south-wind came a song of joy, and in that song I found the strength to lift myself from slumber, and set out west. There I came upon a hill, where trees and flowers and mounds pocketed the earth, and hoping to find some remnants of Hobbit-folk I instead found a great tree, the like of which I had not seen for a period of time longer than I care to estimate, so long I scarcely remember remembering them, yet deep within me I felt her call, the Mallorn tree of Valinor. Silver was her bark, and golden her leaves, and I hummed to it of how it came to be there, but to my surprise it new only of Hobbits, and of Hobbit folk, nothing of the West, for Hobbiton was her true home. And it was as though the tree had been planted for the purpose of telling me of all I had missed. She remembered all of the line of Brandybuck and Took, as long as they stayed seperate, for the Brandybucks married into the Tooks, and the other did the same, and then the Took heir died without sons, and the Brandybucks were all that remained. She told me of how Pippin trained archers so that never again could the pale orc-men take their land and fell their trees, and how Merry treated with Kingsmen on the border, and how Merry married a young maid from the Northfarthing and sired many children, and how after their dearest friends Frodo and eventually Samwise left across the sea, the two of them would sit under her branches and smoke and laugh. She recalled the sound of their laughter so well, she could echo it among her branches, and as Fangorn the mighty sat in the Shire and wept, the leaves of the Mellon were swept in the wind, and the memory of the two of them and the power of their loss echoed throughout all middle earth.

Down in the south, through the old forest, an old power heard of the tears, and he wept also, for of the loss of time he knew much. And he rejoiced that one may yet recall those he would not either forget. And in the east the forest around Imladris that had grown strong heard his call, and remembered Ent-friend, and the acorn that was planted grew strong with the power of Ent tears, and the Oak heard the cries and hummed, for his friend would hear him and take comfort in his grief. And further east past Mirkwood and the lonely mountain where Elves yet hid among the trees they took shelter, for such sorrow had all but been forgotten by them. And down in Fangorn the trees swayed with the wails, and the Ents that were left uprooted and cried with their brethren, and it was so that all the trees of middle earth cried with their Shepard. And south, far south and far east, farther than Umbar and Harad, where trees are sparse and oases of life exist with flowers and water, the sorrow stirred life. The sorrow of an age stirred the compassion of an aging mind, and so northward went the Ent-wives, to soothe and comfort and re build.

#Middle Earth #Ents #Elves #Hobbits #Tolkien #LOTR #Lord of the Rings

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waywardtricks · 6 years ago

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Shades of Green

This is set between 1318 (Bring 'em Back Alive) and 1320 (Unfinished Business). Gabriel x Female Reader. A bit of angst, a bit mature. I mean corsets, come on…..

Edit: I totally added more parts to this. So, sorta mini series. Color You Mine. Links to: Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Gabriel was alive. Shocking enough. But after Gabriel fled the bunker, you get a call to come bail out a certain trickster from jail. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it….

Tags: @mahalaraewolfe @wontlookaway @missihart23 @hunterswearingplaid

Let me know if you want to be tagged! Gabe’s Babes. <3

Tags for the challenge: @gabriel-monthly-challenge, @archangelsanonymous, @revwinchester, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @archangelgabriellives, @warlockwriter, and @ttttrickster.

Written for the Gabriel Monthly Challenge. I tried the whee

l prompts and got:

So, I hope I did this idea justice. Here you go:

If you had to describe your emotion when you’d walked into the bunker and seen him there, you’d call them chartreuse. Bright and bitter, screamingly loud and in your face. Almost painful.

Gabriel was alive.

And you weren’t sure what to do with that information… or how to feel.

When you’d first met the archangel you’d had an instant connection – easily falling into a friendship that your hunter friends didn’t really understand. But it had been good. You couldn’t count the number of times he’d popped up on hunts, sat with you while you ate at some diner or another, or flirted with you over a couple beers. That had been a time of mint, fresh and bright. A soft awakening, the bubbly feeling of newness.

Then he’d gone and died on you. His death had been hard. Harder than you could really explain. There had been countless deaths in the years before and since, yet none had hurt as much or for as long.

At first it had been the sharp cut of lime, a splash of biting citrus pain. Then life had faded to olive. A drab and dark feeling overhanging everything. The color faded from your life.

But now he was alive. He’d always been alive. And it hurt.

You didn’t have a single color for it, your feelings too confusing to settle on whether it was a seafoam splash of happiness, the ache of moss, or the flood of harlequin pain.

You’d set that all aside, had hardened your heart to your own emotions. Gabriel needed you. He’d been hurt, tortured, become a shell of his former self. You did everything to help, holding the gauze and antiseptic as Sam cut the thread from Gabriel’s lips, singing soft lullabies as Gabriel cried in the night, given words to your past adventures as you recounted memories from when he’d still been himself.

Then Gabriel had returned to himself, but still hadn’t been the man you’d known. He’d been the avenging angel, striking down the demon prince. There had been a moment that your heart had stopped from the sheer power Gabriel had exuded when he’d killed Asmodeus. It had been like looking at a super nova – sure it would kill you but mesmerized by its beauty. Moments like that reminded you Gabriel was primordial being.

You felt the brightness of kelly green, a flash of vitality and power, mixed with the dark hunter green of the old earth. It was a stunning contrast. Which went completely counter to his normal visage. And different from the shell he’d been the last few days. It left you reeling from the difference. Actually, you were just reeling in general these days.

Then Gabriel had disappeared from the bunker. And now you, Castiel, and the Winchesters had been trying to track him down. Dean was still in, what could be kindly called, a huff over the archangel’s disappearance. Sam was still sulking.

Secretly, you didn’t blame Gabriel for wanting some time alone. He’d just escaped countless years of torture. He needed time to recoup, to heal and find his balance. But there was no way you were saying any of that aloud to the Winchesters. Which was why you were half avoiding the search. In fact, you had been hanging out in a library, pouring over some lore on dreamwalkers when your phone had vibrated with an unknown number.

A moment of indecision had you almost missing the call, but at the last second you answered. Gabriel’s voice on the other end caused you to freeze. You had felt a shock of matcha, bitter but delicious. Gabriel had had to repeat what he said twice before you understood. Once you’d gotten his meaning you’d packed up and driven as fast as you were able.

Which was how you’d come to be studying the archangel through a set of bars as he sat in a jail cell, grinning at you like a madman. No, not like a madman, he was a madman. You crossed your arms and heaved a sigh. “How exactly did this happen?”

He leaned back on the bench and raised his sparking eyes to meet yours. In his brief silence your eyes took him in. He looked so much like the angel you’d come to care about, the one from before. His wickedness and humor spilling out of him in waves. Except now…. He was wearing an emerald green corset, a tiny pair of shorts, and…. Not much else. Despite the color of his clothing, he gave of the feeling of jungle green, wild and untamed. He looked kind of delicious. But you were never going to admit it.

His voice startled you out of your appraisal, “I was at this really great party with a couple nymphs and some satyrs. The Greeks throw a great shindig you know. And nymphs really know how to party, if you get what I mean.” He wagged his eyebrow at you suggestively.

Exasperation was your mainstay at the moment, settling over you like moss, and you let out a long sigh. “And?”

He hummed as he considered his next words, “A couple naiad crashed the party. At first it was okay, lots of alcohol was flowing. Then the naiads and nymphs got into some small tussles. Then a big tussle. The cops were called.” He finally seemed a bit dour, flicking his gaze at his surroundings, “I didn’t have enough grace to escape.”

“And now you want me to bail you out?” You already knew the answer but wanted him to say it anyway.

“Well…..” He drew it out, his voice high and playful.

“Gabriel.” Your voice was annoyed.

“Okay, I actually need you to do something else.” Why weren’t you surprised.

“I’m not breaking you out.” His smiled froze, and you guessed that was exactly what he’d wanted.

“You’re no fun.” He muttered with a pout, but then another delighted smile stole over his face. “But that’s okay. I have a different plan.” He stood and walked to the bars to face you head on. You felt a thrill of the jungle green and wondered if it was infectious. He leaned forward, and his hand caught yours.

You didn’t want to admit to the warm burst shamrock, a feeling of home. Or the flush of basil, the heat of desire. You were distracted enough that the brush of his grace caught you by surprise. And suddenly you were the one looking out from the cell.

There was no green for anger. Anger was always red or orange. You felt it though and dropped his hand like he’d scalded you. “What the hell Gabe?” You demanded.

There was the cheeky smile again, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you off.” You blinked at the phrasing and at the way his gaze raked over you with both heat and affection. But before you could ask, he disappeared.

“I thought you didn’t have enough grace….” You asked of the now empty room. But no answer came. You wondered why the cell felt so much colder than when you’d been standing mere feet away on the other side of the bars. Then, looking down, you realized it wasn’t the temperature of the room but your clothing that had changed.

Apparently whatever game Gabriel was playing involved you now wearing the corset he’d been in moments before. Though somehow it fit you like a glove, shoving your breasts almost to your chin. The booty shorts were almost as bad, riding high and tight. You crossed your arms over your chest, the action wasn’t pushing your breasts any higher anyway as they were as high as they could go already, and closed your eyes. Frustration was pear green, a slow drag.

A few minutes later, voices drew closer and you opened your eyes to find two police officers entering the room that housed the cell you were in. One of them you’d met on your way in, but he seemed to have no idea who you were. As if a certain trickster had messed with his mind.

The second’s face was shadowed by his cap as he gazed down at a clipboard. Finally, when he looked up, you found Gabriel’s amused face staring back at you. How he’d gotten himself dressed as an officer and chatting amicably with the other officer, you had no idea. But, studying him, you felt a bit hot and bothered. He was rather attractive all dressed up like that.

“Okay kid, you’re being transferred.” The first officer said, not really looking at you. That’s okay, you weren’t looking at him either. “Officer Odinson here will be escorting you.”

You scoffed at the name and Gabriel had the nerve to wink at you. The first officer unlocked the cell and told you to turn around and put your hands behind your back. You could have made a fuss, but at this point, you might as well see where this was going. Gabriel entered and slid a pair of metal cuffs on your wrists, they were a deep silver that glittered green, reflecting off your emerald corset.

Gabriel was a bit rough, not enough to hurt. His hands drew you around, so you were only a breath away. He smiled down at you. “But first I have some questions for you.”

“What could you have to question me about?” You asked.

“You’ve been very naughty. I need all the sordid details.” He chuckled. “Okay, sugar. Ready?” His voice was teasing, but deep. It held an almost lust like quality, and you felt a thrum of desire spike through you. It was basil again, but it was mixed with a color that reminded you of the corset; a deep emerald. Both colors twining through you and flushing your cheeks. It wasn’t the same as jungle, which was wild and reminded you of the god he’d pretended to be – no, desire like this was deeper and tied to emerald emotion that you didn’t want to study too closely or name.

His hand pressed against the small of your back, urging you forward. You followed his directions, biting your tongue. He drew you out of the cell, out of the room, passed the entryway where you’d checked in, and into a small room. No one seemed to question his actions. When you were both inside he clicked the lock into place and turned to you. You glanced around the room before letting out a breath, there was no camera and no mirror – so no one spying. “Can anyone hear?” You asked.

“Nope.” He said, “We’re totally alone.”

“This doesn’t seem like getting you out.” You muttered, “So…. Gonna tell me what’s up?”

He gave you a sly smile. “My grace is low. Couldn’t just vanish.”

“Um… hate to break it to you, but you totally used your grace to: 1. Switch places, 2. Mess with memories, 3. Fake records, 4. Give yourself a makeover, and 5. Put me in your clothing. That sounds a lot more complicated than just disappearing.”

“Sure sure.” He breathed, “But this was so much more fun.” His smile turned wicked.

“You’re so full of it.” You said, “Can you take the cuffs off?”

“Not yet.” He said, prowling toward you and circling.

“Gabe.” You whined.

He huffed a laugh, “I’m actually here because I need something in the evidence locker. But I couldn’t just stroll in and nab the evidence.”

“You could have.”

He chuckled, “Maybe.”

“Okay, but why the switch. You could have asked me to play a Fed and come take you and the evidence.”

“Yes, but I like this way better.” He leered down at your rather impressive cleavage. “But truthfully I didn’t think of you playing a cop, and you didn’t want to bust me out.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “But why the little room?”

“I wasn’t prepared for you in this outfit. It’s quite distracting. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you.” His voice was surprising in its honesty and intensity, and you took a step back. “Where do you think you’re going?” He purred, and his eyes darkened. You felt a spike of arsenic colored fear shoot up your spine. But it was tempered with desire.

Oh. Oh. Wow. You’d always been attracted to him, and according to the look on his face, the feeling was mutual.

He was a wolf, stalking you. He advanced, and you took another step away. Eventually you were pressed with your back against the wall and he was only a step away. There was nowhere for you to run, and no fighting as your hands were still bound behind you. Not that you would have fought.

As he closed the distance and pressed into you, the fear was replaced by heat. Arsenic giving way completely to basil. Hot and spicy. He leaned down and his lips barely brushed your own. It was gentle and completely counter to the rest of him. Your eyes fluttered closed in response and the emerald colored feeling was back.

