#every now and then he meets people that still are all about pagan ways

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x F!reader

Description: After getting a call from John Winchester after no contact for months. The group gets led to a town in which a couple goes missing every year around the same time. But Sam doesn’t want to follow orders anymore, and the town still needs help.

Warnings: Cannon Violence, fight scene (tell me how i did, im still learning how to write it!), arguing, a little angst, talk of crimes, cursing (i think), talk about sacrifices and Pagan rituals (i fricken love learning about Paganism), Y/N gets a little snarky and cocky, use of magic and abilities

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word Count: …14,005

Scarecrow

(Master List, Prev. Chapter, Next Chapter)

“So you’re with the Winchesters?” Adeline says, her voice just as husky and amused as I remembered. It had been months since we talked, I'm surprised she wasn’t mad at me, though maybe she was and she was just hiding it well. “Yes.” I answer simply, waiting for the impending lecture.

“I should be surprised, but I'm not,” She remarks, and I can hear the smirk on her face.

“You know B/N said nearly the same thing!” I laughed lightly, but it soon died down when she didn't join in instead going completely quiet.

“You should have told me.” She says, venom on her tongue, but I know it’s out of worry. “No text, no call, not even a letter! I show up at your house. Not only are you not there I have to find out from your co-workers that you quit and haven’t been in contact with anyone. Did you quit because of those Winchesters? ‘Cause I swear to God I wil-“

“No!, quitting had nothing to do with them.” I cut her rant off, “Look Addie I'm sorry. I got so caught up in it all I didn’t think of telling anyone.” I sigh, leaving out the part I forgot I had people who cared about me—which is so stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you. But that isn’t what I called for…”

Suddenly a sharp demanding knock sounds at my door. I don’t move for a second, watching it, “One sec, Addie” I place my phone down on the bed pulling back the heavy blankets. I tiptoe to the door, the rough carpet dragging on my feet. I take a deep breath preparing myself for the worst, I unlock the door, creaking it open just wide enough to see who is there.

Dean stands there, his eyes wide and his hair a little messy, still in his pajamas. A black shirt and some plaid pajama pants, though I figured he might have thrown those on before coming to my door- I knew he wasn’t foreign to sleeping with just a shirt and underwear on. I open the door further, “Are you okay? What happened?” I spew out.

“Get dressed. Dad called, ‘doesn't want us following him. He's going after the thing that killed Mom, says it’s a demon. He gave us a bunch of names and needs us to go investigate. Meet by the car.” He answers quickly. I stared at him, all of this was rushed, we barely got any sleep and we were already leaving rather quickly. He looks me over, nods, and then walks away back down the hall to his room, giving me no chance to ask if he was okay.

I closed the door a little shocked, making my way back to my phone and before it was even by my ear I heard the impatient click of her nails against some hard surface, “Now what” she huffed. Definitely mad at me. “I’ll have to call you back later” I sigh, “I need to go.”

“No you don’t get to just call me—“ She nearly yells but I cut her off again, “Addie I promise I’ll call you back.” The line goes silent for a beat and I wonder if she’s still there.

She sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay” I smiled sadly, yet even as the words passed my lips my stomach twisted itself, “I will call you.”

“Fine.” She huffs but she doesn't sound so convinced.

“I love you, Addie.” I say, and I mean it.

“I love you too. Stay safe, and call me!”

“Alright, just to double check all those names are couples?” I ask from the back seat of the Impala, copying notes down on a little notepad. “Three different couples. All went missing.” Dean confirms from the passenger seat. The darkness of the night cloaks us in its cold embrace.

“You said they were from all different states, Washington, New York, Colorado, and all went missing at the same time each year trying to travel across the country. But is it possible that it’s just a serial killer? Not to undermine your fathers findings.” I explain motioning my pen around as I speak, “I mean it is possible the suspect lives in Indiana, knows the roads well, and which way people go when road-tripping. Then being able to intercept them therefore fulfilling his or her urge. Then that kill can satisfy them till next year.”

“I guess, but they always disappeared in the second week of April. One year after another after another. That’s pretty weird.” Dean points out.

“Not necessarily, serial killers can have a certain connection to a date like an anniversary of something. Feeling only the need to do such an act during said time.” I ramble.

“Well, we’re still checking it out” Dean answers plainly, practically shutting down my theory. I guess it’s safer to check but it’s nighttime. I didn’t get any sleep, they barely got any sleep, and rushing over to Indiana in a 3-hour long car ride doesn't sound so fun if it turns out not to be a supernatural thing. “And this is the second week of April.” Sam remarks.

“Yep.” Dean nods.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obituaries Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” Dean beams, flipping through the papers he had on the missing couples. He very clearly looked up to his Dad in some manner, even though he wasn’t deserving of such praise. I know Sam feels this way too, he never had an issue calling out John and he certainly can see all that’s wrong with how they grew up. The thing is I know Dean knew too, he was just trained to be loyal.

I watch Sam in the rearview mirror, his nostrils flaring in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel harder until the knuckles turn white. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, sharply, my body jerking at the motion. “What are you doing?” Dean asks confused, straightening the way he sat.

“We’re not going to Indiana.” Sam says firmly.

“We’re not?” Dean replies, shock and amusement written on his features.

“No. We’re going to California.” Sam answers, “Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.” Sam reasons, and I don’t disagree.

“Dad doesn’t want our help.” Dean argues, his voice getting louder.

“I don’t care.” Sam answers rather calmly.

“He’s given us an order.” Dean bites, using one of his favorite excuses.

“I don’t care.” He repeats himself, this time more firmly, “We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain.

“Please stop fighting, why don’t we work this job, put all our energy into it. Work it quickly. Then immediately head to California, both of you win” I offer, always the person trying to cool the fight down and offer some sort of solution. But even as the words leave my mouth I know I’m wrong, this argument is more than working a case or chasing demons. This is years of grief built up. Sam half turns to view me, his eyes are pained and I almost think he might be close to tears, “It won’t be enough. You said it yourself. My Dad moves fast, if we don’t head there right now we’ll miss him entirely.” He looks between both of us now as he adds, “But I’m talking one week here, to get answers. To get revenge.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, look, I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Sam spits, nearly yelling. “How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

Oh. This is old grief on top of new grief, he hasn’t coped with the loss of his girlfriend not that we could have expected him to. It’s too soon. These emotions are too raw, too new. Dean matches his brother yelling, “Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I mean, he knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.” Sam argues, looking at his brother strangely.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells. The tension has exploded, the car falling quiet in its aftermath. My dislike for their father seemed to grow ten folds, to make your own child feel like that—

“Dean, that’s no—“ But before I can say anything more about it Sam exits the car. Slamming the door behind him. Dean and I get out of the car following him to the trunk where he unloads his things from. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.” Dean yells.

“Dean!” I snap, “This has gone far enough, you don’t get to say things like that, he’s your brother! Both of you calm down, please.” I didn’t want Sam to be treated like this, not from his brother who I know cares about him. “No. It’s okay, Y/N” Sam says calmly, his movements slowing as he stares his brother down, “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.” Dean gives a single sharp nod.

“Well.” Sam shuts the trunk, “then this selfish bastard is going to California.” he puts his backpack on and starts to walk away.

No. This can’t be happening. “Dean,” I say desperately, he has to apologize or stop him so they can talk it out. This isn’t my place but I can’t watch this happen. He looks out at his brother, “Sam, come on. You’re not serious”

“I am serious.” Sam responds, still walking away.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean yells out, “Hey, we’re taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking, turning around, “That’s what I want you to do.”

I let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is wrong with you both?! Just talk it out, we can come to some sort of agreement or—or reason with each other.” I practically beg. Both their eyes fall to me but Dean just responds with, “He’s made up his mind” his eyes turn back towards his brother, “Goodbye Sam.”

I stand frozen, eyes wide, this is not happening.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist, his hand warm despite the cold night, practically dragging me to the passenger side of the car. He waits for me to sit and buckle myself before closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. He gets in, putting the car in drive.

I watch Sam turn back around and walk away in the car's side mirror. Dean must have been watching too because he slams his fist on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, and then does it again and again. I place my hand over his just as it connects with the steering wheel again. “Dean…” I say softly, but it comes out more like a plea. His hand goes still under mine, and when I turn my face to look at him, his eyes are glossy.

He does not turn to look at me though, keeping his eyes straight ahead at the dark road. “Dean” I say weakly, letting out a shaky breath feeling my own eyes welling up, “please, stop the car.” He listens, slamming on the brakes, my body jolting at the sharp stop. He snaps his head towards me, “Why so you could leave too?!”

I lean away from him retracting my hand, placing it on my lap, “No” I say quietly. But his reaction made me want to leave, the tears in my eyes finally fell over, spilling down my cheeks, “Do not take your anger out on me.” He sighs, turning his face away from me, cursing.

“I know you don’t want to hear this…but you must” I begin to say, having to pause to clear my voice of its shakiness, “I care for you both a lot but I’m so sick of you guys constantly fighting over something stupid when all you have to do is talk.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Dean snaps back, still looking away from me.

I huff, annoyed, “See! You get all standoffish instead of dealing with your emotions and I know that's what you’re used to but you don't have to be that way around me of all people.” He goes quiet, with no snappy comeback or even a grunt of annoyance. His jaw clenches and I wonder if that's from anger, trying to hold back tears, or both. “What if were destined to always hate each other,” he says quietly, and I know he means him and Sam. “He doesn't hate you, and I know you don't feel that way either,” I answer softly, even when I know what he truly means. He turns his head towards me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “Then why does he keep leaving?!” he says through gritted teeth the last word coming out as if he spit venom.

In truth, I can't possibly know what he feels. He raised Sam and was there every moment of every day. He saw him take his first step and say his first word, brought him to school, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe. I was more like Sam in that aspect, I was the youngest with an older brother who took care of me and looked out for me. Honestly more than our own Dad, maybe that’s why he and Dean got along together so well- a shared understanding.

So, no, I could not understand exactly what he felt, not even a fraction of it. But even despite that I reached my hand out carefully, my fingertips barely brushing his cheek before pausing giving him time to pull away and hide if he wanted to. He didn't. I cup his cheek, whipping away another tear that fell. His green eyes seemed softer then like his anger had diminished enough but still lay beneath the tears. I don't have all the answers, “I know it may not seem like it, but he isn't leaving you. He went off to college ‘cause he wanted a chance away from this life. Even now he is going in hopes of stopping what started this all, he’s going to come back…your brothers you can't escape each other even if you wanted to.”

It's not a solution, and I don't expect it to help. But all I can do is hope it eases something in him. He leans his face into my hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath in.

In one quick motion, I unbuckle my seat belt with my free hand. He must have known what I was going to do because he removed his face from my hand only to put the car in park, release his seat belt, and turn his body so I could hug him properly. I close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around his neck, his body immediately reacts to my movements. His head falls to the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls my body impossibly closer and tighter.

His breathing gives him away, his warm breath coming out uneven against my neck a wetness forming against where he resides. I don't say anything about him crying, or anything at all, I just move my hand up and down his back in soothing motions, hoping to ease him.

I do not know how I managed it but after he finished crying I got him to switch seats with me so he could rest while I drove. I've never driven the Impala before, maybe this was him showing me he trusted me even though I already knew he did, or maybe it was tiredness overtaking him. But the drive was pretty straightforward and it was dark so there wasn’t a worry about other cars.

He managed to drift off, which I was envious of but I was more proud of being able to drive Baby to notice my exhaustion. I even got to play music that wasn’t the usual rock songs he liked to play, which I don’t have any problem with but a change is nice sometimes (even if I played it very quietly so he could rest).

Just as we pulled into the small town he woke up, grumbling a “good morning” before staying silent the rest of the time. He went on his phone at one point, pulling up the contacts but ultimately he did not call anyone. “Ok, ready?” I ask, shutting off the car after pulling into a spot.

“Yeah” He nods, his voice still a little gravely from sleep. I hand him back his keys before exiting the car, the pure feeling of accomplishment pulling over me. I drove Baby accident-free and made it to the destination! I’m so good!!