“Don’t.” He growled, and his hand slid into your hair, pulling it back so your face was tipped up and your neck was exposed. “Don’t close your eyes.” You melted at the command in his voice. Apparently it was a turn on and that basil feeling was back, strong and burning anything else away. You’d been wrong, he was not the same angel you knew. No, this was the same primordial being from the bunker. Just concealed behind the charming face and humor. He was wearing his old self like a mask.

His face lowered and his teeth grazed your neck at the pulse, he nipped and tugged at your skin. You let out a soft moan. At the sound he growled against your skin. It made your knees go weak. Apparently the super powerful and commanding archangel was a turn on for you. His teeth bit down on your shoulder, sharp but more pleasure than pain, marking you. You cried out his name. Then, “Please.”

He drew away from your neck and kissed you, hard. His teeth, tongue, and lips ravaged your mouth. When he pulled away, your lips were bruised, and your breath was coming in gasps. As he leaned down to press his lips to yours again, his body pressed hard and hot against you, a knock came from the door.

“Officer, we need the room.”

Gabriel cursed and shuttered. He drew away, gaze glaring at the door. Whoever was on the other side may have been bursting into flames for all the heat and anger that Gabriel was giving off.

“Gabe…” Your voice was hesitant and soft.

His face swung back to you and slowly the archangel was pushed away and the trickster came back. He took a deep breath and then smiled at you, humor once again lighting up his eyes. “Okay sugar, probably time to go.”

At your nod, he drew you away from the wall and opened to door. No one questioned your disheveled state. Nor did anyone stop you as Gabriel led you from the building. He tucked you into the front seat of your own car, getting behind the wheel. He snapped and the cuffs slid off your wrists, and appeared in your lap.

The silence was heavy, and he seemed almost remorseful.

It wasn’t until you were a few miles away that you finally broke your silence. “So, where to?”

His eyes cut to you, and you realized the archangel was only barely contained, but that he was pushing it back, trying to give you space. “Up to you.” His voice sounding light and hesitant. It belayed his gaze, but your realized he was worried about your reaction from before. Now that time and distance had been put between you and the station, maybe you would be feeling regret.

Your emotions were still a bit jumbled, but you felt basil, mint, seafoam, and emerald. All happy emotions. No regret.

You bit your lip and took a moment to consider. But only a moment, “No, Officer, up to you.” In that moment, your feelings became clear, and wrapped around you in singularly warm color. One you’d come to identify as safety and happiness - the color of Gabriel’s jacket.

His gaze heated and a slow smile slid onto his lips again. “Okay, sugar. Okay.”

Later that day, cuddled against him, a hint of pistachio green thrummed through you, curiosity. “So, what was it you took from the evidence locker?” He blinked down at you in confusion. Then an absolutely adorable look of dismay stole over him, “Um….. Shit.”

So apparently you were going back to the police station. Oh darn..... you grinned. Maybe this time he’d wear the cuffs….

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #gabriel x reader #gabriel fanfiction

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negativereader · 7 years ago

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Everything Wrong With the Twilight Saga: Why was it so popular?

So, I’ve been hedging around this for a while. I’ve talked about it, I’ve mentioned it, but now I’m going to actually talk a little bit about it. Also, I felt that I honestly couldn’t end this Everything Wrong With series without talking about the reason why it was so popular.

Twilight’s popularity wasn’t something that anyone really expected. It wasn’t released to much fanfare, and it certainly didn’t get much in the way of publicity. Right when Twilight was coming out, YA was experiencing something of a slowdown. The Harry Potter books were still chugging along like no one’s business, but people were starting to realize that making knock-offs wasn’t going to sell well.

There were a lot of action books, and a lot of ‘real life issues’ books like before, but fantasy and sci-fi didn’t seem to know where it wanted to go. Did it want to go more in the epic direction, like Eragon and some of the repackaged ‘YA’ fantasy that had been moved over from the adult section were doing? Did they want to be humorous like The Wizard, the Witch and Two Girls from Jersey? Was it going to be wrapped up in real teen issues?

A lot of things were getting thrown at the wall, and one of them just happened to stick.

And ever now, no one is completely sure why.

Why Do People Love the Twilight Series?

I’ve made this blog on insulting this series. I’ve attacked the poor plotting, awful characters, confused planning, and questionable themes. Yet, for all of my, and others critique, this series was, in its heyday, ungodly popular.

And I’m going to take a look at the things that I think really appealed to fans to make a compelling enough read for them to keep wanting more.

The Setting

Settings are extremely important in fiction. A ghost story set in the Southeastern U.S. is going to be very different than one set in the Southwestern U.S. and both will be completely different than one set in Japan. Not only do they have different histories and lore which should contribute to how their written, but they have a different feel. The Southeast brings to mind hanging Spanish moss, abandoned plantations, long family histories, and small towns that have existed since the country was founded and have a good share of morbid stories, the Southwest brings to mind ghost town, forgotten mines, mountaineers who disappeared, and violent ends of gamblers. Settings set tones, expectations, and get people in the mood for a story.

Forks was an amazing choice of a setting. The Pacific Northwest is a tragically underused area in fiction, and it lends itself so well to creepy stories. There are still a lot of areas where people just don’t live, so it’s one of the last big wilderness areas in the country, it’s often overcast, giving an aura of gloom and mystery to the whole thing, and it just sort of seems like, if there were strange things left in the world (or at least in the U.S.), it would be here.

The setting might have been chosen by Meyer purely because she wanted her sparkling vampires to remain hidden, but she also managed to choose one of the best settings if she wanted to give a feel for the mysterious. You see the eerie looking trees in the background, or the fog, and it feels like there’s something strange going on before anything even happens.

The Supernatural

People like strange stuff. This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it always sort of is. Every time TV breaks from its reality TV/soap opera/sitcom and does something supernatural, everyone is all over it. Look at Supernatural, Stranger Things and even the first few seasons of Sleepy Hollow. People love the supernatural, and teenage girls are no different. It’s something that people don’t seem to understand, even now, but never seems to fail.

Teenage girls are no different. In fact, I can remember, as a teenager, actively looking for stories that involved a supernatural love interest, and even though the paranormal romance genre has died down, it still exists in some form or other.

The idea of the supernatural gives a feeling that what they’re reading is a fantasy, but also allows things that could have never happened to happen. It makes the story feel more epic, more important and more interesting. It adds to the atmosphere and gives a feeling like anything can happen, as well as adds new dimensions, such as theorizing.

The Powerful Powerless Plain Beautiful Protagonist

While I hate this trope, it’s a powerful one. Bella Swan is a perfect protagonist for a fantasy like this. She’s weak enough to that the reader can play out their rescue romance fantasies, but also grows to become the strongest vampire in the series. She plays out the reader’s insecurities on their looks and tells them that they really are beautiful.

More importantly though, while looking at Bella objectively, she’s a terrible person, she’s a character who was designed for the reader to insert themselves through. They can attribute motives and reasons to her actions that make sense to them. It is one of the reasons why, when you look at fanfic, you see so many different Bellas. You see ones who are snarky, ones who are kind, ones who are funny, clever, brave and so many things, that the reader wishes that they were.

Because that is what Bella is. She’s sort of like Barbie. She’s got an identity, but it’s not important. What’s important is that she plays a role for the reader to fantasize through.

What’s more, the idea of a normal person having to navigate the supernatural world with little more than a blocking ability is interesting, since she’s being forced to survive against much, much more dangerous creatures than herself. This is a perfect fantasy, and it’s not surprising that a lot of young women loved it.

The Man Who Saves and Is Saved

This is essentially the romance novel equivalent of having your cake and eating it too. Edward Cullen essentially fulfills the dream of both being saved like a princess by prince charming, but also being able to save him from the darkness in himself. While, in reality, he’s actually a pretty poor character who flips from the ‘bad boy’ to the moral savior and honestly, like most of Meyer’s character really is more of a fantasy than a person, it doesn’t matter.

No one here is really looking for a story or a real character. They’re looking for a dream, and Edward, while I can’t stand him, is that dream for many people, or at least he was. He was dark, tortured, yet also more than capable of supporting Bella when she needed him.

What was more, he was just ‘in love’ with her. She didn’t have to earn his love. They never had to meet, slowly come together, and fall for one another. Bella, and thus the reader, never had to work. The fantasy was just there, waiting to be enjoyed.

The Gothic Revival

All of my critiques have been given before to another genre. One that, during the Regency and Victorians era’s in England was discouraged for ladies of quality to read because people thought that it essentially ate your brain. It was filled with swooning women, dark and brooding men, mysterious and dark castles, hints of the supernatural, empty wilderness, and…well…vaguely uncomfortable depictions of either foreigners or Catholics, often both.

The original Gothic romance.

In essence, Twilight and all of the paranormal romances that have followed it are a revival of the Gothic, following the same themes, ideas and patterns that people wrote back in the eighteenth century. It follows similar themes, settings and even patterns as the original.

Forks is the perfect Gothic setting. Cloudy, isolated, with a hint of something strange, but enough that is normal to be uncanny. It remains mysterious, but also intriguing. It’s strange, but yet familiar enough for it to be an ideal setting that hints that there might be something wrong, but acts as a bridge between the real world and the magical. To the point that Meyer originally wanted to name her book Forks.

Bella Swan is the essential Gothic heroine, foolish, flat, and dull, but at the same time, at least according to the author, kind, pure, resourceful and filled with qualities that should be admired and rewarded. She exists for the reader to experience the drama through her, but also is rewarded, not for what she does, but for who she is, living out the wildest dreams and fantasies of the reader, but doing so in a way that always remains grounded in the idea that she is a good girl.

Edward Cullen is the Gothic hero, both Byronic in his tortured element, but also heroic and ‘safe’ for the reader to fantasize about. This is no Anne Rice vampire, even if Rice should be considered responsible for Edward’s creation. He exhibits contradictory traits, but all of them are what the reader wants at different times. When the reader wishes to be protected, he is the protector, but when she wishes to be the protector himself, he is both emotionally, and later physically, dependent on Bella as she transcends humanity.

Paranormal romance is the Gothic, repackaged and remade for the modern world. The themes remain the same, as to the critiques of it. This is true of all genres. They do not really die. They just repurpose themselves. Because the fundamentals that created the Gothic, young women with contradictory desires, entering the world of adulthood and the strange and unstable that that represents, and coming into a physical maturity that implies many changes, who want to both be protected and loved, but also to be respected and rewarded on their own merits, have not changed.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, even if Twilight itself was a deeply flawed novel. Meyer made many mistakes but bubbling under the surface was the potential for a good book. Not only that, but the basic themes of the story, those of change, of trying to find a place in the world, of suddenly dealing with romance in a more long-lasting way, were all things that spoke to the readers, both the teenagers and the older women. Don’t get me wrong, I still think that the Twilight Saga is trash, and the obsessed fans of its heyday were both obnoxious and a little worrying, but, as I said, the aspects that appeal to people are still there, and they’re not going anywhere.

The Gothic, Paranormal Romance, whatever you want to call it, might be in a slump now, but all it’ll take is one decent writer to revitalize it, and the trend will start again. After all, what good is a supernatural story without death and rebirth?

#Everything Wrong With #everything wrong with the twilight saga #the twilight saga #why was this so popular?

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demon-snacks · 6 years ago

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Family Secrets Ch 2

Summary: You travel back to the bunker with Sam, revealing who you are on the way. Once you arrive it’s a bumpy introduction to his brother.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, Readers mother

Word count: 2,569

Warnings: Angst, mention of torture, a tiny bit of fluff

A/N: This was a pretty emotional chapter to write, ngl. It reveals the main details about the readers past, and it’s a rough one. The first chapter was rushed because I was anxious to just get it out there, but I took a little more time with this one. Improvement with progress, or something, right? Anyway, this one should be a little better (hopefully). Anything in italics that aren’t in quotes are the internal thoughts of the reader. Oh, and that one line where Dean calls the reader by a name is a reference to a popular tv/movie/comic character. Also there’s no smut in this one. Hope y’all like a slow burn… I’m not sorry.

Tags are open! If I follow you and your blog description says it’s cool to tag you in fics consider yourself in the mix

Unbeta’d Sorry for any mistakes.

Gimme that sweet, sweet feedback

Chapter 1 in case you need to catch up

Masterlist

25 years ago

“Momma, what’s happening?!” you pleaded with your mother to answer you, frightened by what’s going on around you.

Just moments ago you were sitting by the window, listening to the frogs sing their song from the swamp across the way. The night sky was cloudy, but you could still see some stars peaking through in random spots. You loved nights like this, when a slow breeze blows through the window, carrying the scent of warm summer flowers and damp moss. The flickering of lights shook you out of your imaginary thoughts. Hopping down from the chair you were nestled in, you walk the few short steps to the windowsill and peer out. The shutters suddenly crashed shut, causing you to jump back. Everything started happening at once. The shutters on the rest of the windows slammed shut, the walls began to shake, and you could hear the old house groan in defiance.

Your mother was suddenly by your side, taking your arm firmly as she pulled you away from the windows. “It’s alright sweetie, everything is going to be alright.” she tried to console you, but her actions and tone gave her away. Something was terribly wrong. You watched, stiff with fear, as your mother rushed to the old trunk against the far wall and began rummaging through it. Her movements were frantic, throwing its contents aside until she found what she was digging for. Pulling out an old blanket that had been embroidered with symbols, she rushed back to your side. “Keep this around you, it’s very important that you don’t take this blanket off, do you hear me (Y/N)?” she said as she wrapped the cool fabric around your shoulders. It was easily twice the size of your small frame, and pooled around your feet.

“I’m scared..” you choked out.

“I know sweetheart, but I need you to be brave. I know you’re brave, I know you can do this for me.” The words came quickly as she was pulling the blanket tightly around you, pushing the edges into your small hands. The next thing you knew she was pulling the carpet up to reveal the trap door underneath. Pulling the door up and open she hurriedly gestured for you to come over to her. “I need you to hide under here in our safe place like we talked about. You keep that blanket covering you, pull it over your head and don’t you come out no matter what you hear. Don’t make any sounds (Y/N), I mean it.” she said, gripping your shoulders tightly. You nodded, silent. “Auntie Maura will be here to get you in the morning, I promise.” she breathed. You could see tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. There was a banging at the door, as if somebody were trying to break it down. Your mother was suddenly crushing you into a brief hug. “I love you so much,(Y/N).” she whispered. Pressing a kiss to your forehead she quickly ushered you into the crawl space beneath the floorboards, closing the door and leaving you in darkness.

Present day

“I had to listen to them torture her. They took their time, savored it. They could have done it quick, slit her throat or something. Instead they dragged it out, draining her blood slowly. They wanted her to scream, wanted her to beg and plead, but she wouldn’t. She never did scream..” your voice trailed off as you watched the pastures blur by out the passenger side window. Sams hand moved to cover your own in the space between you.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N)..” his voice was soft. He hadn’t uttered a word since you began telling him about your past.

“I was four, Sam. Four years old and I had to listen to my mother be tortured and killed.” you say flatly. His hand squeezed tighter around yours, the warmth from him slowly seeping into your skin.

“My mother was killed by a demon when I was a baby.” he admitted after a minute of silence had passed, staring out the windshield as he spoke. “The only memory I have of her is watching her burn on the ceiling above my crib. It was…” he trailed off, not finding the words. “I know it’s not the same, and I can’t imagine going through what you did, but I do understand that kind of pain.”

You both sat in silence for the next few miles. Not realizing how lost you were in your bad memories, your breathing became shallow. Sams thumb would occasionally rub the skin of your hand beneath his, causing you to come back to the present and take a deep breath.

“So… witches blood huh?” he broke the silence.

“Yeah, apparently demons can do a lot of powerful stuff with it.” you reply, shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

“And you’re a hereditary witch?” he asked, wanting to get things right.

“Born from a long line. My aunt taught me most of what I know growing up. The rest I learned on my own, in the thick of things. She showed me how to protect myself, how to hide well, and how to fight some. ‘The longer the line, the stronger the blood, the more they’ll want you’ she used to tell me.”

“And how far back does your bloodline go?“

"Far enough.” you respond, not wanting to give up everything about yourself. You may have built a friendship with Sam, felt comfortable around him, but you still didn’t want to trust him with every detail. Not yet.

The hours passed by as day slipped into night. You made idle conversation throughout the trip, flipping through the stations as you changed states, trying to find something good to listen to. You talked about the places you’d been throughout the years, laughing when you had some in common. He told you about the bunker, about how they were still discovering rooms it was so big. When he had said bunker you imagined a small, underground safe house with maybe two or three rooms. Never would you have thought it would be this grand structure filled with all the lore you could ever want to read. He briefly touched on the subject of his brother, and how he lived there too.

Glancing over, you noticed Sam yawning and shaking his head, trying to shake the sleep off. You had been on the road for over 14 hours now, and you could tell he was fading fast.

“Hey, I can drive for a bit while you rest.” you offer, hoping he’ll agree and you won’t have to persist. He ran a hand over his face and deliberated for a moment, before agreeing. Pulling the car to the side of the road, you both get out and switch places. Climbing in the drivers seat you reach your leg out only to find that your foot doesn’t even graze the gas pedal. Sam watched you struggle to scoot the seat up far enough, snickering under his breath, and you shoot him a dangerous look.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you aren’t as tall as I am.” He stated, hands in the air defensively.

Mumbling something about giants under your breath you finally get situated. You shift the car out of park and into drive, pulling back onto the road.

“Stay on the highway. Wake me up when you start seeing signs for Kansas.” he tells you, getting comfortable in the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window.

“You got it chief.” you respond, gazing out the windshield at the dark expanse of road ahead.

The sound of boots echo around you as you descend the metal staircase. That’s when it hit you, the beautifully musty, vanilla scent that has always brought you comfort. Books. Lots of them. Taking a deep breath you begin to notice another scent. Is that leather and.. nutmeg?

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” The gruff voice came from below. Looking down you see a man dressed in jeans and a plain black shirt with plaid over top. His arms were folded across his wide chest as he leaned back against the table in the center of the room. His hair was short, lighter than Sams, and stuck up at an odd angle. This man was different from his brother, that much was apparent. Your throat tightened when you saw the hard expression on his face. He wasn’t exactly happy to see Sam. “You enjoy your little vacation?” he asked rhetorically. As you reached the bottom of the stairs he leaned to the side, bringing you into his view. “Who’s the (Y/H/C)?”

“Dean, this is (Y/N), (Y/N) this is my brother, Dean.” Sam introduced, neither of you thrilled to be meeting one another. A few moments of silence pass before Sam lets out a frustrated sigh, causing Dean to raise an eyebrow at him. Stepping forward, Sam runs his hand through his hair nervously. “C'mon, we need to talk.” he says, gesturing to one of the rooms off to the side.

“You’re damn right we do.” Dean proclaimed, pushing himself off the table and following his brother.

Your eyes follow them until they turn the corner. His brother seems like a dick, but damn if he doesn’t have a nice ass. Left alone, you drop your bag on the large table and take in your surroundings. It was as if you had stepped back in time. Everything seemed to be from the 1930’s. The architecture of the railings, the light fixtures, even the monstrosity of a control panel on the wall across from you. As you continue to survey the room your eyes land on the archway across from you. Stepping closer, you peer through to the adjacent room and your mouth opens in wonder. This was the library, walls stacked high with books. It was truly a sight out of your dreams. Your fingers trailed along one of the tables situated down the center of the room, feeling the smoothness of the cold, hard wood as you strolled by. This is amazing.. Turning, you enter an alcove and find yourself surrounded by shelves of books. Tomes, encyclopedias, grimoires, folklore, you name it and it was here. The information in the room was palpable, thrumming through the air. You can’t help but reach out to gently skim your fingers across the old leather bindings.

The brothers voices carried through the empty rooms. You could tell they were arguing, but could only make out a few words here and there. Dean wasn’t happy about you being here. Sam must be telling him about you, about what you are. His brother didn’t trust you. To be honest you couldn’t blame him for that. After all, you didn’t trust him either.

“(Y/N)?” you hear Sam call from the room you had just come from. Stepping out from the alcove, you make your way over to him. His jaw was set, but his eyes were soft. He had won the argument. “I’m sorry about that,” he began, “my brother can be kind of a jerk sometimes.”

“It’s fine.” you respond, your tone flat.

“He’ll come around, it just takes him a while to warm up. Once he gets to know you..”

“It’s fine Sam, really.” you cut him off. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I don’t plan on sticking around that long.” Glancing up, you see his face fall. The movement was slight, but you knew his mannerisms well. He reached out and place a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re welcome here as long as you want (Y/N).” he replied. Just then his brother came out of the kitchen, beer in hand.

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Sabrina.” said Dean as he stomped past you and down the hall to your left.

“C'mon, I’ll show you your room. You can take your pick, actually.” Sam said, with a full smile this time. You grab your bag off the table and follow him down the hallway Dean had just taken.

There were doors lining both sides of the hall, each one with a number situated below the same symbol. Sam had told you that the bunker used to belong to a secret organization that was wiped out years ago, but it was just him and his brother who lived there now. The entire place to themselves. As you turned the corner, your lips curled into a small smile as you thought of how epic hide and seek would be in this place.

“Here we are. I’m in room 21, right over there,” he told, pointing two doors down from where you were standing, “and Dean is in room 11, down the other hallway. You can choose any room besides those two.” he explains.

Your face falls as soon as you hear where Dean’s room is. Once you saw the rooms were numbered you knew which one you would be staying in. 9 had always been a lucky number for you. When you were a child your aunt had told you what a powerful and protective number it was, and it had never failed you. Unfortunately, this meant that you would be staying across the hall from Sams older, angry brother. It’s just until you figure out where to go next, you can deal with this (Y/N).

“I’ll be staying in room 9.” you mutter

Nodding in acknowledgement, Sam runs his hand through his hair. He’s nervous. “So, umm..” he starts.

“Where’s the bathroom? I’d love to take a shower.” you quickly say, not feeling up for any more conversations tonight.

“Oh, yeah sure, of course. It’s just down the first hall, third door on your right.” he gestures the way you had just come.

“Thanks.” you reply, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. A moment passes as you stare at the floor. Then Sam reaches out and snakes an arm around your shoulders, placing his other hand on your hair and pulling your head to his chest. His hug was tight, and warm. Slowly, your muscles began to relax.

“You’re safe now.” he breathes into your hair. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been hugged like this in a long time, but you actually did feel safer. As he pulled away you couldn’t help but feel thankful for him.

“Goodnight, Sam.” your voice was softer than it had been since you entered the bunker. Turning, you made your way down the hall to your new room, leaving him standing in front of his own.

When you reached your door you stood there for a moment, staring at the brass number before turning the knob and stepping through. The room was just like the rest of the bunker, straight out of another time. Crossing the dimly lit room, you toss your bag on the bed and threw yourself down next to it. These blankets smell weird, but at least they’re soft. Groaning, you sit up and begin rummaging through your bag for something to change into after your shower. Eventually you pull out a black tank top and shorts. Tossing them over your shoulder you stand and stretch your body upward, feeling your back and shoulders pop. A long sigh passes your lips as you stroll across the room and out the door, thinking about how good it’s going to feel to wash the past two days off of you.

@kdfrqqg @lucifer-in-leather

#supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn family #supernatural #spn fanfic #fanfic writer #sam #dean #reader insert #winchesters #spn fandom #family secrets

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twistedtrees-fr · 7 years ago

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So hey buddy! Remember that prompt that I borrowed from someone that you borrowed from me? Yeeeeah. So about that... Malekith, Morsov, Mud, Lakamha, Aether, Bogwart, Hyrr, and Fen. (Yep, I specifically avoided the ones you have the most lore for. Because Slice isn't literally the worst. I am. :D

Joke’s on you, I’m happy to answer questions!

…

+reads your list+

oh. i. oh. I see. I see. Hm. That is a. That is a collection of dragons there. That I totally have well thought out stories for, ayup.

Well let’s just dive right in shall we?

Malekith

Malekith has a really, really long crest and an extremely long whip-like tail. Both of these features seem exaggerated for his species. His crest doesn’t always seem to be obeying gravity, behaving more like you might expect if he were underwater.

Though not actually a member of the clan, Malekith is frequently spotted in the clan’s territory. The dragons of TT are forbidden from attacking him, on order of the clan matriarch Frigga, though it is never explained why.

He is very rarely alone. Even when it seems like he’s alone, if he is threatened in any way, the shadows will quickly reveal a small (or large) posse of other, usually masked, wildlclaw dragons.

Morsov

Morsov has only one sibling who was not exalted to the plaguebringer, (though sometimes he kind of wishes he had been.)

He really, really, really doesn’t like to be in the Viridian Labyrinth, and while he never complains, his almost perpetually crestfallen expression does all the complaining for him. When in clan meetings, Morsov often spends his time beaming pathos at the back of Odin and/or Laufey’s heads when they aren’t looking.

Despite being clearly uncomfortable in the Gladekeeper’s domain, Morsov and Nux were among the first members of the TT clan.

Mud

I didn’t have lore for Mud. He’s a good looking Gen1 I think I impulse bought from the Nature discord server. But, since you picked him, I will let “Clan Lorekeeper Loki” help us with some Mud “””“facts””””.

Mud was cursed for tracking too much filth into his home clan’s den with his filthy swamp-infested feet. The curse turned him into a literal being of mud, such that wherever he goes he will always bring a mess.

Those feathers and leaves on him aren’t actually apparel, they’re various debris that has become trapped in his sticky slimy exterior.

If a water dragon were to cast against Mud, he would dissolve.

Lakamha

Lakamha is the clan treasurer, whether Loki likes it or not. She is not a thief, or greedy, despite the nearly-defamatory “Story of the Greedy Claws” that was written about her by him. (His story about her is based on the clan’s participation in the “Dandelion Deposit”, and as such is kind of a fourth-wall breaking nudge about Dom). He does, however, really dislike the idea that he has to give some of his treasure into a communal pool that is often used for projects he doesn’t see as worthy.

As the treasurer, Lakamha has a very dangerous job, because she has to look over the clan’s wealth from those who may try to steal it- namely beastclans and other dragons outside of TT. As such, her camouflage helps her safely keep watch over her hoard.