We walked up to the only person in sight, an older man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in front of a café. Maybe it was too early for anyone else to be out, it certainly felt too early to be up though I guess I never really went to sleep.

“Let me guess,” Dean points to the store's sign that reads Scotty’s Café, “Scotty.” He looked proud of his stupid joke if you could even call it that, a dumb grin on his face. Scotty looks up at the sign and then back at us looking unamused, “Yep,”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham and this is Pat Phillips” Dean introduces us both, and I want to glare at him for using a member from a popular band's name but if Scotty doesn't know then the glaring would give it away.

But of course, our luck has long run out, “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?” He looks at Dean pointedly then at me, “And his wife?” Now I really do glare at him, I didn’t know Pat Phillips was Bonham's wife! I barely knew Bonham was the drummer for Led Zeppelin, only remembering because of Dean rambling about it. Dean looks at me, eyes raised as if to silently say he didn’t think he would know. He turns back to Scotty, shock clear on his face, “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.” Alright, he wasn’t even trying to deny it, great.

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks anyway and I’m surprised he didn’t completely write us off. Dean takes out two pieces of paper from his pocket, unfolding the missing person's flyers. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty takes the flyers, barely studying them before answering, “Nope. Who are they?” Huh, that was a little weird, I would think he would want to think harder about it. I study the older man but his face reveals nothing, no fear in his eyes.

“They’re really close friends of ours, honestly we’re worried,” I explained while trying to test him, if he is responsible and he knows friends are looking for them and hasn’t given up he might crack a little. “They’ve been missing for a year now, passed somewhere through here. And we already asked around Salem and Scottsburg—“ But he doesn't let me finish my list, “Sorry.” He hands back the flyers to Dean, “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Once more his eyes and face reveal nothing but still something about him is coming off weird.

“Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, ‘anybody ever tell you that?” Dean tells him, earning a glare from the man himself. Dean chuckles, amusing himself at this point, “Never mind. See you around.”

I wait until we’re back in the car to say something, Dean taking his rightful place in the driver's seat, “Is it me or was that guy acting weird about this all?”

“Nah, he just doesn't have expressions,” Dean responds. I laughed, “That is not what I meant!”, I turned in my seat to face him, “Okay if someone came to you and was all like ‘my friend went missing and she’s been gone a long time and I think she passed through here do you know anything.’ Wouldn’t you really study the photo and try and think back, especially cause it’s a year ago. Scotty barely looked at the photo!”

He seems to contemplate what I said, “ ‘Could also just be a jerk.” he responds. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Dean.”

“Alright, you could be onto something sweetheart. We’ll keep asking around.”

Our next stop is a sort of Gas Station, all road trip essentials lining the walls from maps to mixed nuts. Aka the perfect place someone would stop at on their trip. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean asks the older couple working.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?” The man who introduced himself as Harley responded.

“Yes, dear friends,” I answered.

“Did the guy have a tattoo?” A sweet blonde girl probably around our age asks, coming down the nearby stairs with a large box in her hand, her face just barely visible. “Yes, he did,” Dean responds. She puts the boxes on the counter and looks at the picture of the dark haired Vince then back up at the couple, “You remember? They were just married.”

Harley’s eyes suddenly widened making a little ‘oh’ sound, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here’ more than ten minutes.” Dean and I shared a look, now this guy wanted to suddenly remember. “You remember anything else?” Dean pushes further.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.” Harley answers, finally sharing some truth. These townspeople were strange. “Would you be able to point us the same way?” I ask him, eyeing him carefully.

“Sure.”

Dean drives down the long road, slower than usual, both of us looking for anything unusual or suspicious. There was undoubtedly something going on whether it was supernatural or not. But there wasn’t much near us, just trees and endless roads.

We pass by what looks to be an orchard, apples hanging from the lush trees.

If I was kidnapping and possibly killing people I would choose somewhere along this Interstate, it was practically dead and no one would suspect anyone driving here even late at night. My thoughts are cut off by a violent buzzing noise coming from just behind me, most likely in the back seat. I turn to Dean, giving him a confused look, he turns his head to the back of the car looking instead of the road. “Dean. Road” I remind him, his eyes going back where they belong.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shifting myself so that I was kneeling on the seat. I lean over the back seat, having to drop down low to reach his duffle bag, the top of the seat digging into my gut. My ass is definitely sticking up in the air and most likely close to Dean, but I ignore the embarrassment of that idea as I shuffle through his bag. I move one of his shirts around, finding the cause of the loud noise, “It’s your EMF” I call out hoping he can hear me even with my head still buried in the little space between the floor of the car and the backseat. I grab the box, the medal heavy in my hand.

I lift myself up and back to my seat half turned and sitting on my legs, it continues to buzz violently, the meter blaring to the red. “‘Think it’s the orchard” he announces, pulling the car off to the side of the road. We venture into the trees.

The ground was soft beneath my shoes, a light morning dew still clinging to the grass. If this was any other day or occasion I’d say it’s a rather nice orchard but the EMF has not stopped, and I think if it could go any further red it certainly would be there.

The trees were all lined up, apples scattered about the ground and a potent scent of rotten fruit following it. From where we pulled over it wasn’t hard to find the middle of the orchard, the trees cut down in almost a circle, except some paths that broke away in various directions.

A tall post stood in the middle, a creepy scarecrow on it. It looked rather human and full rather than stuffed with straw. Its face looked like a mask with stitches adorning it and hollow eyes, greasy long hair flowing from beneath his fedora. The only scarecrow-like thing about him was the fact he was tied to a wooden post and had a sort of jumper with patches on it, though the added black trench coat contradicted this. And in his hand was a sickle, what was meant to be used for agriculture only made him that much creepy.

Its head was leaned down, and looking up at it made it only seem like he was staring down at us with those empty eyes. “Dude, you're fugly.” Dean says out loud and I almost expect the thing to move or respond, but it doesn't. “Maybe you should say sorry to him.” I practically mumble to Dean. If it came to life I didn’t want a target on his back for insulting it, or mine if it thought I was guilty by association.

“Why would I say sorry?” he counters.

“So that he doesn't kill you if it comes to life!”

“I think it’d kill us either way”

Rationally I knew he was right, but the thought of something like a doll or in this case a scarecrow coming to life creeped me out a little too much, “Good point, but he is horrifying.”

“Yeah, horrifyingly ugly” He chuckles at his own joke, a stupid smile on his face. I try to hide my own laughing, not wanting to encourage him.

“I think I see something,” He murmurs. He moves back, turning to the closest tree with a ladder against it. He picks it up as if it weighs nothing, placing it right next to the scarecrow. He climbs it until he’s at eye level with the thing. I watch his eyes fall to the hand that held the sickle, his gaze at its wrist. Its sleeve ripped a bit revealing leathered “skin” and a sort of design.

I wrack my brain for any customs or cultures that decorate scarecrows beyond just its clothing and face, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Why would anyone put a design on a scarecrow's wrist?

Dean pulls out a paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding it swiftly before placing it near the thing, comparing the two. “Look who has a nice tat.” he says, turning the paper down so I could see. He held Vince’s missing poster, the young man holding a mug in his hand the perfect pose to see his tattoo. Detailed ink with all sorts of shapes I could even begin to describe, I look back up at the scarecrows tattoo. The two are the exact same, far too alike to be any sort of coincidence.

“Nice tat indeed.”

We immediately got in the car and turned around back to the town. Something was going on and someone was causing it. Now Dean pulls the car into the local gas station. Turning it off and exiting, I nearly stay put in the passenger seat until I see the same blonde girl from before walking up to the car. We needed answers and she seemed to be the only one willing to help.

I exit the car, keeping the door open as I lean my arms on the roof of the car. “You’re back” she greeted, smiling. “Never left.” He replies smoothly.

“Still looking for your friends?” She asks, acknowledging us both. “Yup, call it stubbornness or what have you but we aren’t given up.” I respond, still pushing the same agenda as before. “I’d call that a good friend,” she smiles.

I don’t think she’s involved in all this, she’s willing to answer our questions when no one else was and she seemed to genuinely care. If she was involved then she was quite the actor. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” Dean asks her, nodding his head towards the car. The nameplate necklace she wore came into view as she grabbed the pump and began to fill the tank. That’s how he knew her name.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, starting back up conversation.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.” She explains shortly.

“They’re nice people.” Dean replies plainly. She nods as she speaks, “Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?” Dean shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it.” she pauses for a moment, “I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean turns his head towards me, giving me a look. This definitely was weird, I mean how could every town around them be failing but not here?Were they making sacrifices to the scarecrow? It would make sense considering its tattoo. Dean turns back around to Emily, “Hey, you been out to the orchard? ‘You seen that scarecrow?” We were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, it creeps me out.” She answers her nose scrunching. “You can say that again” I laugh, “Do you know who owns it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” She shrugs.

He nods to something behind her, I turn my gaze to it, my eyes landing on a red van parked by a garage, “That your aunt and uncle’s?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “Customer. Had some car troubles.” That’s a little too convenient, “Is it a couple by any chance? A guy and a girl?” I ask, worried that they might be the town's next victims.

She nods even as her face twists with confusion, “Mmhmm.”

As soon as the Impala's tank was filled, and Emily gestured toward the couple's location, we wasted no time heading straight there. Dean opens the glass door for me, the little welcome bell ringing above us. I walk in first, immediately being hit with the sweet smell of baked goods, the culprit of it being a thick piece of apple pie that Scotty delivered to a couple sitting by the window.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. Can I get a coffee, black?” Dean greets, walking in behind me, adding “And a green tea…actually while you’re at it some of that pie too.” I have to hold back the smile that wants to escape onto my face, he was being slightly annoying on purpose which is proved further when Scotty gives him a nasty look before walking away. But beyond that I’m surprised Dean knew what I wanted, yes I drank tea quite often but how did he know I was feeling that flavor in particular?

He moves to sit at a table right next to the couple, I sit in the chair next to him trying to come up with a conversation starter for the people only a table away. I mean how do you say ‘hey you’re in danger! haha, please leave town’ to someone without them thinking you're actually insane? I am pulled out of my thoughts at the feeling of my chair moving, a soft scratching noise below it. Immediately I see Deans hand at the side of my chair, pulling me closer to him without saying or looking at me.

I try to ignore his strange antics and the butterflies that flutter in the depths of my stomach at his movement as he talks to the dark haired couple, “How ya doin’?” God for someone whose usually so smooth he was being so awkward. They share a weird look clearly looking uncomfortable before waving and smiling. But their uninterest in starting a conversation with strangers is very obvious as the girl leans closer to her boyfriend placing her arm up to lean her head on as if to block us out.

“Just passing through?” Dean continues, ignoring their reactions. “Road trip.” The girl answers plainly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Hm.” Dean hums his hand suddenly finding my thigh. My heart lurches, my leg twitching slightly at the sudden movement but he just gives me a little squeeze before readjusting his hold. Splaying his warm hand against my thigh, his fingers hooking onto the inside of my leg as he pulls them apart slightly, the gap just big enough to hold my thigh comfortably. He gives me another squeeze as if he was testing the feel of me again…oh god.

My brain seemed to short circuit, any logical thoughts I had turning into a mass space of blankness and static. I swallowed roughly, my heart beating out of my chest and the butterflies in my stomach flying frantically in warmth. This was just for a cover, if we acted as a couple too then they might feel more comfortable and inclined to talk with us, I try to reason with myself. But god when did my face get all warm? Stay focused Y/N, stay focused, I repeat to myself in my head. This wasn’t the time. Can’t be thinking of my feelings for him or the fact that this was only making me feel more desperate for him. Stay focused.

“Us too” He adds, and I have to think for a second what he’s talking about…Oh yes, we are also on a road trip, yeah.

Scotty walks over with a pitcher of something brownish orange, maybe it was apple cider considering this town clearly has a large supply of it. He moves right past us, refilling the couples cups, “I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.” he scolds us.