Lakamha has a very nuanced view of resources. While some dragons may feel compelled to stockpile treasure, she believes strongly in using the money they earn to continuously make improvements to the clan and its members. That is somewhat controversial among the dragons who would prefer to keep deeper coffers.

Aether

Aether does not speak. He howls in a haunting, unnatural sounding call that lands somewhere between the roar of a flame and the voice-like moan of winter wind. It is a chorus often joined by his mate, Infinity.

Aether’s wings are severely distorted and flightless. They look like they may once have been intended to be Skydancer wings, but they have a heavy, melted appearance. They are covered by hundreds of liquid-filled sacs that weep an unknown blackish red fluid. It is not blood.

At first glance, underneath his heavy spiked armor it appears as though Aether has no skin, because his body has a very “wet” appearance and there are strange cords of vein-like tissue all over him. Aether has skin. You’re looking at it. However, it is absolutely explicitly forbidden for anyone in the clan to touch Aether, or his mate Infinity, in any way.

Bogwart

Bogwart looks like a coatl… but there are certain uncanny aspects of him that are just not quite right. When seen at clan gatherings, it’s often hard for other dragons to look at him for too long. They’ll find themselves unconsciously choosing to look elsewhere, as if there’s a charm on him that discourages close observation.

Bogwart and Primrose live on the farthest edges of the clan in a very remote, marshy area and are almost never seen. They are one of the most prolific pairs in the clan, some of their children lingering in TT, some of them going home to the Glademother, and some of them venturing abroad to other clans.

Moss grows all over Bogwart, especially his wings and crest. It is not uncommon to see animals living in the shade of his wings, especially amphibians and insects. In fact, he seems to have a kind of strange density of animals living on him, as if they are innately attracted to him.

Hyrr

Unfortunately I also do not have lore for Hyrr yet, so let’s check back in with our good friend Loremaster Loki for some Hyrr “”””Facts””””

Hyrr’s name is pronounced “Hurrrrrrrr” with the “r” sound intended to continue until you run out of breath. Stopping any sooner is considered disrespectful.

She was created one day when a tundra drank an entire cask of “Firewater” on a dare.

If she goes into the water, she will vanish and there will be nothing left of her but fur. But, if you gather the fur up and dry it out, she’ll re-emerge again.

Fen

Fen seems to be the swamp equivalent of a crazy cat lady, which is to say that she lives alone with her 43639725 animals, except instead of cats they are frogs, toads, and a giant lazy boa who is too big for frogs to be worried about.

She seems to spend most of her time literally laying in the swamp with her pets, though she does have a lair. When observed it appears unoccupied, and so there’s some uncertainty as to whether it’s actually her lair at all or whether she just happens to live in the swamp next to an abandoned one. However, Fen does seem to have peculiar talent with chemistry, and is sometimes seen in dealings with another mystic swamplady, Primrose. This discrepancy between what she seems capable of and what her home would suggest she actually does have some believing there is trickery afoot. Crossing into her territory causes a strong uneasy feeling.

Perhaps encouraged by the rumors, Thor and Loki once snuck into her lair when they were mischievous hatchlings. They were very dismayed to discover that there was nothing in it but, surprise surprise, more frogs, toads… and on that particular day, that big giant boa who is too big for frogs to be worried about but just the right size to be of concern to hatchlings. However, though that would make a pretty interesting story, neither Loki nor Thor have ever spoken of it to anyone, and seem genuinely nervous to be anywhere near Fen’s domain.

#lore #malekith-fr #morsov-fr #mud-fr #lakamha-fr #aether-fr #bogwart-fr #fen-fr

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pocketseizure · 7 years ago

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The Legend of the Princess, Chapter Ten

A Softer Time

In which Zelda and Ganondorf reminisce about their shared memories of childhood.

(Chapter Ten on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr) (Cover Illustration)

* * * * *

Zelda ran her hand across the moss covering the outstretched wing of the stone statue of Hylia, appreciating how soft and springy it was under her fingertips. Perhaps in another era, the statue would have been cleaned daily, but she was practically the only person who visited the castle's inner garden these days. Small gatherings had been held here when her mother was still alive, but now only Impa accompanied her on her visits, and then only rarely.

This was a shame, Zelda reflected, as the garden was quite beautiful. It was located within the walls of one of the oldest parts of the castle, right next to the library. The white stone of the masonry had aged gracefully, covered as it was with ivy and heartvine. Judging from the fountain at the center of the area, which had been allowed to run dry and gradually fill with earth and clover, the garden must have once been purely ornamental, but Zelda's mother had grown a variety of medicinal plants here. Zelda maintained these plantings and continued to study their applications, even though she did not have frequent cause to make use of them.

Among them were some she hoped she would never use. Any medicine improperly applied could become a poison, of course, but some tinctures served only to bring pain. The most dangerous of the plants in the garden was a white bellflower ringed with blue. Impa referred to it as the "silent princess," as it was known within the Sheikah lore for doing its work efficiently and then vanishing without a trace. It was difficult to cultivate, but it had been a favorite of her mother. Zelda admired its beauty, and she had to admit that she admired its power as well. She hoped she would never have to avail herself of the silent princess, but she also understood that her personal ethics would be forever subservient to her position as a monarch of Hyrule.

If what Impa told me is true, she thought, tracing her finger around the outer rim of one of the freshly blooming flowers, my coronation may be the least of my worries at the moment.

"It's rare to see such a flower grown in captivity," a voice said at her back. "What is it you Hylians call it? The 'silent princess,' if I'm not mistaken."

Zelda's blood froze.

"Good afternoon, Ganondorf," she said, politely acknowledging his presence as a reflex but unable to prevent her next words from leaving her mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"I was given to understand that this is not a private place," he replied, and she could hear the frown in his voice even before she turned to face him.

"That's true," she agreed, "but very few people enter this garden. It's a bit out of the way."

"Indeed it is, but it was you who showed me how to get here. Don't you remember?"

As soon as he said this, a shadow of a memory flickered through her mind.

"You brought me here after we first met," he added, a faint note of sadness in his voice.

"That's right," Zelda whispered, the memory suddenly clear.

As a child, she hadn't been allowed to play with the other children in the castle. It didn't matter whether they were the daughters and sons of the staff or the nobility; if she so much as struck up a conversation, an adult would quickly materialize to usher her elsewhere. She was the only child of her parents, and, as such, she was precious. She could not be allowed to come to physical harm, nor was she allowed to compromise her reputation as the crown princess with any childish gossip or imaginings. Although Zelda had desperately wanted to play with children her own age, she had been strictly trained to be quiet and reserved. When the expectation that she remain still and silent became too much to bear, she found refuge in the library, where no one would interrupt her to tell her how to behave.

Late one afternoon Zelda had escaped from an interminable tea luncheon, fleeing to the library only to find a boy perhaps a year or two older than her sitting in a chair much too large for him. He was flipping through a book that he obviously wasn't reading. Zelda could still remember its title, An Agricultural History of the Zora River Basin. When she entered the room, the large oak door swinging softly shut behind her, the boy had given her a sullen look, as if annoyed by her intrusion. No one else in the castle, child or adult, would have dared to cast such an expression in her direction, and she was intrigued.

"Did you come here to read?" she asked as she approached him.

"Is not read. I go here to hide," he answered. His accent was thick, but his words were clear. In his voice Zelda recognized the intonation of someone who had been carefully instructed on how to speak in front of others.

He lowered his book, and Zelda was able to get a good look at his face. When she saw the large topaz stone adorning the diadem circling his forehead, she realized that this must be the Gerudo prince her mother had told her about. Her mother considered the Gerudo queen to be a special friend, and she had been excited that Zelda would finally be able to meet the queen's son, Ganondorf. When the queen had been presented during the previous evening's court, however, there had been no children accompanying her.

"Where were you last night?" Zelda asked him, taking it for granted that he would understand what she meant.

"Was bad. The food is..." The boy clutched his stomach to mime sickness.

"How rude," Zelda chided him, unable to help herself.

He shrugged and pointed at her. "Food is bad for you also, are too skinny."

For some reason this statement struck Zelda as unbearably silly. She started giggling, and the boy smiled at her.

"Our mothers are still at the luncheon. Do you want to go play outside while we wait for them?"

This was the first time Zelda had ever offered such an invitation. To her delight, Ganondorf accepted, and she had led him to the inner garden, all the while peppering him with questions just to listen to the way he used words. Within the hour he had grown impatient with Hylian and started to speak to her in Gerudo, and when the two of them were found sitting on the grass of the inner garden and braiding clover stems into chains their conversation was an equal mixture of their languages. Both of them found the other's way of speaking infinitely amusing.

It seemed that their mothers were always together, and there wasn't much room for children in the intimate space they created between themselves. The interruption of the queen's schedule affected Zelda's own, and during the Gerudos' visit she was mostly left to her own devices. She naturally gravitated toward Ganondorf, who also had little to do other than kill time while roaming around the castle. They played hide and seek in the hedges, chatted endlessly about inconsequential things next to each other at formal state dinners, and went on small adventures in the lonelier areas of the castle during the long summer afternoons.

Zelda smiled as she recalled these memories. "We were good friends," she said to Ganondorf, who was gazing at her with the slightly unsettling intensity that she had come to expect from him.

"Our mothers were good friends," he responded, as if correcting her. "But they never should have become so close. There cannot be true friendship between people who can never be equals."

Zelda recalled the way that the two women had spoken to and smiled at each other, and she shook her head. "I don't think your mother was subservient to mine in any way. And I don't think your position is subservient to mine, even if we are in my castle," she added. "It's been too long since we sat down and talked to one another. Why don't you join me for tea tomorrow afternoon? I hope it won't be an imposition."

"An imposition? Hardly," Ganondorf scoffed. "Is an invitation from the crown princess ever an imposition?"

Zelda decided not to respond to his implication that she had just issued an order. That had not been her intention, but a certain stubbornness kept her from correcting him.

"So you'll join me, then?"

Instead of answering her, Ganondorf raised his hand toward her. Zelda stiffened, but he reached past her shoulder to pluck one of the silent princesses from its vine.

"If I must join you, then I will," he said lightly. He met her eyes and then dropped his gaze to the flower in his hands. Zelda glanced down and watched him squeeze the stem above his palm. When a drop of the poisonous sap fell onto his skin, she flinched. She looked back up at Ganondorf, but he was still regarding the silent princess contemplatively.

"But I hope you won't be offended if I tell you that Hylian tea is not to my taste."

Zelda swallowed and resisted the urge to bite her lip. If Ganondorf knew the Sheikah name of this flower, then he must know how deadly it was, but surely he could not be suggesting that she would try to poison him.

"Perhaps I could take tea with you," she offered.

"Hylians do enjoy taking things, don't they," he replied, surprising her with his boldness.

"Ganondorf. It doesn't have to be this way between us. Why don't you tell me what you want to say?"

"Plainly speaking?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Please consider me a friend, as your mother was a friend of my own."

"Fine, then know this – As your kingdom rises, Princess, mine can only fall."

"That's preposterous, Ganondorf. Hyrule has no ill intentions toward the Gerudo, and your people are famously wealthy. Besides, if you truly believe that, then why did you come here?"

"Did I have a choice? Surely I don't need to tell you how it would look if my people failed to send an emissary to your coronation."

"No, I mean, I understand that," Zelda said in frustration, "but if you hate me and my kingdom so much, why did you come here, to this garden?"

Ganondorf seemed taken aback. "I don't hate Hyrule," he muttered, looking away from her. Zelda glanced down and watched him twist the stem of the silent princess around his finger in agitation.

"And I don't hate you either," he continued. "It's just that it's difficult for me, here in your castle. I sometimes feel that every room is haunted by the memory of my mother, and I wanted to go to a place that I don't associate with her. I remember, the last time I was here we read an old book together, something about magic. I seem to recall that you had a fascination with wizards."

Zelda was perplexed. How could Ganondorf speak of such personal matters in practically the same breath as he accused her kingdom of oppressing his own? She didn't know what to make of the situation, or of Ganondorf himself. Nevertheless, she did her best to salvage the conversation.

"I used to love stories about wizards," she admitted, "but they lost their luster when I realized that I have no talent for magic myself. The gift is supposed to run in my family, but it's never come easily to me."

"Magic doesn't come naturally to anyone," Ganondorf replied. "It's not the sort of thing that's supposed to come easily. You have to work at it, constantly."

"So you're able to use magic?" Zelda asked.

"I am."

"Then show me," she demanded. "I'd like to see it." She was a bit shocked by her own forwardness, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

"It would be my pleasure," Ganondorf said, smiling. He took a deep breath, released it, and began humming a simple melody. Each of the notes created a strange resonance in her heart, almost as if she had heard this song somewhere before.

Within seconds, a warm wind began circling through the garden, catching fallen leaves and flower petals and sending them up into tiny spirals. The wind also carried the subtle smell of the incense burned into Ganondorf's clothing as it blew across Zelda's face, striking her with a fierce pang of nostalgia for the brief time in which her days and hours had been her own.

The sky had grown vibrant with the hues of the setting sun, and Zelda knew she would have to excuse herself soon. She had only come here for a breath of fresh air after her afternoon audiences, and she still had a number of documents that she needed to return to her secretaries before she began to prepare for the evening court. She was scheduled to be fitted for another gown, so she had even less time than usual.

And yet she allowed herself to stand quietly as Ganondorf continued to hum, the wind he summoned dancing through the garden. It occurred to her that he had sought her out here, just as he had before the dance yesterday evening, just he had the other morning in front of the library; just as she had continually sought him out when they were children. Perhaps this is what they did for each other, something that they could not do for themselves – together they found time to be no one other than themselves, if only for a few moments before they returned to the court and reassumed the weight of the responsibilities of their positions.

( Chapter Eleven )

#Zelgan #Princess Zelda #Ganondorf #The Legend of the Princess #my fic

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veronikastthomas-aspiringauthor · 8 years ago

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In The Woods Somewhere

Dean threw his cell phone down in the seat and released a whoosh of pent up breath. His brother, Sam, didn't look up from the laptop, but knew exactly what his brother was feeling- anger, annoyance, and most of all, worry. "She's still not answering." It was a statement not a question. "No." Came Dean’s single syllable, sullen reply. "Dean..." "Look Sammy, I didn't piss her off, and even if I did, you know she's not the kind to give me the silent treatment." He stared out the windshield into the night, wishing they were back at the bunker and not staking out cemetary looking for ghouls. Sam knew all too well the passionate arguments that Dean and his girlfriend of 2 years had. He also knew all too well about the making up that happened after said arguments. He shuddered a bit at the memories of shared extremely thin motel walls. "Ok, so something is wrong. Let's figure it out. Where was she the last time you spoke with her?" He closed the laptop and turned to face his sibling. "The three of them were working a case in Boston. She said they were heading to Ireland. They needed to find the High Priestess of this coven, and she would contact me when they landed." "Right, so we know no planes have crashed…” "Jesus Sam!" Dean’s head jerked to the right, glaring at the shaggy haired man. "Dean, I'm trying to be logical about this." Sam kept his voice even. He didn't want Dean to know he was worried also, more so about Molly's newest friend Charlotte, but Dean didn't need to know that. Dean sighed. "I know... It's just.... The thought of her..." He swallowed hard, unable to utter those words. For the first time in a very long time, things in his life had been normal... well normal for him. They still made a living hunting monsters, but now it was a legitimate business. The last huge blow up with the Darkness had let the entire world know of the existence of the things that go bump in the night. Now people hired The Winchesters and Company to take care of those pesky ghosts, ghouls, and all manners of supernatural beings. "If she made it to Ireland, and we need to go find her… will you be able to make that flight?" Sam was referring to his brother's debilitating fear of flying. "With enough whiskey, I'll make myself get through it." Dean replied determinedly. ---------------- Sunday night: "We should have called them as soon as we landed." A female voice whined quietly. "Charlotte, if you fucking say that one more time, I swear to God I'm sacrificing your ass.” Molly snapped, her knuckles white as she gripped the flashlight, wishing she could turn it on. "You know we had to move fast. I’m sorry, I should've realized that we'd be totally cut off out here, but it is what it is, and we’re grown ass women. We can deal with this!" The leads they'd followed from Boston had added up fast, and before they even knew it, they found themselves hiding in the dense forest on Montpelier Hill near the Hellfire Club. Just the sight of the old ruins had taken Molly's breath away. It was as if she could feel the evil emanating from the stones themselves. She could hear Rae muttering "this is stupid, this is stupid" under her breath repeatedly. She couldn't help but agree, but her pride and stubbornness had her keeping her mouth shut. The hunt had started out standard enough back in The States, they should've just been able to take out the head witch, but the woman they had thought was the leader wasn't. This hunt had just gotten weirder. Now they were outside one of the most haunted evil places in all of Ireland, praying that the remnants of the satanic rituals held there weren't going to rear their ugly head and kill them. Molly pulled her phone out of her pocket to check for messages. Rae glared. "Really?" The girl shrugged sheepishly. "Habit." She mumbled, knowing full well the phone wasn't going to do her any good. She hadn't spoken to Dean in a week, and all she wanted the simple comfort of hearing his voice before going into the Devil's lair. "I wish I had my gun." Char mumbled. "You and me both sister." Rae agreed. "This fucking spell had better work." "Well it's not like we could bring ours on the plane and we don't exactly have easy access to any here." Molly stated sourly. Every minute that ticked by made this idea seem worse and worse. A quiet beep sounded from her pocket she turned off the timer on her cell phone, it was Midnight. "Game time. Any questions?" The other two girls shook their heads no, together the three of them stood and squared their shoulders. ---------------- Rae could feel someone's eyes boring into her. Her entire body ached, she was still so tired but her brain was screaming. Something horrible had happened. Her body reacted to the stimulus and tried to bolt. Her eyes flew open as she was jerked back down to the hospital bed by the restraints. Alarms sounded as tubes and sensors were ripped off. The heart monitor screamed reacting to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Castiel jumped to his feet, calling out to her, "Rae! Rae! Everything is alright! You're OK!" He tried to soothe her as the room filled with doctors and nurses. He wanted to stay close, but was quickly shuffled out of the way. He knew she was in good hands medically speaking, so he quickly made his way down the hall to get the help he knew she needed. "Dean." Dean turned his head to where his messy haired friend stood in the doorway. "Yeah Cas?" "Something is happening with Rae." Dean stood. "She's awake?" He studied his friend, looking for more information. Castiel cared very deeply for Rae, and had been having a very hard time with the woman being hospitalized. He'd reverted back to the almost emotionless state he'd been in when he and Dean had first met. "I... I believe she is waking, yes...." He hesitated, "Dean... something didn't seem right with her." "Yeah well, everything is a completely fucked up mess right now, so why not keep it that way." He looked over his shoulder, into the glass room where Sam sat, holding onto Charlotte's nearly lifeless hand. It was one of the only places on her body that wasn't covered by the strange burns. Research had yielded nothing as to what had caused them, nor how to cure them. "Let's go check on Rae." Dean placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Let's hope we can get some answers. The past week had been one of the most hellish Dean had ever experienced, and that was saying a lot considering he had actually been to hell and back. The three men had flown into Dublin almost exactly one week after the three women had. It hadn't taken Sam long to find their names in the departure manifests. During the long flight they had figured out where the girls were heading, but they weren't quite sure why. They'd made it up to the Hellfire club the morning after the girls had made their attempt at taking out the coven leader. The scene they'd found still chilled Dean to the bone. The stone walls inside the lodge were coated with every manner of blood and bodily fluids. Sam had actually vomited when he accidentally stepped on a piece of brain. The locals they spoke with said tourists had gone up to the ruins to take pictures of the Sunrise over Dublin, and had encountered the grisly site. The two women that they found there had been rushed to the hospital. Only two. Dean knew better, but he was holding on to the thinnest thread of hope that it wasn't his girlfriend painted across the ancient walls. Rae was awake, if you could call it that. She lay in the stark white bed, her skin just as pale. Her eyes darted around the room, as her head turned side to side, as she whispered to herself. Neither of them could understand what she was saying. Cas had retained his knowledge when he'd turned in his wings, but this was not a language he'd known. "Sure could use some Angel mo-jo right about now." Dean said softly, not wanting to upset his friend. He'd been there with Cas every step of the way on his path to choosing to be human. He knew he'd be the first to blame himself for not being able to help. "I've prayed, Dean." Cas’ gravelly voice was so low Dean almost didn’t hear him. "I know. I know you have. Hell, so have I." Dean replied softly. Dean walked over to the bedside and took Rae's hand in his. The doctor looked at him over his glasses, and stopped scribbling on his clipboard. "All her stats are perfectly normal. She should be sitting up, talking, right as rain...." He shook his head and took a deep breath. "My country is an old one, steeped in lore and superstition... I can't, as a medical professional, recommend this, but I feel this person will be able to help your friend." He handed Dean a small piece of paper with the name Róisín and a phone number on it. ------- "Dean.... Dean..." Molly woke herself up by moaning his name. She shivered in the cold damp air, her skin soaked with sweat. She could feel the fever lingering but at least it had broke. Slowly she raised herself from the soft moss bed. Her legs trembled, they were so weak, she leaned against a sturdy tree. She wondered how long she'd been out there. The fever induced fog that shrouded her brain began to lift, and the last events she could remember began to filter in. She took a ragged breath and tried to sort it out. They'd gone into the Hellfire Club just as planned. They'd taken the small coven by surprise, and she'd begun the spell. "Ego voco impetu delere...vos... " she was cut off before she could finish. The bright flash of light temporarily blinded all of them. She'd heard inhuman screaming and felt a great searing heat. She had no idea where Rae and Charlotte were. She'd fumbled around, chanting an exorcism in case it was demons attacking. The light got brighter, the heat burned hotter, and she felt herself being wrapped tightly in strong arms. She'd fought with all her might. Molly breathed deeply, her pulse was racing from the memory of the struggle. For a minute she thought she could still feel those arms of steel crushing her. What had happened next? How did she escape? She strained trying to recall... A blood curdling scream in the woods somewhere startled her from her thoughts. She took off at a run into the trees, instinctively reaching for the 9mm that wasn't there. She was running into this with empty hands. The moon still hung low on the horizon, but the woods were so black that the darkness hummed. She stumbled more times than she could count. Finally she slowed down realizing she had no idea where she was going. The scream hadn't come again. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness that surrounded her. She glanced around, and found herself thankful she'd stopped running before plowing into the stone wall that was about ten feet in front of her. Out of breath and lost, she walked over and sat down on the wall. Molly tried to gather her wits about her, the body heat she’d worked up by running was beginning to wear off, and the dampness was once again chilling her to her core. A shuffling noise to her left had her turning her head. A man was perched on the wall, not five feet away from her. He certainly hadn't been there when she'd sat down. Sheer exhaustion was the only thing that kept her from panicking. The two of them sat there in silence, sizing each other up She could make out only the basics, he was definitely tall, she could tell that even though though he was sitting. And thin as a rail, she thought maybe she could take him in a fight. He cleared his throat, and spoke. His voice was pleasingly melodic, with its Irish lilt. "I am so very happy you finally came back to me, Molly." --------------------------------- The tiny black haired female that strolled into the hospital room wasn't at all what Dean had been expecting. He'd pictured an old hag looking woman with gnarled fingers and a wart on her nose. This woman was young, with a pale complexion and a fresh face, she looked maybe 22 if you pushed it, and extremely beautiful. "Dia duit, I'm looking for Dean Winchester?" Dean stood up from the chair in Rae's room he'd claimed as his own for the last week. "I'm Dean, you must be Róisín." The woman didn't even take the time to acknowledge him, instead breezing past him and stopping next to the bed. She stared for a moment and then whirled around, her violet eyes sharp. "Where was she?" She demanded. Dean involuntarily stepped back, the woman’s intensity catching him off guard. "They found her at Montpelier Hill." He answered. Róisín spun back around and began searching in the large brown, weathered leather bag that was slung over her shoulder. Cas watched her, his head cocked slightly to one side, a deep frown creased his brows. "You need to call a priest." She said finally, without looking up. "A.... A priest?" Dean questioned. "She has a demon in her." Dean couldn't help it. He scoffed. "Look, thanks for coming, but I don't think you're gonna be able to help us after all." Róisín fixed him with another steely gaze, her right eyebrow raised in an impossibly high arch. "You don't believe in the Devil?" "As a matter of fact, we've fought Lucifer twice, and the King of Hell is a good friend. If she needed an exorcism, I could do it myself. Holy water and Christo didn't affect her. She didn't react to anything we tested her with." The room was silent as the three people sized each other up. "So you're that Dean Winchester..." She mused, "And that would make you the Angel Castiel." Cas squirmed uncomfortably. "Former... Angel." Róisín nodded. "Well lads, this isn't just some run of the mill demonic possession. The Hellfire club is one of the most black magic filled, satanically charged places in all the world, let alone Ireland. There are... things that have lingered there for centuries. Bad, horrible, things." Dean swallowed hard. "I need to know if you can help her. Not only is she very important to us, but she could be the only clue to help us find my girlfriend.She’s been missing for a week now, the last place she may have been was Montpelier Hill." Róisín's expression softened. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath. "Close the door." --------- Molly was doing her best to remain calm, every muscle in her body was tensed, preparing to fight or run. She did know that neither option would end well for her. Working with the Winchesters had honed her senses. She knew this being was no mere mortal. "I'm sorry, you've got me at a loss... Have we met?" She was proud of the fact that her voice didn't waver, even though her heart was racing. She was sure that he could hear that. "Met? No, at least not in this lifetime. But we have seen each other. Our souls recognize each other, they know each other." He snapped his fingers, and a blue flame glowed in the palm of his hand. It was bright enough that she could make out his face now. Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Hozier?" She laughed nervously. Surely this was some elaborate joke. It couldn't be her favorite singer sitting not two feet from her. "Please darling, you should call me Andrew." "Andrew.... Can you please tell me what I'm doing here?" "Of course, my love, as soon as you wake up, everything will all make sense." He laid his hand on hers, and the world went black. "Molly, it's time to wake up, open those beautiful eyes love." Slowly she blinked her eyes open, wondering where the voice that had woken her had come from. Alone in a large, room she surveyed her surroundings from where she lay in the obnoxiously huge four poster bed. Sunlight shown in the windows, making the leaded glass lamps on the bedside tables sparkle. The dark grey stone walls and the high ceilings were typical of a castle. The heavy wooden door to her left creaked open and Andrew entered carrying a breakfast tray. "Good morning, a chroí, it's so good to have you home." He said as placed the tray across her lap, he kissed her head and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "Did you sleep well love?" Molly looked at the man, taking in his perfect smile, she placed her hand on his cheek. "It's good to be home." She whispered and leaned in to press her smile to his. -------- Róisín turned towards the three men. "No matter what happens, none of you must touch her." She locked eyes with each one of them, to let them know she was dead serious. Dean and Sam each stepped to Cas' side. They'd had to drag him away from his love's bedside, he'd continually checked to make sure she was still breathing, all the tubes and machines having been disconnected for the ritual. Even Dean missed the reassuring beeps from the heart monitor that had told him his friend had oxygen flowing. She finished lighting the candles that were spread around the hospital room, and in her makeshift altar, and began to chant in Irish while writing words in Ogham on Rae's arms and legs. It wasn't long until Rae started to react. She let out a ear splitting, heart shattering scream. Castiel lurched forward, Sam and Dean reacted at the same time, gripping his arms. It took both of them to hold them back. Dean was glad his brother had agreed to leave Charlotte's side to be here for this. The candles began to flicker, the room was closed off, but a breeze began to circulate. As the air flow began to pick up, a low rumble began to fill the room. Rae thrashed and bucked against the restraints. As the intensity and volume of Róisín's chants increased, Rae fought harder. The wind whipped and the rumble had increased into a roar. Róisín was shouting to be heard. Rae rose up off of the bed, her entire body twisting in impossible contortions that Dean feared her spine would break. Castiel suddenly broke free, the boys scrambled to regain their grasp on him, but he didn't move towards the bed. Instead he dropped to his knees, sobbing and praying, tears streaming down his face. The noise became deafening, Sam and Dean clutched their heads in pain. Dean thought for certain his head was going to explode. It felt like when Cas had first tried to talk to him. In one brief moment, it all happened. There was a bright flare of light, and a thunderous crack, then, total silence. Sam looked up in time to see Róisín collapse to the floor. He rushed over to her as Dean and Cas were rushing to Rae's side. "Rae!? Rae!?" Cas called her name urgently. Dean reached out shaking her, she was completely limp, and he realized she wasn't breathing. "SON OF A BITCH!" Dean bellowed, anger and loss surging through him. He shoved Castiel out of the way, raised his fist and brought it down on Rae's chest, like he'd seen them do on Dr. Sexy. "What the hell are you doing!?" Sam yelled from the floor. Cas could only look on in horror. Dean waited a second and did it again. Rae gasped like a free diver coming up for air, her eyes shot open. Dean lost it, he fell across her bed laughing hysterically. "Holy fuck it worked." Sam said in awe, still holding the semi unconscious Irish woman in his arms. Cas descended on Rae, kissing every inch of her face, professing his undying love for her. It took a few minutes for everyone to get it together, and Rae looked on with mass confusion. Once everyone had settled down, and Róisín had gotten to her feet and checked Rae over, Dean filled her in on what was going on. "So we're really hoping that you can remember something, anything at all that will help us cure Charlotte, and find Molly." He looked at her with pleading eyes. "Dean..." She gripped Castiel's hand so tight, her knuckles were white. "I don't remember anything." "I do." A shaky voice came from the doorway. "I know what happened." ___________________________________________________ Two weeks later... Molly sighed contentedly. She couldn't believe how lucky she had been to end up with such a wonderful, doting boyfriend. Well, fiance', she corrected herself with a light chuckle, gazing at the beautiful emerald green stone that sparkled even in the typical dull grey light of a cloudy Irish afternoon. He'd proposed 2 days after she'd returned, saying he couldn't stand another moment without her as his life mate. She already owned his heart and soul, and he felt it only right that they have a marriage ceremony. She turned her head and gazed up at Andrew, as he softly read poetry, his long elegant fingers cradled the small book. He looked so studious, like a young literature professor, she loved it when he wore his glasses, there was just something sexy about it. He caught her gaze, and set the book to his side on the thick green grass. "Most people don't smile like that when they're listening to poetry." He gently ran his fingers through her hair, a smile of his own danced across his face. "What can I say? I love Shakespeare..." She grinned as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She sighed again. "I'm so glad we came here today. St. Stephen's Green is so relaxing." Not that she really needed to relax. Andrew spent the days working on songs for his new album, and she wandered about the land photographing the lush landscape and ruins near the castle they lived in. "I never want to see you any other way than relaxed. You, are my queen, and your happiness is my own." Molly rolled her eyes and laughed, only to be brought up short by him taking her a bit roughly by her arms and pulling her up to her knees to face him. "Don't ever doubt that I am not serious about your happiness." If she didn't trust him implicitly, she would have been slightly afraid of the edge in his voice, the look of cold determination that filled his eyes. "There is nothing that I won't do for you, Mollyca, I would lay down my own life for yours." He stared into her eyes for another moment before kissing her thoroughly. "Andrew," She breathed his name against his neck. "I love you so much, I can't wait to marry you." ----------------------- "Sam if you don't stop fucking staring at me like that, I'm going to have to kill you." Dean snorted from across the room. Sam shot him a glare, and stormed out the front door. Charlotte sighed. "Why is he acting like that?" He hadn't left her side since she had woken up from her coma. He waited oh her hand and foot, and she could feel his eyes watching her constantly, as if he were afraid that she was going to drop dead at any moment. Two weeks of that, and it was driving her insane. "Listen Char, Sammy, he's a worrier. We have no idea how or why you woke up when Aisling did that spell on Rae. You went from burned almost to death to suddenly standing in the doorway, speaking, and perfectly healed... it threw us all for a loop.... And I'll let you in on a little secret. Sammy didn't leave your side until we needed him to help with Rae." Charlotte finally sat back and looked up from the laptop she'd been staring at. "Really." This was news to her. She'd had a bit of a crush on Sam since Molly and Rae had introduced them about 6 months prior. Dean had told Sam to suck it up and tell Charlotte he cared for her, but given his track record with women, Sam was a little more than reluctant. Dean glanced over to where Rae and Cas were huddled on the couch, pouring over the ancient tomes of lore that Róisín had given them. They were inseparable, two people, so in love. Dean ached for his own lost love. Charlotte had woken, and claimed she knew what had happened at Montpelier Hill that night. They'd gone in expecting to take out a simple coven of witches, the force they'd dealt with though, was as old and as strong as the walls of the lodge that had been standing for nearly 300 years. As Molly had started the chant, all hell broke loose. The witches started screaming, and took off running for their lives. Charlotte had seen a tall man appear from out of nowhere, and wrap his arms around Molly, just before the searing heat hit her, knocking her off her feet. She had woken briefly and saw Rae laying on the ground, but Molly was nowhere to be found before blacked out from the pain. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that something sinister had taken his girlfriend. Something strong that witches feared. What exactly it was, he wasn't sure of, but he would find it, and kill it. The door to the little cottage flew open, thankfully tearing Dean from his thoughts of Molly's possible death. Róisín stormed into the room. "Come on, pack it in. You're all coming with me. Obviously everyone is stumped, and sitting here staring at the same lore won't do you any good. Let's get out, get some air and come back and look at this with fresh eyes. GET UP WITH YE!" She grabbed Cas and Rae by the arm, ignoring the astonished looks on their faces. Apparently the tales of Irish hospitality was true, Róisín had taken them all under her wing. She had found them a place to stay just outside of Dublin, made sure they ate and took care of themselves along with doing research herself. They all knew better than to argue, so they stood up, and grabbed their jackets. Sammy was already folded into the front seat of the small suv that just barely held them all. Half an hour later they got out of the car, everyone thankful to be able to stretch back out. Róisín led them down the sidewalk to a park. She tossed a soccer ball at Sam, "There, go run." She ordered nodding at all of them. They quickly chose teams and soon were in a heated match, laughing breathlessly as they ran and half tackled each other. At times they'd find themselves with spectators, a couple of younger guys even joined in, everyone was finally relaxed. Sam kicked the ball as hard as he could, Dean ran after it, shouting about how it was out of bounds. It hit a tree yards away from where they were playing and bounced hard towards a couple who were walking by. The tall man grabbed it just before it hit the woman he was with. "Easy there lad, you almost hit my girl!" He laughed, tossing the ball back to Dean. "Sorry 'bout that." Dean called. The brunette that was next to the man turned quickly, facing him. Dean dropped the ball, and gasped. "Molly!?" "Hurry up with the ball!" Rae yelled, deciding to see what was taking so long. She'd seen Dean go around the corner in the park, but he hadn't come back yet, everyone else was taking the brief respite from the game to grab a drink. She jogged around the large tree and immediately started shouting for everyone. She dropped to her knees next to the man, who was prone on the ground. "Dean! DEAN!" She lightly slapped his face, panic in her voice. What the hell had happened to him? Sam got to them first, throwing himself to the ground next to his brother. "WHAT THE FUCK!??! DEAN!" Not sure what to do, he dumped the rest of his water on the older man's face, finally eliciting a reaction. Dean groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest. "Molly." He breathed out. Sam and Rae shared a confused glance. "Dean, we... we haven't found Molly yet." Sam told him softly. "No, but I saw her." Dean replied. Cas leaned over, examining his best friend. "He may have head trauma." He pulled at Dean's eyelids looking deep into his eyes. Dean batted his hands away, and struggled to sit up. "For fuck's sake, I don't..." He gasped for breath. "I don't have head trauma. That tall fuck put a whammy on me and took off with my girlfriend again!" He pulled up his shirt and heard a chorus of expletives. “Is it that bad?" He looked down at his chest, all ready nasty purple and blue with bruising. "Who took her, can you give me a description?" Róisín asked as she rifled through her ever present bag of tricks. "Damn right I can. I can tell you exactly who he is." Dean growled. "It’s that fucking singing Irish bastard Hozier." The group was totally silent for a moment, and then as if on cue, they all burst out laughing. "What the hell Dean!? I think you really did hit your head!" Sammy howled. "I guess, if Molly was going to leave you, it would be for him!" Rae chimed in. Charlotte hooted her agreement. Only Róisín remained quiet. She knelt down next to Dean, smoothing a salve on his chest which somehow immediately made him feel better. "I was afraid that was where my path had been leading me." She said more so to herself them to anyone. Dean grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at him. 'You believe me. You know how we can get to him don't you?" "I've been researching..." She glanced around. "This is not the place to speak of these things." Dean nodded and stood. "Lets go gang, the time for fun and games is over. It's time to get my girl back." He strode towards the car, everyone following with a renewed vigor. This was the first real clue they'd gotten, and they were going to run with it, whether Dean had been hallucinating or not. *********** She still was dumbfounded as to how they'd even gotten to the car so quickly. It seemed like one moment they were in the park, and the very next they were in the car park standing next to the dark sedan with the tinted windows. Somehow she knew she couldn't ask Andrew about it. He'd become agitated for some unknown reason, and had hardly said a word in the car on the way home. He'd also her hand tightly as if she were going to disappear. Molly sighed as she walked down the path in the woods, it was her favorite place to be. The narrow wooded trail, lined with tall ferns, moss clinging to and hanging from the trees. So many different shades of green everywhere you looked. She made it to her destination, a rocky overlook where the waves of the ocean crashed. She could sit here for hours, and usually did, just enjoying the view and the ocean's song. Today though, she was haunted by another shade of green. The green that had caused a strong sense of familiarity to washed over her when she had looked into the eyes of the man saying her name in the park. _____ "A vampire witch, who happens to be an international rock star. You've got to be kidding me. How the hell do we deal with this? I mean obviously we behead him. But how the hell are we going to do that without creating an international incident?" Dean continued to pace across the room. "We can't kill him." Róisín stated. "What do you mean we can't? Of course we can. We'll just have to hide the body." "I hear the bogs are a good place for that." Rae offered. "No, you don't understand. This is not your run of the mill vampire. He is old. Centuries old. Decapitation won't kill him, it will slow him down, but it won't kill him. With his age, his knowledge, he is virtually indestructible. We'll have to figure something else out." Róisín replied, not looking up from the dusty old book in her lap. "I'm NOT giving up!" Dean roared. Róisín kept her voice even. "I'm not saying you have to give him up. Give me time. We'll figure this out." "Got something!" Sammy called from the dining room. Róisín's entire cottage had been consumed by their search. Laptops and lore books were spread from one end to the other, with every person pouring over every word