“Just a little friendly conversation.” Dean smiles up at the grumpy man who begins to walk away, “Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty just stares at him, the scowl on his face deepening, but he doesn't say anything as he walks away fully. “So, what brings you to town?” I ask softly, a sweet smile on my face in hopes of erasing the awkwardness in the air.

The girl answers, “We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Aw, really!” I respond trying to sound amused.

The guy answers this time, “Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“That’s really sweet” I nod with a smile even as concern eats at me. They were definitely going to be the next victims. But I’m also terribly confused, I have no idea what he was talking about. I'm guessing a broken brake line means you won’t be able to stop the car but I didn’t know it could leak…

“Yeah.” The man nods trying to go back to his food.

All at once it hits me, I nearly want to kick myself for not thinking about it right away. I want to blame it on Dean's hand placement but it was most likely my lack of sleep because I was in fact enjoying his hand on my thigh…

This small town in Indiana was practicing Pagan rituals, and as much as I hate to admit it learning about Pagans was one of my favorite things to do.

“So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?” Dean asks them.

“Sundown.”

It was common in Paganism to sacrifice something or someone to the gods. It was a time where they didn’t understand why certain things happened like crops dying, so they blamed this on not respecting the Gods enough. When the real cause could have been for a number of reasons from lack of water to not crop rotating…

“Really.” Dean pauses for a minute, “To fix a brake line?” He receives a nod. “I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.” He offers.

…However in terms of supernatural beings when these sacrifices were made it did work, whether or not it was the Gods “cursing” them or just not understanding agriculture. Either way it did work, the gods answered, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the payout which is why they typically did human sacrifices, sometimes even on a mass scale.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” The girl replies, looking nervously at her boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” I chime in, “He really is good, I mean you should see the level of care he puts into his own car. ‘Keeping it all good even though it’s decades older than him, he even keeps my old car in check.” I knew with every word I was stroking his ego, but it was true. Beyond his own car I can count on two hands the amount of times he helped with my old Volkswagen Beetle, he’s probably the reason why it still works.

In the corner of my eye I can see his cocky sexy grin, he squeezes my thigh once more and my thoughts fizzle out again as a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my gut. Jesus Christ, Dean Winchester will be the death of me without knowing.

“Yeah we’re sure” The girl insists.

“Sure.” Dean pauses, his smile dropping, “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.” I guess he figures they won’t listen any other way. The couple exchanged a look, “I’m sorry?”

Dean leans in closer, “I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”

The man finally snaps, looking annoyed, “Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean says disappointingly, "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d just buy right into it.” The couple looks at him strangely.

The bell above the door rings and I figure we don’t have much time left, “Look we aren’t trying to bother you and ruin your day, okay, I’m sorry.” I start, looking back at the Sheriff who had walked in. I lean in, speaking just low enough for them to hear, “But you really are in danger, for the last couple of years couples have gone missing this time of year repeatedly withou—“

“I’d like a word with you both.” The sheriff practically booms. I go quiet giving the couple a warning look both to say to listen to what I said and to not bring anything up now, they look scared and hesitant.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already, ‘m just tryna make it better with my girlfriend” Dean reasons, I know it’s a lie but the way the word slipped so easily from his lips made my heart flutter.

“You know what would make it worse?” The sheriff replies. Dean releases his hold on my thigh, a tingling feeling taking its place. We got up and followed the man outside then following his orders, he was going to follow us out of town and we weren’t allowed back.

We drive down the interstate, both knowing we would turn back once it was clear. But for now we trudge toward passing by a sign that says ‘Thanks for visiting Burkittsville.’ I check the side mirror, the sheriff making a U-turn, heading back to town. Great.

“Should we find a motel nearby and return at night?” I ask, knowing the couple wouldn’t have a car to leave with ‘till sundown.

“Yeah, you need sleep” He hums. I wonder if he’s saying that because he knows I haven't slept at all. “Unfortunately I will not be sleeping ‘cause I have a very good idea on what’s going on and I wanna research further” I answer, opening up the glovebox to pull out the map that resided there.

I unfold it, tracking down Indiana and then the small town we just left, following the colored lines. “I think if we stay straight we’ll be at a rest stop in about 15 mins” I mumble, hopefully reading it right.

“Anyways!” I place the map down in my lap, “I’m very sure this town is sacrificing the couples to a Pagan God.”

“‘Thinking the same,” He answers.

“Okay, good. Now I'm not 100% sure i’m right on which one it is ‘cause there’s a lot of agricultural Gods as well as Gods of the woods, but the second I can search it up I’ll confirm it.” I ramble, talking with my hands.

“To be honest, sweetheart, ‘don’t know much about Norse Gods except the basics.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I got this” I beam.

I grumble for the fifth time typing different wording into the search bar. I want to scream as the page turns blank, the only words on the screen being ‘No Results.’

“What is it?” Dean asks from where he lays in his bed his fathers journal open, looking for anything on Norse Gods.

“Somehow there is nothing on Vanir Gods and when I mean nothing I mean nothing!” I get up from my bed walking the short distance to his, I climb on it putting my legs beneath me. I turned my laptop towards him, showing him the screen, “See!”

His eyebrows scrunch up looking just as confused as I feel, “I know we aren’t in the town anymore but do you think it’s somehow related?” I ask.

“Maybe. We aren’t that far from Burkittsville” He answers, taking my laptop and searching up ‘Books about Vanir Gods’ but again the same message pops up ‘No Results.’

He types in ‘Books about Norse Gods’ a couple searches pop up the main one being a thick book only available in a college in Burkittsville. “That’s so strange.” I mumble, I mean how could they be interfering with the internet.

“If they can make sacrifices to a god I’m guessing they could mess with google of all things. We’ll go there later” Dean responds and I’m sure he means after making sure the couple is safe. He closes my laptop, “You should sleep, I’ll wake you”

I studied him for a moment, and he was right. I should sleep, it sounds wonderful actually. I nod getting up, I don’t even bother changing into comfortable clothes or even taking off my bra I just crawl underneath the covers of my bed. “Good night, Dean.” But it was hardly close to night time.

He smiles, “ ‘Night baby.”

Dean sped down the interstate, the sun was nearly down and we would have been there on time if not for all the semi trucks in the truck stop not knowing how to exit. You really think it wouldn’t be so hard.

Continuing by the vast orchard, we scanned for a red van parked on the side, hoping to beat them there.

After some more driving, we eventually stumbled upon the deserted car, devoid of anyone. He stopped the car short even as we still had multiple feet between us and the vacant van.

He turns the car off and I meet him by the trunk, he hands me a shotgun, “Go through here, cut ‘em off--get in front” he rattles off the plan as he cocks his own gun. I nod, cocking my gun before shutting the trunk as he takes the lead.

I catch up to him, running at his side, passing through each tree as my shoes crush the fallen apples with a satisfying crunch.

I squint my eyes, the dark haired couple too far away to get there before the dark figure of the scarecrow does. It was a clear distance away, I could bring us there in a moment's time. I’ve practiced this sort of distance before, it was doable, and nothing like the asylum. “Get ready to shoot 45 degrees to your left” I shouted, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's shoulder. He meets my eyes with a look of determination hard in his irises. I focus back ahead on the target, forcing my energy there.

The air ripples around us even as we continue to run, in a blink of an eye we’re in front of the couple. A loud shot rings out, Dean shoots the thing square in the chest. But all it does is stumble back before it continues to walk forward.

Its head was tilted slightly, that greasy hair dangling on his shoulders, the sickle gripped tightly in its leathery hand. “Get back to your car!” I yell behind me, “Go!” I looked behind me for a split second, they were running and we weren’t too far from the orchards clearing.

Almost at the same time Dean and I start walking backward away from the horrifying thing. I raise my shotgun up, shooting it right in its chest as Dean cocks his gun again. But these salt bullets were doing nothing and was hardly buying us time, “Get ready to run!” Dean orders as he shoots the thing again.

Not needing to tell me twice I shift my footing, running towards the clearing right after the couple. Beyond Dean's own shoes hitting the ground hard next to me I could hear the subtle click of its boots walking the ground. Now I know how every character in Halloween felt as Myers went after them.

I do the thing that you should never do in a horror movie and turn my head to see how close the scarecrow was. It couldn’t be more than 10 feet away, “Screw this” I mumble, twisting my footing again so I could walk backwards as it came towards us. I uncomfortably hold the gun in the crook of my arm as I extend my hands forward, effortlessly calling upon my abilities as I shoot out pure energy from my hands.

The scarecrow goes flying what seems like 100 or more feet, landing harshly on its back. I want to celebrate and get all cocky but this was dealing with Norse Gods and I didn’t particularly feel like getting on their nerves at the moment.

I make it to the clearing, my chest heaving from the running and use of powers. Man, water would be good right now.

A familiar arm wraps around my shoulder, the crook of his arm touching my neck as he brings me into his side. His chest heaves too, “Good job.” The praise makes my heart swell but the sweet moment is cut off by the man in the couple panting, “What—what the hell was that?” He points between the orchard and me. Double yikes.

“Don’t ask.” Dean responds.

We sit in the Impala just outside of town so we wouldn’t technically get in trouble.

After helping the couple officially leave, thank god, we went back to the motel. It would be hours until the college opened so we really just had to wait. We ate at some all night diner before showering and sleeping for a couple more hours. We woke early, I threw on some low rise black jeans and a fitted black & gray long sleeve baseball tee, heading out to grab some coffee before heading back close to town to wait.

Dean had called Sam, placing his phone on speaker and positioning it in the middle of the dashboard so we could both hear and speak. He called his brother on his own accord to talk about the “hunt” and I didn’t dare say anything about it knowing he would just brush it off. The call was certainly more than just letting him know how the hunt was going. “The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town.” Dean muses, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam responded concerned.

“God no” I scuff.

“We can cope without you, you know.” Dean adds.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam theorizes.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” Dean answers.

“What makes you say that?”

I answer this time, “There’s a lot that points to it, from annual cycle killings to the choice of victims. And I’m sure you know human sacrifices were common in Paganism especially when it comes to fertility. There were even mass sacrifices to even protect them and or help them with wars.”

I begin to speak with my hands again, getting more animated as I get excited, “And according to a local all the towns around them are failing in multiple degrees especially in agriculture, while Burkittsville remains flourishing largely in their apple department. As seen not only through their extensive orchard but their numerous apple products, they practically gloat upon it.”

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean adds in.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean answers, “Yeah, we’re thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…” Sam starts, Dean adding in with their usual weird finishing each other's sentences, “And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks.

“Well, there’s hundreds of Gods.” I answer, “But it will most likely align with Norse Paganism which are broken up into two sections one of them being Vanir Gods. From what I remember they’re Gods of fertility, wealth, wisdom and two other things. I don’t remember too much and unfortunately there’s an issue with the internet so I can’t even confirm my theory.”

Sam laughs, “What do you mean issue?”

“Long story,” Dean responds, “But we’re on our way to a local community college, they have a book on Norse Gods there. You know, since we don’t have our geek boy to figure out the issue with the internet crap.”

Sam laughs again, “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hinting anything.” Dean replies quickly with a fake annoyance to his voice, “Actually, uh—“ He looks at me as if he isn’t sure what to say, I nod my head encouragingly, “I want you to know….I mean, don’t think….”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam says seriously, seemingly knowing what his brother was struggling to say.

Dean looks to his hands cradling his coffee cup to straight ahead through the windshield, “Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” I don’t try to bite back my smile, he wasn’t looking to begin with, either way I was proud of him.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, probably never expecting to hear that.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—“ He cuts himself off, sighing, “anyway….I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam says quietly.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Call me when you find Dad.”

“Ok.” Sam responds, though he sounds upset, "Bye, Dean.”

He collects his phone from the dashboard, hanging up. He catches me staring, “What?” I don’t answer, just smile at him, “No. Don’t give me that happy go lucky sweet look.”

“Oh come on!” I laugh, “That was really sweet of you Dean! So can’t a girl be proud of her boy.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his coffee in the cupholder before crossing his arms across his chest, but his face gives him away a light pink gracing his cheeks. “You are a sweetie pie” I declare, placing a hand on his shoulder. He removes one of his arms from their own hold, placing a warm hand on top of mine, grasping it gently to remove it, “I’m not.” he bites. His tough boy act was so cute.