they could find. Dean walked over to where his little brother sat, and looked over his shoulder. "Thank you tumblr." He muttered then read the caption out loud. "Our illustrious golden voiced Hozier has been recording his new album, in an unknown location- however this darling fan spotted his car turning down an almost hidden road, which is believed to lead to The Black Castle on the coast of North Wicklow." "Róisín , how close are we to this place?" "The Black Castle is supposed to be just ruins… unless that's just an elaborate glamour he's done to hide his lair. We're a little less than an hour away." She stood, "Give me a minute." She walked out the front door with her phone in her hand. "Look, if she's not going to be able to help us, we're going to have to say thanks and cut our ties." "Dean, give her a chance, we're used to fighting monsters in the states. Even if they are old, they're not as old as things are in a country like this. We need Róisín's guidance. If she says he can't be killed that easily, then he can't." Rae tried to be the voice of reason. Cas stood and walked over to his best friend. "Dean, one way or another, we'll get Molly back." Dean sighed and ran his hand down his face. "I'll try to trust her. That's the best I can do. If... If this thing goes south..." "Dean. No. We're not having that conversation." Sam snapped. Charlotte put her arm around him and pulled him close comforting him. He smiled at her, his eyes locked with hers. "I know, if it were me, I'd probably be saying the same thing, when you find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, you'd do anything for them." The words were meant for more than just Dean and Charlotte knew it. She leaned in and kissed him. "Well it's about fucking time!" Rae rolled her eyes. "Ok, you guys just keep sucking face. I'm coming up with a plan." Dean grabbed Sammy's laptop and walked away. Sam and Char did just as he said. Time was not Dean's friend. With every minute that ticked by all he thought about was how Molly was so close while they were sitting on their asses doing nothing. It had been days, almost a week since he's seen Molly, and all of Róisín's leads had lead nowhere. Sure they knew where Hozier had Molly holed up, but that didn't mean they could just storm the place and take him out. He slammed his book shut, grabbed his jacket and left the cottage without a word. Sam didn't even spare him a glance. "He'll be fine." He muttered and kept researching. Molly stood looking into the antique, full length mirror as the young maid Bridgid, flitted around her. She'd been shocked last week when Andrew had suggested they have the marriage ceremony so soon. He'd brought it up in the small hours of the morning while they lay in each other's arms. He'd been so quiet after they'd left the park, that Molly had been worried she'd done something wrong. He assured her it was nothing of the sort, then distracted her with his skillful hands and mouth. When she'd questioned why get married so soon, he'd laughed and said if she could think of a single reason not to, then they'd wait. Now here she was. The next morning he gave her a large wrapped box, and watched intently as she opened it. She couldn't believe how perfect the dress was. He's told her it had been in his family for generations, but somehow it fit as if it had been made for her. The gown was gorgeous; it had sheer ivory layers over a delicate floral patterned skirt. Trimmed with delicate lace, it had an ethereal beauty about it, as if it had been made by the Fairies themselves. A guitar began softly playing outside. Bridgid smiled. "Sounds like it's time." Molly ran her fingers gently over the flower wreath that adorned her head and fixed an errant lock of her wavy hair. She'd always wanted a woodsy-fairy kind of wedding. Though it was only going to be the two of them, Andrew had insisted they have every thing she'd ever wanted for her big day. She'd laughed and said fine, whatever made him happy. Andrew stood under the garden arbor, looking incredibly handsome in his almost Renaissance style suit with flowers surrounding him. Molly floated down the path strewn that was with petals, her heart fluttering, nearly bursting with joy. This was exactly like the dream she'd had a hundred times, the one that had always felt so real, it was as if she'd lived it. She smiled as she passed Andrew's friend Ryan, who was playing the guitar and serving as their witness. As soon as she was close enough, Andrew reached out to her and she placed her hand in his. This was the beginning of their forever. Dean scaled the wet, rocky cliff, silently grumbling to himself. He'd figured recon wouldn't be easy, it was a castle after all, they weren't called strongholds for nothing. He slipped again, sending pebbles and sand skittering below him. He was only about 15 feet up, but when the landing was sharp rocks, he definitely did not want to fall. Sighing he heaved himself over the edge and onto the wet grass. Between the sea spray and the day's earlier rain, he was soaked. He gathered his bearings and headed for the hedge. The little voice in his head grew louder. It'd been telling him since he'd left the cottage not to do this, but he couldn't not do anything any longer. He figured recon would be good, so they could get the lay of the land so to speak. Dean paused, was that music? He surveyed the hedge, it looked to be at least 3 feet wide, and dense. He waited for a moment, but didn't hear it again. He ducked down to where there was an opening in the shrubbery. The moment his knees hit the ground he knew he'd made a mistake. He pitched forward trying to alleviate the stabbing pains, only to end up face first into the wicked plant. How the hell would he know that Irish hedges were made of thorns!? He bit his tongue to keep from crying out. He wiped the involuntary tears away from his eyes and realized he now could see through the foliage and into the Castle garden. He rubbed his eyes harder, not believing what he was seeing. Andrew and Molly stood facing each other, looks of love and adoration beamed between the two of them as a short man in a robe wrapped cords around their hands. Dean he watched in complete shock as the couple slipped rings on each other's fingers, then drank from what he could only describe as a chalice. What the hell kind of pagan witch crap was going on here? It took every fiber of his being not to run out there, stab that Hozy fuck, and take his woman back. The guitar started playing again, and they started dancing. The breeze carried Molly's laugh to him, and he felt his heart break. After half the day had gone by Rae and Charlotte had decided they should go find Dean. Even if Sam insisted not to worry about him, they still did. They found him in the third pub. He was slumped over, his head almost on the bar. The bartender gave them a grateful look. "Hey Dean, what do you say we go get some food and strong black coffee?" Rae sat down next to him while Charlotte opted to stand behind him in case he slid the rest of the way down. Dean immediately latched on to the comfort of his friend. He began babbling incoherently into Rae's shoulder. The girls could only make out a few words here and there. Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Rae and shrugged. She tossed some Euros on the bar and wrapped her arm around the man and together they led him out the door. Dean woke to a pounding head and the voices of his friends. "I still swear he said ceremony." Charlotte was adamant. "Why would he be talking about Molly, and a ceremony?" Rae argued. "Because she's married." Everyone turned to see Dean standing in the kitchen doorway. His voice was raspy, eyes still swollen and red, his T-shirt was inside out and he had one sock half on his foot. "What are you talking about?" Sam asked confused. "I went to that Castle yesterday. I watched through the hedge as some guy in robes performed a pagan ceremony called a hand fasting. Thank you google." He ran his hand over his face. "He has to have brainwashed her or something. I don't know, but we have to get in there and rescue her." "Did you ever think maybe she's actually happy?" Dean's head snapped to the right where his brother stood drinking coffee. In two steps he was there, Sam's plaid shirt bunched in his hands. He gave the taller man a rough shake, the hot mug fell to the floor shattering. Sam's hands came up in defense. "Is that what you think Sammy? That she fucking left me just like that?" Sam barked right back "Could you blame her if she did!? To seize the opportunity to get the hell out of this life!? To not have to hunt? Or be hunted? I'd take a chance like that in a heartbeat!" Dean shoved Sam hard into the cabinets behind him and let go. "Yeah, you would. You Sammy, because you're not like her. She cares about the people she gets to help. She does this because she wants to. Not because she has to." He turned to walk away but stopped. "He's a monster Sam... Remember that. A monster." Charlotte walked over and grabbed Sam's arm, dragging him out the back door. She couldn't believe that he'd said that to his brother. "What that hell is your problem!?" She exclaimed. "Why not!? Maybe she did leave him? Did we ever even consider that fact? That she went willingly?" "Sam! You know her! She is like a sister to us all, she wouldn't just up and leave everyone without a word! She's not like..." "Like what? Like me? Jesus that was years ago!" "Alright, alright, you're right, but God Sam, to say that to him, when he's this destroyed, even if she, for God knows what reason, did leave him, he needs to find some sort of closure." Charlotte stepped closer to the man that towered over her. She looked up into his eyes, as she ran her hand through his hair, knowing it soothed him. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I'm sorry too." He replied quietly before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. "Promise me you'll never leave?" he begged, holding her tightly. Charlotte clung to him, if it were up to her, she would never leave his side, but she knew in their line of work, that it just wasn't realistic. She murmured words of solace to him, but never actually made the promise. Rae and Cas sat on the porch swing. After the scene in the kitchen, they'd decided to just let everyone cool off and had gone out the front door. "What Sam said was wrong." Cas' gravelly voice rumbled in Rae's ear. Rae sighed and leaned in closer, she knew she would never tire of his arms holding her, his body radiating heat into hers. He always seemed warmer than an average person, and in this cool damp climate of Ireland, she appreciated it even more. "He was..." She agreed hesitantly. Cas tilted his head towards her questioningly. "You don't really agree with it do you?" "It's not that I think she left. She loves Dean. They are perfect together. But I can see Sam's point of view. This life... this job... it isn't meant to last forever. Hunters die young. Maybe she doesn't want to die young Cas." Cas didn't know what to say, she'd made a perfectly good point. How many times had he saved the Winchesters over the years. Instead he turned and buried his face in her neck, breathing in he savored the comforting scent that he loved. His lips followed a path across her jaw line, and ended at her lips. They sat there, just enjoying each other for as long as they could, until the front door swung open. "Get your lips off each other. Róisín has a plan." Dean was back in the house as quickly as he'd come out. ------ Andrew hung up the phone, relieved. Ryan had said he'd seen the group of hunters packing their things into a couple of cars, and were heading towards the airport. Andrew couldn't believe they'd given up so easily. He laughed to himself, Molly was finally, once again all his. Or at least this incarnation of her was. Over a hundred years without his soul mate had been desolate. He'd searched the earth repeatedly, knowing that some day he would find her. When he'd started writing songs and playing music, it had been to have a distraction. When you were a 700 year old being, you ran out of things to keep yourself entertained. He chuckled to himself thinking about the time he'd spent in Dublin with Bram, giving him little hints and tips on his writing. The centuries when Molly had been with him were always the best, but he could never bring himself to turn her. Through the cold, he would always find his way back to her. Maybe this time it would have to be different he mused. He was however, grateful for his hobby. Not for the fame and money it brought him, neither of those mattered anyway, but when he'd seen her in the front row of that concert, his heart had sang. He had planned on taking her that night, but when she showed up in the darkened alley waiting to meet her favorite singer, she'd brought hunters with. Disappointment and rage had consumed him. He couldn't very well rip their heads off and run away with the woman when the press was watching. So he'd plotted, ever so carefully, luring his prize to his home turf. People went missing all the time in Ireland. He was happy that the others were leaving though. If he didn't have to kill someone, he wouldn't. This is why he kept a maid around, she was his feeder. For him, the thrill of the kill had run out long ago. He was aged enough where he didn't have to feed often. An occasional animal here and there, a sip from Bridgid, those were enough to tide him over. Of course, he'd sampled Molly when he could. Those nights, when she was distracted with ecstasy, were the only nights, when his razor sharp incisors came out of hiding, and ever so elegantly pierced her soft flesh. Her crimson blood running warm over his tongue. Her taste was sweet, and delicate, like a fine wine. He was hooked on her flesh, but he only allowed himself the pleasure occasionally. Molly made her way down the exquisite mahogany staircase. Andrew beamed up at her. "Hello a chroí, ready for our outing?" He kissed her forehead and took the bag from her hand. "Of course, I can't wait to hit the beach!" "There's nothing like a picnic at the strand on a warm evening." He led her out the door and down the path to the gate that led to the small beach. He held her hand, making sure she didn't fall down the steep narrow steps that were all but hidden in the cliff side. He spread the blanket and together they sat, enjoying each other's company and the delicious food Bridgid had packed for them. A boat was bobbing on the waves a ways off the coast, Andrew said they were probably out for a day of fishing, and if they were catching a lot, they would probably stay there overnight. The sun began to set, and a slight chill filled the air, Andrew started a small fire, and wrapped his arms around his wife. "I'm so very happy." Molly sighed. "I can hear it in your voice, there is but that comes after that statement" He cajoled. "I just feel like... this is all a dream. It just seems like... it's all too good to be true. I wasn't going to say anything, but I feel like I should. I've been having these... strange senses of deja vu. I'm sure it's just odd dreams that I'm remembering randomly but they seem so familiar.... Two weeks ago at the park. I saw a man and I could have sworn that I knew him." Andrew swallowed the panic that rose in his throat. "A chroí, I'm sure it's nothing." He ran his hand down her side, whispering consoling words in Irish. Molly nodded, suddenly feeling warm and content, she snuggled further into his arms, he pulled her close and gently turned her head so he could kiss her. "Son of a bitch! That bastard needs to keep his lips off my girlfriend!" Dean exclaimed, handing the super powered binoculars to Sam. "We're almost set." Róisín tried to soothe the angry man. Dean had been as agitated as a bag of cats since they'd decided on the plan. So far it was going better than they had planned, with the couple being in plain site on the beach, instead of in the Castle like they had thought they would be. Gerry, and Killian, close friends