“If you say so” I shrug, the smile on my face giving away the fact that this wasn’t me giving up on the fact he was a total softy. He turns his head away, facing his window, mumbling something incoherent.

I want to start skipping into the library, who knew a community college would have such a nice one. Though to be fair I would say any library was nice as long as it was in good shape. I make my way to the librarian's desk, “Hello!” I greet, my excitement getting the best of me, “Could you point us to the books on Paganism? Or even just Norse mythology?”

The old woman at the desk looks at me a little strangely, maybe I came off too strong. But her expression contorts into a small smile, “One of our dear old professors would have those sorts of books, lucky for you sweetie I think he’s free right now. I can just give him a little call.”

I look back at Dean, who stands a little bit behind me, he shrugs, I guess it wouldn’t hurt talking to a professor about this. Especially if it meant looking at that book.

I turn back to the old librarian, “Yes please.” But she already placed the phone back in its holder, “He’ll be right down.” Oh. Okay, this woman works fast. “You can take a seat there, it’ll be a moment” she points to just behind us at a mostly empty table. “Thank you!” I smile.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” Professor Williams says, as he leads us to his classroom.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean responds, not sounding all that amused.

“Well what are you looking for in particular?” The older man asks.

“Uh, local lore, maybe” Dean answers, looking at me to jump in at any time but I don’t know if I want to put all my eggs in one basket. We had to choose who we could trust here, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with the nice librarian but doing so made getting to the book easier. I hope. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.” He answers.

I can already feel this being a painfully slow lead to the answer, “You know, actually,” I began, “I was interested in the Vanir Gods. It struck me the other day and when I can’t get an easy answer for something I go digging.” The professor stops in his tracts, turning to face me, “Very well. I was not expecting to hear such a clear topic.”

I laugh a little uncomfortably, “I just like to learn.”

We follow him down the rest of the long hallway into his classroom. A small room with desks and chairs lined in order while a large whiteboard rested on the long wall. He beckons us over to his desk, a thick and long brown leather bound book lying there, “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages seeking what seems to be the chapter he’s looking for, “Ah ha, there we are” he declares, turning the book towards us.

I read the first page quickly, breezing through information I already knew. I turn to the next page only to be met with a picture of a scarecrow-like thing on a post in a field with farmers surrounding it. I read out loud the text just below the image, “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.”

I looked up from the book catching Dean's eyes, this was definitely it. “This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean asks, gaze flipping to the man in question.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” He answers not all that helpfully.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” Dean questions further. He’s really just putting it all out there. The professor laughs, “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yes of course” I fake laugh along with him, “My, uh, friend here just loves the hypotheticals, you know?”

“I do,” Dean nods seriously. The professor just looks at us strangely. God I really hope he just thinks we’re weird people. “Listen, thank you very much.” Dean says, holding out his hand. The professor takes it, giving what seems like a firm handshake before offering one to me, “Yes, thank you so much,” I say sincerely, taking his hand for a single awkward handshake.

I follow Dean to the door, an odd feeling settling itself in my gut as if something was about to happen. He opens the door and the feeling spikes, my heart jumping at the simple action. What the hell. I want to ignore it, push it to the back of mind and chalk it up to just random anxiety. But I can’t, genuine fear twists itself around within me, clawing at the walls of my stomach as if to warn me. Just as my foot breeches the hallway everything in me screams to turn around.

I listen to my body, turning around as I take a half step back, a large book only inches from my face. A small breathy squeak leaves my lips as I duck, a loud bang and tumble coming from beside me. This was a trap.

Using my bent knees as leverage as well as the attackers stumbling at missing me, I latch on to their forearms pushing up and out still holding on tightly as I lift my leg and kick. My foot connects with the soft expanse of the person's stomach, letting go of his arms at the same time. It was no doubt the professor as he was the only one in the room with us. I watch him stumble backwards, knocking into his desk roughly.

My brain works quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The bang and tumble I heard must have been someone attacking Dea—I twisted my upper body to the right, catching the sheriff's wrist before the blunt of his gun could hit me too. I didn’t need to look to know he already got Dean. God this town was crooked.

I bring his arm down closer to my level, twisting it in an attempt to put it behind him, but he uses his free hand to left hook me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. I let go of his arm at the action, my hand instinctively going to my cheek that stinged until something cold clinked onto my wrist. I knew it was handcuffs but my eyes went to my wrist anyways just as he clicked into place the other half of the cuff.

He looked smug, as if he had won. He must have been stupid. Not that it changed much but my hands were cuffed in front of me, magic aside it couldn’t have stopped me. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a ‘seriously?’ look before kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, immediately he doubles over holding onto his crotch with teary eyes. I guess you could add assaulting a police officer to my list of crimes, he may have been a sheriff but it probably still counted.

He would be down at least for a minute or more so I turned back to the professor who seemed to be stalking closer with the same book raised as if he was trying to kill a bug. The second my eyes landed on him he stopped moving, I foiled his plan. “Could you stop with the book?!” I exclaim. He seems to contemplate what I said, his eyes slipping from me to something behind me. He was not good at this fighting thing.

Thin but strong arms wrap around me, forcing my arms to my chest. I flailed around trying to shake the guy off, I didn’t want to use my magic yet. The less they knew the better. “Watch, she’s a kicker” the professor warns. “I know” the somewhat familiar voice of the sheriff huffed from behind me, his chest rumbling with each word. His chest was rising and falling fast, I wonder if he fully recovered from my crotch attack or if he was pushing through.

All at once I stop flailing, a smirk making its way on my face, and before anyone can do or say anything more I bite down hard on the sheriff's hand, my neck bending at a weird angle to reach him. He yells letting me go to hold his wounded limb.

I take a couple steps away from both of them, “I’m also a biter,” I muse. I look between both men, neither of them seeming to know what to do. They hadn’t expected this. “Which one of you wants to go next?” I point between either of them, the handcuffs rattling with my movement, “ ‘cause I can go all day, baby.”

They look at each other, worried in their eyes. The sheriff's throat bobbed with a hard auditable gulp. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared” I tease, smirking viciously, I was having too much fun with this.

The sheriff reaches slowly for his gun, the one he must have put back after I kicked him. I watch him do it, he’d pull it but wouldn’t shoot and ask me to stand down or come with him. He expects me to be afraid of the gun, at the prospect of being shot which is why he assumes it would work. He pulls it out, holding it firmly out in front of him aiming for my chest, “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!” he yells. How predictable.

The smirk on my face only deepens, I lift an eyebrow at him, “If you wanted me on my knees so badly you could’ve just asked.” I was never usually so flirty or straightforward, but this was just so fun. I knew I was getting cocky. Maybe I was hanging around Dean too much. “Knees now!” He yells again. At this point he was just feeding me these easy openings. A laugh escapes my lips, I must look like a psychopath.

He readjusts the gun in his hand, his finger scooting back towards the trigger, but he couldn’t shoot, not when they wanted to use Dean and I as sacrifices. “Last chance!” He warns. Last chance indeed.

I catch my eyes flaring purple in his shiny revolver, a look of horror and confusion apparent on his face. A look I was used to, and as much as it normally would upset me I could use it now. The air fizzled around me, maybe I was getting better at this, in a blink of an eye I was right behind him. I kick the back of his knee, the man buckling under his own weight, his gun going off. The bullet hits the ceiling light right above where I stood only moments before.

Shards of glass fall, the light flickering for dominance before eventually going dark. I easily grasp the gun from his hand, turning the safety back on before sliding it across the floor out of the room. Without a plan to actually hurt the man, I used what he gave me, pressing the linked chains of the handcuffs to his neck as I brought the back of his head to my stomach.

He grunts against my hold his hands trying to pry the chain off as his eyes search the professors for help, but his partner backs away hands up in defense. I loosen up my hold, I wasn’t trying to severely hurt the guy or kill him for that matter. “‘Had enough?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Suddenly a soft plush material is pressed to my face, I move to fight or teleport away but my limbs suddenly feel too heavy and my eyes begin to droop. My body feels like it’s falling even as I stand in place, I think. My eyes begin to flutter close, my legs giving out on me. The world turns black.

My head feels fuzzy. My eyes are too heavy to open just yet. It smelt bad, a musty smell combined with a farm-like smell. The ground was comfortable.

I try to open my eyes but they flutter shut again. Someones calling my name, they’re too far away…need to come closer. My head was pounding.

Something suddenly brushes into my hair repeatedly. Even still half gone, fear spikes in me. My eyes shoot open, my upper body jolting up into a seated position. Familiar hands hold my shoulders as I sway, the room seeming to move back and forth, “It's okay, you’re okay” Dean says soothingly. I stare at him, his features becoming less and less blurry as I blink.

He cups my face gently, his fingers barely brushing against my skin. He seems to study me, most likely noting the bruise that is undoubtedly forming where I was hit. His thumb brushes over my wounded cheekbone gently, yet even so I wince sucking in a breath between my teeth. “Sorry” he mumbles, meeting my eyes. I hum, my tongue feeling too heavy to utter a word. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

I swallow, trying to force my tongue to work enough to answer but my words still come out too quietly, “You went down first. I fought, but I think someone else came. They covered my mouth with a thingy, maybe they used, um, what is it called?” My thoughts felt all jumbled still, fog covering the expanse of my brain. My head was killing me too much to think straight. He practically scowls, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, “Chloroform” he answers. I smile weakly, “yeah that.”

I want to lay down. The room was still spinning, my head hurt. This was embarrassing, I had gotten all confident before– feeling invincible only to be drugged. I remove Dean's hands from my face, holding them instead as I place them on his lap. I looked around us, the room might be moving but it was obvious enough it was some sort of basement. No, a cellar. It was dark and empty, except for the straws of hay lying around. And just across from us was a small staircase up to what seemed like cellar doors. “It's locked,” Dean says, noticing my stare. Of course it is.

But if I could just right my mind, clear the fog, I could get us out easy peasy. Almost as if I willed it, the cellar doors creek open. The sunlight floods through, I try to block it with my hand, the sudden light worsening my headache if that was even possible. I need Advil. Dean lets go of my hand getting up quickly, just watching the quick movement makes me want to vomit. I blink slowly, following suit, with a lot of stumbling I make it to my feet even as it feels like the room is pulling me down.

Four jerks stand just outside the cellar, Harley and Stacy, Scotty, and the Sheriff. Harley moves close to the stairs as if he's about to descend them before getting abruptly stopped by the Sheriff, “I wouldn’t, she's feisty.” Dean laughs at that, my assault on the man very apparent by the various bruises he displayed. I would smirk or laugh too if it didn't feel like I was using all my energy to keep me standing. Harley knocks the Sheriff's hand off but makes no move to get closer, “She’s also still drugged” he bites. “Wrong,” I pointed a finger up, feeling more like a drunk as I spoke, “This would be the side effects or aftermath of Chloroform.” All four of them looked at me blankly, maybe I was wrong. I don't know.

“I hope you both know this is for the common good,” Stacy nods. I furrow my eyebrows, “Thanks for the preaching, lady. It really eases the brain into all this sacrificial nonsense.”

“That's enough” she replies rather calmly before nodding to the others. They begin to close the cellar doors, darkness enveloping us. I sat down rather quickly, landing on my butt harshly, “I'm surprised you didn't say anything snarky to them.”

“You were more entertaining” He answers with a half shrug. He tries the cellar door again but of course it's locked, he huffs moving to sit next to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder. He speaks softly now so as not to disturb my throbbing head, “Where do you think this important tree would be?” He was referring to the tree we would have to destroy in order to kill the scarecrow, and it was a good question. “Hm” I hum, “It would be the oldest tree here, probably the most protected. Maybe the first immigrants brought it over here, so it’s wherever they would plant it. I would say in the middle.” He nods and I swear I could hear the gears in his head turning.

The cellar doors open again, Stacy coming into view “It’s time.” I want to ask why they didn't just take us the first time they opened the doors but I guess waiting to die a little later was better than sooner. I remove my head from Dean's shoulder, do we fight? It would be 4 against 2 except I wasn't completely okay. But we could fight, right? I mean we always make it out, we always wind up fine.