of Róisín had agreed to let them use their boat, as long as they got to help. They were all too willing to kick some ass, Dean had figured that it just went along with the tales of Irish men always enjoying a good fight. Killian pulled along side of the fishing boat with the inflatable rubber raft. "Looks like it's go time." Rae said, determination ringing in her voice. Dean and Sam were the first ones in, Róisín followed along with Cas, leaving Gerry, Rae and Charlotte to run the show from the bigger boat. As soon as Killian took off at a slow pace, Gerry began to creep the boat forward, trying to get in a better position in case things on shore went sideways. Rae kept watch with the binoculars, rolling her eyes often as she watched the two people on the beach getting more and more intimate. Char stomped impatiently. "How long is it going to take them to get there?" she hissed. She wanted this over, to have her friend back and safe, so they could go back to their lives and she could spend some quality time with Sam too. Over the years, Andrew's senses had heightened well beyond those of a typical vampire. He knew something was coming, and in doing so, he made a decision to respond to his natural instinct. He gently shifted their positions until Molly was laying on her back on the blanket. "What the? Did he just!? Is he!?!?" Rae was utterly failing at completing a sentence. "What!? What is going on!?" Charlotte bounced on her heels like a kid in a toy store. "Raaaaeeeeeeee what is going on!??!" "I think he's fucking drinking her blood!" Rae wailed. Charlotte was quiet for a moment. "Rae... he is a vampire." "But they don't usually feed on their significant other, they usually have feeders!" Rae replied obviously worried. Dean's voice whispered across the radio. "We're in position." Rae responded. "He's… ah…. distracted. I'd start now." Róisín began a soft chant, as the men slowly crept through the shadows, moving closer to the beach where Molly and Andrew were. Andrew was whispering a chant of his own in Molly's ear. She was under his spell, more now than even before. She lay writhing in his arms, whining his name, begging for the one thing only he could give her. Immortality. "Please, please.." She whimpered, reaching and clawing. "Shhhhh, just a moment a chroi." He raked his own sharp fingernail across his wrist and brought the oozing wound to her mouth. The faint smile grew as he watched his bride sucking on his wrist like a starved leech. He hadn't wanted to turn her, but he’d come to realize this would be the only way he'd be able to keep her. He had no reason to continue living without her. “A chéadsearc, mo shíorghrá…” he crooned as he gently pulled his now aching wrist away. He'd let her drink more than he'd intended, and he could feel it affecting him, weakening him. He'd been distracted by the darkening of her eyes, the satisfied sounds she made. He laid her slowly back down on the blanket, admiring the crimson staining her lips, the rivulets making their way down her chin. Already he could see the changes taking place, her skin becoming smooth white porcelain, her heart beat beginning to slow. “Sleep… A chroí, sleep…. When you wake, we will be inseparable.” He ran his fingers gently down her cheek and her eyes closed. “Inseparable might be a bit of an exaggeration, since I'm going to make sure you never see her again.” Hozier turned to see the man who had spoken so determinedly. Dean stood only about 10 yards away from him. Hozier smiled. “I'm sorry that you feel that way, but Molly will be staying with me.” His voice had an amused tone to it. Dean snorted. “You just keep thinking that buddy.” Hozier glanced at Molly to make sure that she was sleeping, he drew himself up to his full, six foot five inch height. He knew a fight was coming, he felt the tension crackling in the air. He inhaled deeply, scenting his surroundings. Dean was in front of him, and he could smell two other men… and a witch? He let that play through his mind, but shrugged it off. He was far more powerful than anything they could come up with, he was sure of it. Centuries of being unchallenged gave him a sense of invincibility. “I'll give you a chance,” Hozier offered as if he were speaking to a child. “Leave Molly and I alone, and you will never have to worry about her. You won't end up having to kill her. She's already turning, even your mortal eyes can see this is true. I will take care of her. She belongs with me, as she always has.” Dean shook his head. “We're going to have to agree to disagree on that.” “Then you are willing to give your life for hers.” “It looks as though I am.” Dean stepped closer, preparing for the inevitable fight. Hozier’s grin took on a menacing glint. He snapped his fingers and a rope appeared in his hand. Dean almost laughed at the parlor trick. “Being immortal does get boring at times…” Hozier began. “Education is a grand cure for boredom. I have learned all forms of magic, black, white, most of it from the strongest natural witch I've ever had the blessing to know. I learned at her feet, at her side, in her bed. She taught me everything.” With a flick of his wrist the rope was around Dean's neck. The advances the rest of the group were making halted immediately. No one knew what to do now that Dean was at a disadvantage. Sam stood frozen a mere 15 feet to Hozier’s right. Róisín was even closer, directly behind the vampire, dagger in hand. Cas was still in the shadows behind Dean, from his vantage point, he could see his friends feet beginning to eerily rise off the beach. “It was well into my second century, when I met Maeve. Her name means intoxicating, and she was. Never in my life had I met anyone like her….” His voice trailed off, and he glanced lovingly at the prone woman on the blanket. “We'd been together about 50 years when I went off to Russia to procure a business venture. Another side effect of boredom. While I was gone, she fell ill…. By the time I returned, the sweating sickness had taken her.” Dean could hear the anguish in his voice. “Twice she was taken from me in childbirth… those losses were the most difficult. The last time though was the most unacceptable, those ignorant humans should have known that unsinkable ships do not exist!” The vampire’s voice raised with every word. “I have waited a hundred years for her soul to be reborn, and to find her again. Every time her magic ebbs more and she becomes harder to find…. I cannot and will not let her go this time!” His voice thundered across the beach. The group stood in silence, not sure what to do. Only the very tips of Dean's toes touched the sand. His hands gripped the rope in an attempt to loosen it, the struggle to breathe was increasing. An invisible force held it steadfastly in place. Castiel exchanged bewildered glances with Sam, he couldn't understand why the protective charm bags and amulets Róisín had given them weren't keeping Dean safe. Rae and Charlotte stood in the shallows,they'd waded in to help as soon as the boat had gotten close enough. The incoming tide kept trying to knock them off balance as they made a quick plan. Charlotte nodded at her friend and a sudden crack of a rifle shot echoed through the air. The men and Róisín took advantage of the brief distraction and made their move. Cas leapt forward as Dean began to swing in midair, as if suspended from a tree. He pushed up on the man’s legs trying to give him purchase so he could breath. Sam, Róisín and Killian all lunged at the tall vampire knocking him to the ground. He laughed at their feeble attempt, and one by one flicked them off as if they were bugs. Róisín jumped up from the sand where she'd landed and ran back into the shadows behind the large rock where her altar was set up. She added the chunk of hair to the poppet. She'd been able to hack a bit from Hozier’s head while Sam and Killian had him pinned momentarily. She began chanting, wrapping it with black wool yarn as she did. “Ceangal mé do chosa ó thabhairt duit chun díobháil dom . Ceangal mé do lámha as a bhaint amach i gcrích go dtí dochar dom . Ceangal mé do bhéal ó scéalta a dochar dom leathadh . Ceangal mé d'intinn ó fhuinneamh chun díobháil dom a sheoladh . Má leanann tú é sin a dhéanamh , a ligean ar fad fuinnimh diúltach a chaitheamh go díreach ar ais ag tú !” Meanwhile on the beach the fight was on. Killian shouted protection spells Róisín had taught him as he watched the battle. Charlotte had run to help Cas in his vain effort to save their friend. The horrible gasping and choking sounds Dean was making made her sick to her stomach. She had no idea how they were going to save him, in another couple minutes his feet would be out of their reach. Rae ran to where Sam and Hozier were throwing punches at each other. The vampire laughed easily as Sam panted with exertion. “It's been so long since I've had a worthy opponent. It feels good just to hit flesh again!” Hozier punctuated his statement with a hard hit to Sam's ribs. Rae heard them crack as she leapt onto the thin man's back, jabbing a syringe into the side of his neck. She was hardly able to inject the thick serum before she was tossed across the beach into the rocks. “Rae!!!” Castiel's cry was gut wrenching. He wanted to run to her, but he knew if he let go of Dean now the man would be dead in moments. “You bitch! What have you done!?” the vampire roared clutching his neck as he dropped to his knees. Lightning lit up the sky, and as the thunder rumbled and wind began to swirl. It was as if his emotions were reflected in the weather, and the sky was as angry as Hozier himself. Charlotte thought she was becoming delirious with the physical strain because suddenly it felt as if Dean was getting lower. She looked at Cas and was relieved to see the surprise on his face also. Maybe Dean's body was actually being lowered. Hozier crawled weakly to where Molly still lay peacefully on the blanket, blissfully unaware of the chaos around her. Róisín appeared, standing over the vampire. “Vervain.” She said simply. “Not enough to kill you, we didn't want an international incident. But now you know that we can if it comes to that. With that and the binding spell I just completed, it looks like you'll be waiting another lifetime for your love to come back to you.” The herb felt like fire as it spread through his body, rendering him weaker and weaker. He collapsed on the blanket, his head resting on Molly's chest. Red tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He whimpered in pain. “Don't take her. Please don't take her away from me again.” His whispered pleading fell on deaf ears. The tumultuous storm turned into a miserable drizzle, as if the earth were weeping with him. Róisín couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him, even if he were a monster, a broken heart was devastating for anyone. He couldn't help it if he was still in love with a soul that he had lost long ago. She listened to what was going on around her. Killian had helped Sam over to where his brother lay in the wet sand. She could hear him softly talking to the unconscious man assuring him he and his love would both be ok. Charlotte knelt next to Sam, just trying to take everything in, that he was ok. She heard Cas inspecting every inch of Rae’s battered body. Dean began to cough, he gasped for air it felt like the rope was still around his neck. Róisín went to him, yet again pulling her salve from her bag. She smeared it across his raw neck and he leaned back, the relief from the pain was almost instant. Sam flopped back relieved that his brother was ok. He groaned and clutched his ribs, Róisín moved over to him, nodding as Charlotte pulled his shirt up to expose skin. There was no bruising but Róisín applied her salve anyway. “I'm sorry Sam, broken bones are a bit beyond even my ability. This will help with the pain, and it doesn't feel like anything is out of place.” Sam grimaced and nodded. Róisín glanced over to make sure Hozier was still down and moved on to help Rae. Cas had gathered her up and was rocking her in his arms. Róisín's heart froze as she saw the tears streaming down his face. She dropped to her knees next to them. “If I were still an angel, I could help her.” He whispered. Róisín looked him in the eye, her hands already covered in blood as she probed Rae’s head looking for the source. “It's OK Castiel, it's just a deep cut, head wounds always bleed a lot. She's just been knocked out, she'll have a concussion but she'll be grand in a few days. Now I've stopped the bleeding, go take her onto the boat and get her settled.” Cas nodded and scooped his girl up. The others had gathered around the prone bodies of Hozier and Molly. Róisín joined them kneeling beside the vampire. “The effects of the Vervain will begin to wear off soon, we need to get off this beach and away from here.” She advised as she filled a syringe with his blood. “Happily.” Dean ground out, his voice rougher than Cas’ from the hanging. He jerked his head at Killian and together they lifted the lanky man, unceremoniously dropping him onto the beach. Róisín raised an eyebrow at them. Dean grinned. “I didn't get to kick his ass, I had to do something.” he shrugged. Dean walked over to where his girlfriend lay, and picked her up gently as if she were made of glass. “Let's get the hell out of here”. ******* Dean stomped down the stairs of the old farmhouse that was now a Bed and Breakfast. Killian had been kind enough to offer it as a place to stay and lay low until everyone was well enough to travel. Dean had swore to him that he'd pay for all the lost income but Killian wasn't having it. “Róisín!” Dean called as he hit the main floor. “God Dean would you quit banging and yelling!?” Rae was beyond annoyed. Her head was still aching though it had been almost a week since she'd been bashed on the rocks. “I'm sorry!” Dean responded snarkily. A hand on his shoulder had him spinning around, fists up ready to swing. “Easy Dean, you need to stop being so damn jumpy. “ Sammy said, taking a step back, his hands up in mock peace. Dean rolled his eyes and continued out the front door. He figured he’d find Róisín around the tower that still stood in the courtyard. He rounded the corner under the stone arch and paused for a moment to gather himself. He knew he’d been an ass to everyone lately, but he just couldn't help himself. He’d felt so lost and powerless when the elixir to turn Molly back hadn’t worked. They still hadn’t been able to figure out why exactly, but Róisín thought maybe that it had to do with the Vervain that had been in Hozier’s blood. She’d been holed up in the tower for days trying to fix it. He took a deep breath and looked around, wishing his girlfriend could see this place. She loved ruins. The tower and the rock wall that surrounded the courtyard were the remnants of a castle. The farmhouse was butted right up next to the tower making it seamless. On the far corner of the wall, there were steep stone steps, Dean figured there had once been a tower there too. There was a sitting area, in the yard where Char and Cas were talking over lore books and hot tea. Dean sighed and stepped into the doorway, ducking his head. He smirked to himself, thinking about how Sam would never fit in this tiny place. He carefully made his way up the narrow, claustrophobia inducing stone stairway to the small room at the top where Róisín was working. She didn’t even look up as he walked in. “Hello Dean.” She greeted him as she continued stirring. “I have his blood as purified as I can get it. We’ll be able to try the elixir again in a few hours.” Dean nodded, fiddling around with a mortar and pestle on the workbench. “What if…” “If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.” She looked up, and looked directly into his eyes. “We will find a way.” ...To be Continued

#dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural #andrew hozier byrne #hozier #supernatural fanfiction #ireland #vampire #hozier fanfic #in the woods somewhere

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