Harley and the Sheriff come down the stairs, the Sheriff watches me carefully as he lifts Dean forcefully up. Harley doesn't show any remorse as he grips my forearm tightly, lifting me to my feet before grabbing my other arm roughly holding them behind my back. I struggle against him attempting to step hard on his foot as he forces me up the stairs behind Dean.

Real fear twirled itself around me, were we not going to fight?

They drag us forward deeper into the orchard, I dig my heels into the dirt trying to slow it down as much as I can. I’m scared. I don't want to die. I don't want to be sacrificed to some god. Please. Please. My headache needs to go away, let me use my powers without pain. I struggle against him more, trying to let my magic seep into anything around me but immediately my headache worsens by ten folds. I grunt in frustration, trying to shake the older man off further but he only tightens his grip. I hope bruises won't come from it, not that it would matter if I died today. I close my eyes tightly, digging my heels in further, please. Please. Anything, please.

Harley pushes me forward effortlessly. I don't want to die. Please. Please.

The ground begins to rumble, shaking violently. Apples tumble from the trees hitting the ground with a bunch of thumps. My heart beats wildly in my chest as if it's trying to jump out and run away. His grip loosens on me as he freezes in place, “It's angry at us!” Stacy yells covering her head. I wiggle out of Harleys hold, taking a couple steps away as my legs wobble like the ground. A familiar click locks into place, I come face to face with a gun, “It’s not causing this. It's her” the Sheriff accuses.

“Dont touch her” Dean yells, struggling against Scotty's hold. The Sheriff must have passed him on to hold me at gunpoint for the second time today. “I'm not doing anything” I spit, the shaking ground growing more intense.

“Your eyes are glowing again” he states. “What are you talking about?” I nearly yell, I think I would know if I was using my own abilities. Plus I've never done anything like this before so how would I be able to do so now?

Before I can react he has my hair wrapped in his fist, pulling my head back forcefully a hiss of pain escaping my lips. It felt like it was going to rip itself right from the roots. “Dont you fucking hurt her!” Dean roars. The ground seems to become more violent, the large trees themselves shaking where they stood while everyone nearly stumbles over. He pulls my hair hard, my neck snapping back as he moves his shiny gun in front of me, showing me its side.

My only slightly blurred reflection stares back at me. My cheekbone had a dark bruise painted there and my eyes were–

My irises were purple. No. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't controlling this. I wasn't making it happen, I've never done this before. The Sheriff pushes me forward letting go of my hair at the last minute, I fall to my knees only a foot away from him. The barrel of the gun is pressed into the back of my skull, “Make it stop or I'll make you stop” he threatens. I can hear Dean struggle against Scotty again, and in the corner of my eyes I see him finally pull away before turning around and punching the man right in the face. Scotty doubles over, but before Dean could do any more damage to anyone else Harvey grabs him.

“You can't kill her, we have to leave them both for it” Stacy argues. The ground seems to roar, the earth shaking so siverley I nearly fall to my hands. “I would stop if I could!” I admit, “I don't kno–” I cut myself off, a sudden deep memory making its way to the surface of my brain. A memory of a deceased corn field, a disaster I caused.

“Make it stop!” the sheriff spits. “I told you I don't know h–” Suddenly the gun is raised up and before I could do anything to stop it, the gun hits the side of my skull. My head feels like it explodes as I hit the ground, my eyes struggle to stay open. The last thing I see before it all goes dark again is Dean trying to lunge forward and the ground halting in its shaking.

My eyes flutter open, my horrible headache accompanied with an even worse head-ache. Both in my head and outside. At this point my brain should be a scrambled mess.

My wrists were zip tied to a thinner part of the tree trunk my back rested on. It was just beginning to be dark out. I move my gaze from above me to across me, Dean sitting against a different tree in the same position I was in. His eyes widen and he attempts to move closer before grunting in frustration at the restrictions of his wrists, “You're awake. Are you okay?” He licks his lips, “I swear to fuckin’ god I’ll kill ‘em.”

I don't say anything, my head is too heavy. He's staring at me with wide eyes, fear clear in his irises. “‘You okay?” he asks again. I nod, my head hurts and I’m confused and upset, but I’m alive so I’m okay. He shakes his head, “No.” I look at him confused, I don't understand. He continues to shake his head, wetting his lips again, “Say it. I need to hear you say it,” he sounded breathless, “I need to hear you say you're okay.”

“Im okay” I say weakly. He sighs, relief clear in the way his shoulders drop. But I had a feeling he knew I wasn't being totally truthful.

He swallows roughly, “Can you see the scarecrow?” Despite my heavy head I look in each direction for the thing, until I can slightly see the post. “Dean” I start and I can hear my own voice wobble with fear, “It's not there.” He fights against his restraints, and I would join him in that effort if my head hasn't already given up on me. “I hope their apple pie is frickin’ worth it” he grumbles.

A shadow catches just behind Dean, I squint hoping I'm just seeing things from potential brain damage then the actual scarecrow. “Dean, I think it's behind you.” Forget everything I said and thought, I begin fighting against my own restraints, the zip ties digging into my wrists harshly. “Dean?” a familiar voice called out.

Sam’s tall figure comes into view as he rounds the tree Dean is tied to. Dean twists his neck oddly to see his brother, “Oh!” he sighs in relief, “Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on.” Sam takes that as his chance to assess his brother's binding before pulling out his pocket knife, “‘You okay, Y/N?” he asks as he works on sawing the bindings. “Dandy” I respond, truly done with this all.

“How’d you get here?” Dean asks his brother.

“I, uh–I stole a car.”

Dean laughs at that, “That's my boy!” His bindings finally break with a snap. Sam doesn't wait for his brother to get up as he walks the short distance to me, beginning to remove my own restraints. His eyes gaze down at me every now and then, most likely assessing the damage.

Deans at my side a breath later, squatting down to be at my level. He brings his hand carefully to my face, gently moving a piece of my hair behind my ear. Something feels dried and stiff there and I wonder if it's blood from being hit or just dirt. I tilt and roll my head away from him, the pain overwhelming even with the delicate touch.

My restraints snap above me, bits of the plastic tangling itself into my hair. My wrists are raw and red, just one more thing to add to the list. I place my hands on the cold dirt, trying to pick myself up but my ears begin to ring and my vision spins. I sit back down again, huffing. Strong arms grab my arm and waist all but lifting me off the ground and onto my feet, “‘You got eyes on the scarecrow?” Dean asks, looking at his brother who shakes his head. “Alright, I can carry you, the clearing isn’t far off” Dean says looking down at me.

“That's ridiculous,” I shake my head, “I’ll slow you down. I’ll just push through, and we don't have time to argue this.” He grumbles, he doesn't like the idea. But again we don't know where the scarecrow is and we can't waste time bickering over stupid logistics.

I immediately regret not taking the offer. My brain feels like it's jumping around in my skull and swishing side to side as if on a boat. I feel like the orchard is spinning around me, tumbling over itself like one of those tunnels in a fun house.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree you’re talking about–” Sam pants lightly as we run, Dean having filled him in on the information we gathered. “It's the source of its power” I finish, my voice feeling far away even in my own ears. “So let’s find it and burn it.” Sam annonces.

“Nah, in the morning.” Dean counters, “Let’s just shag ass before Leather face catches up.”

We come to a skidding stop, just at a clearing of trees the four jerks from before as well as a couple others stand guard. Sam nudged us in a different direction just to be met with a wall of people, we were surrounded. “Did the whole fricking town come to watch us die?!” I exclaim, “Just let us leave!” I was so tired of this, I just want to go to a motel or something and shower off today's fears before falling into a deep sleep. “It’ll be over quickly” Harley says, and if it was meant to be comforting it was not working. “It's for the greater go–” suddenly a sickle is pushed through his stomach. His mouth opens in shock, blood dripping down the sides. Screams come from all around us, and I hardly know if I was screaming too.

He’s raised off the ground before the sickle is quickly pulled out. Stacy still stands there screaming, watching her dying husband on the floor. But soon her screams are cut off too, the sickle going through her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open too as blood not only spurts out of her neck but spills down like a waterfall onto her shirt. The air fills quickly with all the blood's metallic scent. The scarecrow does not retract its weapon, keeping the curved blade in her neck as it grabs onto Harley's collar dragging them both behind it.

Shock had frozen us in place, but apparently not the townspeople. “Come on let’s go,” Dean insists, leading us away.

Morning came by far too slowly but at least we passed the time by using the stolen car to drive back to the college to get the Impala before returning to the orchard. It all went by so weirdly, I knew I was moving but it felt like I never left that road outside the expanse of apple trees. I hardly remember the drive there or the drive back, everything still spun and the ringing only got louder. I think I might have lost my mind.

We stand in front of the sacred tree though I don't remember how we found it. The tree had Vince’s tattoo printed onto it, that was a tell tale sign it was the right one. Sam pours gasoline all over it, Dean picks up a long branch lighting it on fire before throwing it onto the tree. “‘Think the towns ‘gonna be okay?” Sam asks as the flaming tree roars with the crackling flames. “Don’t know” Dean shrugs, but I think the answer was apparent to all of us.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam adds.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean answers.

We walk back to the car leaving the burning tree behind us, though I hope it won’t spread and cause a whole forest fire, “So, can I drop you off somewhere?” Dean asks.

“No, I think you’re stuck with me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.” Sam explains, “But, Jess and Mom—they’re both gone. Dad is God knows where. You, me, Y/N. We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

I give Sam's arm a little squeeze, it was a really sweet speech.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” Dean smiles, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder who hits it away. They fall into a fit of laughter, “You should be kissing my ass, you were dead meat, dude.” Sam says between laughs.

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten us out.” Dean scuffs.

“Right.”

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #dean winchester x witch reader #dean winchester x f!reader #the hunter and the witch #the hunter and the witch update #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #angst #arguing

[why-bless-your-heart]

Will only Catholics get into Heaven?

A man died, and at the pearly gates St. Peter asked him, “Name?” “John Smith.” “Religion?” Methodist.” St. Peter looked at his list and said “Okay, you’re in room 24, but be very, very quiet as you pass room 6.” Another man died, and St. Peter asked the same questions. “Name?” “Jack Smitt.” “Religion?” “Baptist.” St. Peter looked at his list and said “Okay, you’re in room 17, but be very, very quiet as you pass room 6.” Yet another man died, and St. Peter asked the same questions. “Name?” “Joe Schmidt.” “Religion?” “Jewish.” “Okay, you’re in room 10, but be very, very quiet as you pass room 6.” Joe hesitated. “Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind me asking. I can understand there being different rooms for different religions, but why do you need me to be quiet when I pass Room 6?” “Not at all,” St. Peter said, “You see, the Catholics are in room 6 and they think they’re the only ones here.”

Anyway. The doctrine “Nulla Salus Extra Ecclesiam” doesn’t mean that only Catholics will enter heaven. What it does mean is that the Catholic Church, as the body of Christ, is the way in which we are meant to enter Heaven. The church provides the sacraments of baptism, reconciliation, and the Eucharist, all three of which Jesus says are necessary for salvation: Mark 16:6, Luke 13:3, John 6:54, for starters. The way we approach Christ (the only way to the Father) is through the Catholic Church.

If you haven’t read The Last Battle, by C.S. Lewis, you should, you’re missing out, but he addresses the question of the “just pagan” very clearly. In it, a good Calormene (the bad guys of the story) says that he wants to meet Tash, who he’s served all his life. Tash is a very bad dude who eats people, one of those classic scary pagan deities. However, the Calormene is instead met by Aslan, a very good dude who grants eternal life. Aslan tells him that every time the good Calormene made an oath by Tash, and kept the oath because he had made it, and every time he sacrificed something he wanted for the sake of Tash, Aslan counted it as if it had been sworn by him or offered to him. Somebody who’s been innocently ignorant—never had the chance to learn the Catholic Faith, or only ever been exposed to bad catechesis—isn’t as culpable as someone who’s invincibly ignorant.

In the same book, there are some dwarves who are selfish, cruel, and even go so far as to murder fellow Narnians in the final fight against the Calormens. When they’re brought face to face with what lies on the other side, they refuse to accept it. They’re given a feast and insist that it’s nothing but barn scrapings, shown the sky and the grass and insist that they’re still locked away, even hear Aslan roar and claim it’s their fellow prisoners trying to scare them. Sometimes you simply refuse to learn something because you don’t like what the knowledge might demand of you. This is invincible ignorance, and it’s something we’ll all be held accountable for one day.

If you don’t know about the Catholic faith, or think that it’s false, you can’t be blamed for not converting. However, if you do know the Catholic faith, believe that it’s true, and refuse to convert, you are in very grave danger.

At the end of the day, though, the Church doesn’t decide who does and doesn’t go to Heaven. God does. The Church is allowed to say with certainty that some of those who have died are now in Heaven (the saints), but cannot say with certainty that anyone who has died has gone to Hell (although I have some suspicions.) When Jesus was asked who would be saved and who wouldn’t be, He said that the important thing is to strive to enter through the narrow gate. Worry about your own salvation, because at the end of your life, yours is the one soul you are going to have to answer for.

[thegodthief]

What're you most looking forward to next year? It can be spiritual / religious, or magical, or just completely mundane!

Every time I have looked at this ask, it has been a different time of day, and my answer will have changed accordingly! Let's see... since it looks like I'm going to stick around and make it everyone else's problem, what kind of problems do I want to get into?

LASAGNA! Garfield had it right, a good lasagna is a reason to keep going. Not the modern thick slabs of barely cooked pasta with meat flavored "sauce" and whipped cellulose cheese substitute. I want something that Baba made after sending us kids to all the grocery stores for just the right collection of cheeses. I want a lasagna slice so dense with animal proteins, a deep-dish pizza is going to spill itself in the oven in jealousy. I want a lasagna that requires a steak-knife to cut, none of this "press firmly with a spatula" bullshit. I need my ribs spackled!

Finishing Book Two. Really. Seriously. It's time to let the guilt of falling down go away and get back up and get back in it. When I look back and see what had happened that year, that so many people at work saw that I was spiraling in a bad way but chose to get popcorn, or worse, do nothing, so that when I crashed and openly broke down it was to no one's surprise... when I look back and see what I fucking lived through... Fuck it. Melissa's story is not going to get told unless I tell it. Even though I don't expect anyone to read it. I've noticed that stories set during the height of the pandemic are vigorously avoided. And I get that. A lot of people don't want to be reminded of what happened. But some of us don't have the luxury of forgetfulness and if finishing Book Two (and eventually, the planned series) is what helps me heal, well, it's cheaper than anything the medical system can offer me.

Change of Address. Last year, I had the opportunity to purchase a house. Between credit score and income, it looked like I was going to be able to do the thing after all. I had the help of some competent agents that were frank about what I could afford and what kind of neighborhoods that looked like around here. I almost jumped for it at the time, but did not. Staying put was the right thing to do after all that happened, but I haven't forgotten the opportunity is still there. I just want a better launch pad to go from. (Besides, if all works out, I might even get to host a dinner.)

Connecting with others. Because of what had happened to me at the local Well-known Pagan Occult Shop (they don't like being called pagan because SEO) a literal decade ago, I had given up on any local meet-ups, seminars, or even just safe places to hang out. I was well played and was being set up to be the Bad Person™ when I walked away and I knew that any attempt to tell the truth would just result in me being targeted harder for retaliation either by the asshole that took advantage of me or the people who thought he walked on water such that he was incapable of being a sexual predator. Just when I thought I could start again in other areas, the pandemic showed up, and in the midst of that, a Big Name Occultist revealed what all the outsiders knew about his leanings and getting away from all that left me stained and crushed because I thought I had learned my lesson from the first grifter, but apparently not. But. I survived that, just like I survived everything else, and learning how to make friends is going to be harder than learning how to live, but I'll give it a try.

MOAR BITCHING! I have become competent enough in Spanish that I can speak it at work and hold my own to the point where some of the native Spanish speakers look at me funny when they realize that I'm conversing with them because it's fluid enough for them to forget that it's not my first language. It feels like I've hit a critical milestone in that my lessons now are about the more obscure words, phrases, and topics to round things out. I'm not going to throttle down on the Spanish, but it's time for me to begin on a few other languages that I've always wanted to learn but my childhood teachers said I was too stupid to pick up. Spite is an incredible motivator. My goal is to be able to bitch out a cunt in at least three different languages in the same breath and still be parsable to any eavesdropping native speaker.

#Keri answers an ask. #liminalblessings

[ask-sibverse]

So! Yesterday was another bad migraine and my brain turns to cotton when those happen. I'm still kiiiiinda recovering so for now, because reading other people talking about their headcanons and thoughts on fandom shit just makes me wanna yell about my own shit! So here we go, going into every single Dreamtale in Sibverse, why they fought, and how they reconcile (short summaries, only going into anything not a spoiler)

Nox and Reve (main pair)

Why they fought: p typical Apple incident, Nox was still just angry at everything and everyone by the time Reve came out of stone. It took a long time before Nox calmed down, and by then was too proud to admit he was wrong. Reve really didn't know how to handle things, so things continued in much of the same for thousands of years

How they reconciled: Mari, who was originally a close friend of Reve, is "accidentally kidnapped" by the Bad Sanses and ends up befriending them as well. Through some more dumbass bullshit the twins are finally in a calmer situation to talk things out (and actually admit to their own stupidity)

Star and Nova (outer/celestialverse)

Why they fought: they only fought during the Apple Incident

How they reconciled: Nova and Star talked things out immediately after Star came out of being a statue

Belladonna and Daisy (floralverse)

Why they fought: the torment of the villagers continued even into teenage years. Daisy, likely as a coping mechanism, was unable to fully admit to how bad the villagers were, leading Bella to believe his twin just couldn't admit that "good people" could be bad. This led to an almost compulsive "need" to "prove" to Daisy that everyone has darkness and can be bad.

How they reconciled: tbh Bella and Daisy never truly "talked things out." It's more that over time while Bella was sealed he started to calm down and they were less at each other's throats (this is sibverse only. The floralverse fic is a "what if" Star never came and Bella was never sealed)

Kage and Yume (I still need to fucking name this verse)

Why they fought: similar to Bella and Daisy, but Kage honestly wanted everyone to hurt like he was hurting, including his twin. Kage honestly did some fucked up shit that will require trigger warnings when appropriate.

How they reconciled: they really don't. Their bond is never able to recover, even with Kage eventually apologizing

Morpheus and Pyrite (witchverse, we're getting into verses I haven't introduced yet)

Why they fought: post apple incident Morph calmed down relatively fast, all things considered. He was unable to free his twin at the time, and ended up meeting and becoming close to a mortal that became like a mother/family to him. When she was murdered, he fucking lost it, and decided to just wreck everything in his grief

How they reconciled: Morph started handling his grief better and calmed the fuck down (there is a lot more to this)

Comfy and Anxy (Comfort and Anxiety, they don't quite have a name for the verse oops)

Why they fought: Acrylic(Ink) ended up repeatedly alienating Comfy from his twin, meanwhile Anxy had some of his own issues that made everything worse.

How they reconciled: they actually got a chance to talk properly with help from some outside forces.

Important note: Acrylic is not an "evil" Ink. He had some shit ways of handling some trauma and mental issues, but is not evil.

Solar and Lunar (mythverse, a semi FTFO inspired verse with influences from Norse and other pagan mythology)

Why they fought: being stubborn

How they reconciled: they ended up raising Cura (their Ink) together

Nighty and Shard

Why they fought: apple incident

How they reconciled: Nighty grew up and calmed down, and talked things out with Shard post statue, then raised his twin

Dagger and Knuckles (Fellverse)

Why they fought: honestly it was the two dumbasses just petty bickering - because they're Swapfell based not Swap based - post Apple Incident

How they reconciled: work between Lighter (their Ink, an absolutely sassy gremlin in platform heels) and Star to basically literally knock some sense into both of them

Swad and Swan (Swapdream babyyyy)

Why they fought: excessive amounts of positive magic in Swad's system led to the blinding positivity and manic behavior

How they reconciled: Star basically fought Swad enough to burn the magic out of the system enough for him to finally calm down and the two had a very long talk

Other Dreamtale twins that did not need to reconcile are Silver and Gold (merverse/leviathan verse, if they ever fought and reconciled it was waaaaay outside the fic timeline), and Summer and Winter (rescued basically moments before the Apple Incident, their tree of feelings is under a magic barrier now and neither twin consumed an apple), and then Yami and Hikari (coreverse, the multiverse Observer was born in) reconcile due to heavy amounts of plot intervention

#sibverse #nightmare sans #dreamtale dream #dream sans #dreamtale #dreamtale nightmare #undertale au

[xbooklover26x]

Things about me that probably no one will ever care to know

- I love reading cos it lets me escape for a while

- I'm obsessed with the characters and they mean a lot to me cos they're a constant, they're reliable and they cant hurt me

- every night I fall asleep to scenarios i make up in my head cos I dont think I'm ever going to experience the scenarios in real life so scenarios are the best I'm gonna get

- I still love teddies and stuff cos I dont think I get enough hugs in real life, so i go to them for hugs

- I love stray kids sm bcos the way they connect with their fans sm makes me feel loved and appreciated, ik its sad

- I've always been drawn to felix bcos his soul seems so pure and hes such a beautiful person that it gives me hope for people ig

- every night I have to have at least a few hours completely alone in my room or everything can feel a bit too much

- fandoms are my safe place bcos I dont feel judged when I'm in them

- I'm a hellenic polytheist or a hellenic pagan, I havent worked that part out yet

- I feel such a huge connection and pull to the greek deities and I respect them sm

- i dont have to convince myself I believe in them like I had to with the Christian god, i truly do just believe in them

- after I got confirmed I had about a week or so where I tried so hard to be a good Christian

- I stopped following christian beliefs when I realised I didnt understand why such a benevolent god would allow so much hatred and pain on the earth

- only about 5 people know about my religion, I hate it but I'm too scared to tell people bcos I think they'll think its stupid

- I have to have music playing if I'm doing everyday tasks, it helps me focus and enjoy what in doing

- my biggest bookshelf is organised by the first letter of the last name of the author bcos it's easy for me to navigate

- I'm secretly so proud of the way my bookshelves look, I tried pretty hard to make them look nice and they bring me a lot of happiness

- last time I counted, i had 417 books, i was so proud of my collection

- I have a lot of mental health problems, but I ignore them most of the time cos my friends are more important than me

- I create a different personality for basically everyone I meet bcos it's so important to me that people like me

- I've done it so much I'm not sure what my actual personality is

- I discovered I was pansexual after I decided I enjoyed 'I Kissed A Girl' too much and did some Google quizzes during lockdown

- I hadnt heard of pansexuality before but when I looked into it the label felt so right

- I spent my 16th birthday with 2 of the most important people to me, and I loved it

- I'm scared of trying to find a fashion style to wear bcos I'm worried I'm not thin enough to make outfits look good

- I love so passionately and strongly, and I'm scared no one will return that love but I'm also kinda proud of how much I can love ig

- crying gives me a headache and itchy eyes, so when I feel like crying I watch something ik will make me laugh

- after closing night of my first (and last) school show I cried the entire night

- I make myself laugh a lot more than I probably should

- I'll go through periods of not eating fruit then one day randomly eat a banana and remember how much I like them

- I'm bad at saving money but I wanna get better

- I have a strong attachment to the show All Of Us Are Dead bcos the characters feel familiar and real

- and the cast is really pretty

- when I love something I try to force it upon my friends, usually unsuccessfully

- I think nature cam be really pretty but I'm hardly in it cos it makes my hayfever bad

- I'm learning Korean and Greek bcos I think both are such beautiful languages and I like the challenge

- the day I realised I'd matured was when I felt more drawn to characters who would be good for me in a relationship situation, rather than ones who would be kinda toxic or too difficult

- I could talk about the things I love for hours (especially stray kids right now) but I hardly ever get the chance to

- I wrote all of this to see if it would make me feel better about me to be so truthful, and ig it did a bit

[moa-broke-me]

My relationship with religion is... Weird.

Because like, I'm an atheist, generally speaking, but... It's more complicated than that.

I practice witchcraft on occasion, mostly kitchen witchery and sigil-making. I turned to hellenistic paganism for a short while, even considered satanism. I was raised in the baptist south by two liberal christian parents, and for the longest time, I was one myself. I didn't deconvert because of any strictly logic or science-based reason like most atheists, because my parents had already found ways to work around that and still be christians despite the highly specific idea both of them were raised with of what christianity could be. I deconverted, in part, because I strove to treat other religions with the same gravity and respect as my own, but it was becoming hard for me to justify doing so if I believed they were factually, materially wrong, and I had tall the right answers. Mostly, though, it was thanks to the parable of the rat poison. My pastor only used this rhetorical device once, but I still remember how it goes. 'Rat poison is 99% regular, healthy food. That's how they get the rats to eat it. It's only the 1% of it that's poison, and it's enough to kill them. Christianity is the same way; You can be 99% of a Christian, and god will turn you away because of the 1% you rejected or supplemented with something else. Rejection of god's design for man and woman, rejection of the sanctity of unborn life, rejection of the truth of creation, these are all rat poison.' The narrowmindedness and paranoia this device tried to force me into intruded on my life, on my sense of identity. It gave me major imposter syndrome. I felt guilty every time my beliefs and values differed from that of my youth group. How could I be a christian if I didn't believe the exact same things as my peers? If I didn't take every single thing in the bible as literal, physical fact? If I ever dared to doubt anything I was told? My parents and I, according to the rabid persecuting voice in my mind that I used to call accountability, were all going to hell, along with everyone who ate the rat poison.

Now that I'm no longer a Christian, I can look at things from an outsider perspective. I can see that this is just one interpretation of a very old book. I view Jesus, not as the son of god, or even as a real person, but like the myth that most atheists do. He's about as real as Santa to me.

But... I do appreciate the myth of Santa, and what he represents; the spirit of generosity, towards people you've never met before and will never meet again, without expecting anything in return. That is something I want to emulate. In that same vein, I can appreciate the myth of Jesus, a representation of something we should all strive for; An all-encompassing love of the world, of humanity. An acceptance for people as they are. I can also appreciate the myth of Satan, the spirit of rebellion, of standing up for yourself when you're not treated as an equal, and being able to leave when they punish you for it. Living, unapologetically, as yourself, exercising the full extent of your free will and encouraging others to do the same.

And when you think about it, that's a little bit daoist of me, but I'm not gonna go into that too much, because the deepest research I've actually done about daoism was watching a youtube video about the philosophical implications of Kung Fu fucking Panda. So I could be totally wrong here.

[truthandlove]

Tithing

The modern "church" preaches that you are free from ALL God's other commands, BUT the one they twist to give THEM your money!!!

The Tithe was to the Levies, not to pastors or churches. Churches since the earliest days DID RAISE MONEY, but it was never for the church itself or the staff or pastor; it was to help other Christians in OTHER churches. There are no more professional spiritual class to handle the work of sacrifice. No, today's pastors are NOT modern Levites! How evil and greedy of them to try to spin it that way. The Bible calls this spin, "Deception", "Bondage", and "Selfish Ambition."

Once you pervert the church into a RELIGION, into and INSTITUTION with staff and pastors as a PROFESSION, you've got the same old paganism the church is supposed to COME OUT OF and BE SEPARATE FROM. The so-called chruch is an INVERSION of the freedom, life, abundance, and blessing that God called us into, in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And once you go to full 501c3 (let the godless state tell me what I can do and say, again because of MONEY reasons) you are a full on PROSTITUTE to the Beast System.

In total contrast: the Kingdom of God is about blessing, about abundance, about overflow. But it is never about money. Yes there are expenses, but we seek to fulfill ALL God's commands (knowing the saccrifical commands of animals were fulfilled and completed with Jesus Himself as the for all time Lamb of God.)

We DO CONTINUE TO SACRIFICE, but it is a sacrifice of PRAISE. (Hebrews 13:15 and Psalm 116:17) We DO CONTINUE TO PAY OUR DEBTS, but is is a debt of love. (Romans 13:8) We can never love God too much or love our neighbor WITH GOD'S LOVE too much. WE ARE FREE FROM THE MANIPULATION OF MONEY. “Pay all your debts except the debt of love for others — never finish paying that”.  -Romans 13:8

In Babylon, money is key, it ia a central way to CONTROL others, to extend GUILT and PRESSURE and BURDENS and BONDAGE. To LUST after and to pursue with extreme selfish ambition.

In the Kingdom of God, they found that gold makes for great road pavement, it is so abundant, all this gold has to be put SOMEWHERE after all. Yes, in the Kingdom of God, you USE GOLD to get to other people. In the dark Kingdom, you used people to get gold.

Living in the close proximity to Babylon, money in all forms is central to life. But really the natural Earth provides all our real needs - air, water, food, and LOVE. The rest is a CONSTRUCT OF SOCIETY and civilization is something the fallen angels have CONTROLLED for humans since their beginning. (since about 1000 years after God made them, still be beginning as far as humanity is concerned on the whole).

Jesus talked a LOT about money, even more than He talked about hell as recorded in the 4 Gospel letters. He emphasized FAITH in the character and nature of Father God. He emphasized that money is a TOOL to love and bless others with. He HIMSELF is the life-devt that He Himself FULLY paid. You are free from all debts. And yet you are SILL COMPELLED. But now, in Christ, you are compelled by love, service and gratitude.

Seek God for what all this truth means as it manifests in your specific life in practical ways. God has all the real wealth. You have a good and loving Father who WANTS to bless you. Blessing in the purest form is INCREASED INTIMACY with Himself - the source of all goodness.

The Gospel is SO SIMPLE and totally without the eeed for institutions and hoops of control / pressure / manipulation to jump through. God LOVED you. God loved you so totally that He was moved to meet you at the point of your deepest need! You needed live and connection to Himself. You needed your sins forgiveness so that a relationship of harmonious and conversational INTIMACY with Himself could flow freely! In this way you are healed and made whole from the inside out at every level. And FROM THIS restored intimacy with Himself, the overflow is acts of love to the world that also show OTHERS who God is, and cause them to also be reunited to Father God, by grace through faith, in the Person of God's Son, Jesus of Nazareth. The Son of God is authorized to invited you into the FAMILY of God. There's no selfishness, just the opposite. The Son of God is inviting to unite with you, His life, His righteousness, and also his unlimited riches and blessings, as a FELLOW HEIR with Himself as the beloved son of Father God.

John 3:16. God loved. God gave. Love gives of itself to meet the deepest needs of the beloved.

God faced the diabolical evil that was separating you from this relationship of harmonious love as an intimate ally, ambassador and extension of God's family/kingdom. THUS... when you see someone in need, you likewise love, and you likewise GIVE. Too simple for the religious entangled mind that lives in guilt, in pressure, in performace - rather than in faith and grace.

Jesus taught us to pray for our "daily bread" (Matthew 6) - our tangible needs, our survival needs. And this was in the CONTEXT of a prayer about manifesting the HOLINESS of God on this Earth in tangible ways. It was in the context of shunning evil, living in forgiveness, and worshiping God as Holy and Worthy. It was in the context of a KINGDOM mindset. In that very same chapter, does not God Himself say:

"You are to seek God's kingdom foremost - to live out the righteousness of God Himself, and all these things (tangible needs) shall be supplied by God as a by product" - Matthew 6:33

John 3:16-21 "For God so LOVED the world that he GAVE his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.

Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.

But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God."

[servingliesarchived]

i often think about merlin, a magical being that is as pagan as can be, leaving europe for a bit and returning, and suddenly christianity is widespread and nothing he’s achieved in his lifetime is valid anymore, like i’d be bummed too if i were him.

#𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 ; nerd central. #i shit on religion a lot but it's valid given how much shit it caused irl #merlin like: well fuck then #i love the idea of merlin winding up in some church and just. laughing at this stuff #like he knows latin you know? fluently #every now and then he meets people that still are all about pagan ways #and he's like ah yes i'm at home #merlin just going around teaching people magic #and how to read and healing and herbalism #hanging out and officiating the handfastings and other ceremonies #it's all i want

[midearthwritings]

Be Mine

A flower, for he must know your heart belongs to him.

Words Count : 2,138

Pairing : Dwalin x Hobbit!Reader

Warning : None

Author's Note : A little Valentine's day special because I'm soft for Dwalin and hobbit reader. Sorry not sorry (at all).

And because I'm feeling extra nice, here is an article that will tell you all about Valentine's Day's origins, back to its pagan roots.

Cradled in your hands, the fragile flower was lying comfortably, waiting for you to finally make your move. Its red petals were big and bright, free of any damage the weather or wild animals could have caused. They were staring back at you, reassuringly. You could almost hear them whisper soothing words. Carefully, you brought it to your face and inhaled the lovely smell, black pistils tickling your nose. It wasn't as beautiful as the ones you grew, back home. And if you had been in the Shire, you would have gathered a big bouquet. But you were not in the Shire, you were on the road, probably walking to your ultimate death. And there wasn't any garden, only wilderness. So this single wild tulip would have to do.

Before, this day had meant nothing. It had been an excuse for those who where merely interested in you to gift you with bouquets. And each time, they had been met with rejection. Until now, the only love you had ever felt had been for your friends and your garden. Back in the comfort of your Hobbit hole, only the Sun rising each morning had been able to make your heartbeat quicken.

Now, it was different. The feelings had taken you by surprise, and for long you had refused to acknowledge them. But when you were traveling with the one your heart so desired, and had to see him at every moment given, it was hard to stay in denial.

The flower was still there, reminder that you were to gift it to him.

But how?

You turned around, looking at him from your spot. Even doing something as simple as packing his belongings, he looked so very intimidating. Centuries separated the two of you. He had seen war, disasters. He knew of sorrow and death. As for you, well, a piece of pottery you really liked fell to the floor, once, it had made you sad. Compared to him, you were just a simple Hobbit from the Shire that everybody would forget about after they passed.

You sighed and your eyes dropped back on the tulip. Gently, you brushed the pad of your thumb against a petal. It was soft under your touch. Like an infant's skin.

"What is it that ye have there?"

Startled, you jumped—quite harshly—, sending the flower to the ground. With an annoyed squeal, you picked it up and blew on it a little to get rid of any dust or dirt that had found its place on the poor vegetal. You stood up, facing the dwarf.

From afar, he had been intimidating, but here, right in front of you it was worse. His tall frame, taller than the others, swallowed you up whole. His insistent gaze was piercing right through your soul and you felt your blood rushing to your face.

Perhaps, now was your only chance. The company would have to depart soon and you wouldn't stop until night. The pounding in your chest was echoing in your entire body.

With one last glance at the delicate little thing, you held your hands out to him.

"It is, ah, it is a flower." You stuttered, looking anywhere but at him. " It is a flower for, for you."

Maybe you had spoken louder than you intended to, because you were surrounded with silence. To make it even worse, you knew all eyes were on you, as if you were some sort of strange creature no one had ever seen before. Actually, you were, given the fact that most of them had never met a Hobbit before. But that was not the point now, was it?

Brush of rough fingers against yours made you look back up and you watched, embarrassed, as the soldier took the flower away from your grip. His eyes were glued to the tiny looking plant in his hand, and his eyebrow rose up slowly.

"A flower?" He asked, his eyes meeting yours again. "For me?"

Another shy squeal escaped your lips, and you nodded rapidly.

"What d'ye want me to do with it?"

The words were like a punch right in the stomach. It had taken you time to pick the prettiest out of the lot. You had chosen it with care and love. Did he not like it? If the feelings were not returned, why would he take it? To publicly humiliate you, or something like that?

Defeated, your shrugged your shoulders and brought your hand to your lips. A bad habit of yours when you were feeling down, and today was no exception. You began to chew on your thumb before having your hand batted away.

"Don't do that. Ye'll make yerself bleed."

You muttered a quiet apology. Dwalin shook his head and placed the flower in one of his pockets, on his chest. He patted the place and you frowned. Now this was unusual. In the Shire, if one didn't return another's feeling, they wouldn't take the gift. They would politely reject the offer and move on. And hadn't the dwarf just rejected you?

"Pack yer things, Halfling, we're leavin soon."

And with that, he walked away, leaving you alone and confused.

That day, the weather was on the company's good side. The Sun was clement, so was the wind. You were walking in the front, alongside of Thorin's nephews, unaware that you were being watched. You hadn't been the only one left tormented with the events of the morning. All the way in the back of the line, Dwalin was lost in his thoughts, the flower still secured in his pocket. His mind was filled with questions, such as why you would gift him with a thing as useless as this one. At the broken look on your face when he had asked, he hadn't been able to find the strength to refuse. And so, the soldier was now traveling with a flower stuck in his clothing.

Carefully, he approached the only one who he thought would be able to help him out.

"Burglar."

The same way you had this morning, Bilbo jumped, startled by Dwalin's deep voice. His hand found its way up to his chest, resting in the place of his heart.

"Master Dwalin, you have to stop creeping behind people like that. One of this days, someone's heart will stop beating."

Sensitive Hobbits. So easily scared. The dwarf was still wondering why the wizard had brought the both of you along. A poor excuse of a burglar and you. But he was in no place to question the decision. And so, he got along with it.

Carefully, to avoid damaging it, he grabbed the flower and showed it to the Hobbit. The latter frowned and held his hands up.

"Ah..." He began, his cheeks reddening. "I am very flattered but, ah well, how to say that? The feeling is not returned."

The burglar's nonsense made Dwalin shake his head. It was terrifying the quantity of absurdities Hobbits mouths could produce.

"What are ye sayin burglar? Yer little friend up there..." He explained, pointing at you. "Yer little friend up there gave me this. Why?"

Bilbo's eyes followed the direction of the Dwarf's fingers and his eyes met yours. He watched as you quickly looked away. A smile grew on his lips, illuminating his face. Now, this was very interesting. A merry event, indeed. A strange choice, he thought. But well, it was not his place to say anything. In all those years of friendship, he had had to watch you refuse gift after gift, bouquets after bouquets. Love wasn't made for you, you only loved your friends. Or so you had said. He snickered, rather loudly.

His face radiating with a joy that made the dwarf uncomfortable, he explained :

"Well, Master Dwalin, it is a tulip. Oh, those we grow in the Shire are so much prettier. But I find this one to be very beautiful, very well chosen. I must say a bouquet of this specie would look very lovely and I would-"

"Will ye tell me why or not?"

Bilbo nodded at the soldier's interruption of his rambling.

"Once a year, Hobbits give flowers to those dear to them. It is a day to honour the ones we have wed, or confess our feelings. And tulips, Master Dwalin, in the language of flowers, mean the first confession of love."

Intriguing creatures. But not an unexpected gesture, coming from them. Dwalin looked down at the small plant. It didn't look the same. It was softer, like you. Its scent reached the Dwarf's nose. He hadn't been there for long but he could remember the essence that had floated in your home. And it smelled like it, like your home. It reminded him of you in every way, no matter which angle he looked at it. Now, he could see.

"I need yer help some more, burglar."

The night wasn't particularly scary to you. It was something peaceful, even. And night was often the time of grand parties amongst Hobbits. Yet, far from everything you knew, it wasn't comforting either. Silently, you sat on your bedroll, far from the fire.

You sighed. Sometimes, you felt very lonely. You missed your friends dearly. Oh yes, you were happy that Bilbo was there with you. It made things a bit easier to go through. But it was not the same.

The tulip was still haunting your thoughts. Bright, beautiful and proud, living its best life in your beloved's garment. It had been mocking you all day long, the vivid color reminding you of the answer you were not given. Or rather the upsetting one he had served you. Childishly, you kicked at the ground and crossed your arms on your chest. It was unfair.

You froze, when a big hand was laid on top of your head.

"Ye seem mad, Halfling."

At the familiar voice, you relaxed. Although there was still tension in your shoulders. It seemed Fate wasn't done with you and wanted to torture you a little more.

You shook your head, chasing the hand away.

"That, I am not. Anger makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed."

His laughter, loud and deep, pulled a little smile out of you. You stayed still as he sat down to your side.

"This is very well said. Yer startin to think like a real warrior."

At his compliment, your heart swell, and your body threatened to burst out with pride. In the corner of your eye, you could see the red glint of the petals, and the feeling died down. You wanted to rip it out of here, throw it on the ground and step on it the same way it had stepped on your love. But at the same time, you wished it would live timelessly for the dwarf to keep and cherish.

You sighed, for the hundredth time, when a folded piece of fabric came into your sight, making you flinch a little. Curious, you inspected it. It was simple, and you were certain it had been ripped from a clothing. The bumps told you there was something inside.

You looked up at your friend.

"What is it?"

"Take it. For ye." He replied, pushing it closer to you.

Hesitantly, you obeyed. With a swift of his hand, he ordered you to take a look inside.

Slowly, you unfolded it, revealing what it contained. The small branche decorated with dozens of tiny purple flowers caught your eyes first. It was radiant, and you couldn't believe he had managed to find some in the little time that had been given to him. You smiled, bringing it up to your face to inhale the sweet perfume.

Putting it back down, you noticed there was something else. A tiny piece of steel with a hole in it. It was engraved, the patterns really clear and neatly made.

"Yer burglar friend said Hobbits court each others with flowers." He explained, pointing at the plant. "Us, dwarves, we court with clasps we braid into our partner's hair."

Your head shot up. There was no hint of mockery on his face. You had offered him your heart, and he was now offering you his.

"Master Dwalin I-"

"Now, will ye deny me?"

You shook your head. That, you would not do. For sure. If it was no jokes, and it didn't look like one, you would not be as foolish as to deny a thing you had hoped for.

Delicately, you picked the small piece of hair ornament and handed it to your soldier, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

"Will you braid my hair, then?"

And so he did, working his strong fingers through your mane gently, while you cradled his other gift close to your heart.

Lilac, for the first feeling of love.

#the hobbit imagine #the hobbit reader insert #the hobbit #dwalin x reader #dwalin son of fundin #dwalin #dwalin x you #dwalin x yn

[peaceisadirtyword]

Heathen (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello♥️ as I promised, here’s the first chapter of the new series I’m writing. The idea came to me when I was rewatching Vikings and then I planned it while rewatching The Last Kingdom. So I started writing it, doing a bit of worldbuilding to introduce some original characters and here I am. It’s set on season 6B (I'm changing things, so it will not follow the show’s storyline). And I was really excited to write the mature version of Ivar, so I’m sorry if he seems a bit out of character. This chapter might be a bit boring, but it serves as an introduction. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading🥰 I will post a new chapter every Thursday at 21:00 (CET). 

Warnings: mentions of violence and war, talk of arranged marriage, alcohol... Well, it’s Vikings😅

Words: 4197 

Summary

gif belongs to @therealcalicali 

"I've heard the pagans are back" 

Edlynn raised her head. She sat next to the window, and had spent most of the time looking at the rain falling outside as she leant her head against the wall. It had been raining a lot those days. The beautiful cloth she was trying to practice her embroidery on was already forgotten and abandoned on her lap, a bit dirty with blood from all those times she had poked her finger with the needle.

The queen looked nervous when one of the girls in the room mentioned the northmen. Edlynn had also heard her father and even the king himself talking about it, whispering and with a frown, like men do when they talk about a very serious matter. They had already evacuated some of the towns near the coast, but no one really told her what was happening. 

"We must trust on our men and on God" she smiled at her "They will protect England, they always have" 

"I heard the king is thinking about evacuating the city too" other of the girls whined "What if they find us?" 

"They won't, my dear" the queen looked uncomfortable "I don't know about the plans my husband has, he won't discuss them with me, but I'm sure he'll do what is best for our people" 

Edlynn bit her lip. Queen Elsewith was nervous, she had seen her ordering the servants to start packing slowly, in case everyone had to leave the town. And there were whispers and an uneasiness that everyone had noticed. 

Next to her, her friend Mildrith leant in to speak softly. 

"I hope we can see the heathens from up close this time" she giggled. 

Edlynn had to hold back a smile. For some reason, Mildrith had a fascination for the northmen that called themselves vikings, even if everyone else was scared of them. She had been infatuated with a viking boy that worked on the lands King Alfred had given to the northmen some time ago. Even if neither Mildrith nor Edlynn had been allowed to visit those lands, King Alfred invited some of the settlers to dine in his own home sometimes, to secure the good relations with them. The boy and Mildrith had had a short but intense romance that Edlynn helped to hide from her family and the king, and since then she had been obsessed with learning about their culture. 

Edlynn could understand why, their ways and their traditions were different from the ones she had grown up with, and anyone with a bit of curiosity in them would want to know more. But no one let her learn about their Gods or they beliefs, for it was a sin. 

"I don't think we will" she shook her head and spoke softly "The King won't let them"

"Maybe they will be invited for a feast" Mildrith bit her lip, excited "And we can see them. They say they're are the same ones that took York" 

"We should go and pray" one of the women in the room stood up, interrupting Edlynn as she was about to answer her friend "For the safety of our country and our king, ask God to protect us"

Some of the women muttered in agreement, and soon the room filled with the noise of everyone standing and walking to the door. But before she could even stand, the queen approached. Quickly, Mildrith and her bowed their heads at Queen Elsewith respectfully. 

"Edlynn, I'd like to talk to you for a moment, if you will" 

She nodded slowly, and Mildrith excused herself after widening her eyes. 

"Yes, queen Elsewith?" 

"I just wanted to see if you were alright, Edlynn, these days I've barely seen you" 

She bit her lip again. The queen was always nice and kind to her, but it was still the queen and she couldn't act like close friends with her. And she definitely couldn't speak her mind freely. 

"Yes, I'm fine" she smiled softly "These days I wasn't feeling too well, I... Spent some time in my chambers just resting" 

"I was worried about you, you disappeared just after your engagement to Lord Edmund, and as I've also been there, I thought maybe I could help" 

The engagement. She had tried her best not to think about it the past few days. Even if Edlynn knew since she was born that she'd have to marry a stranger, it was still awkward to meet a man during a small feast that was announced as her future husband just half an hour later. 

In any case, she was still lucky, Lord Edmund was handsome, young and, as far as everyone knew, nice. Edlynn wasn't that upset about it, but it was still overwhelming, and the fact that she'd have to abandon the court, her friends -oh, what would she do without Mildrith?- and her family to go and live in a stranger's home saddened her. 

"Lord Edmund is a very good man that I can't wait to get to know better, and I feel honored and lucky that he chose me to be his wife" Edlynn repeated the words that Hilda, the nun that raised her after her mother's death, had made her learn in preparation for this moment. 

Elsewith smiled sadly at the young girl. It was a woman's duty, but she saw a lot of herself on Edlynn and she knew she must have been scared and nervous, even if she understood it. But Edlynn had always been a proper and obedient lady and, like many other women in her position, learnt to hide her true feelings. She'd never do anything that went against her father and the King's wishes.

"The king would never have let him ask for your hand in marriage if he didn't know he's a good man, a good warrior and a good Christian" the queen reassured her "He loves your family a lot and just wishes a good life for you"

"I know, my queen, and I will always be thankful to him and to you for how much kindness you've shown me and my family" 

Her smile widened. 

"I also wanted to talk to you about Mildrith" Elsewith sighed and started walking to the door "She really shouldn't go around talking about how she'd like to meet a northman, it's... Not proper"

"I know" muttered Edlynn, following her "I'll talk to her" 

She nodded, and just before exiting the room, Elsewith took her hand and squeezed it softly. In some way, she had always considered Edlynn her friend. 

"Remember you can come and talk to me any time you need" the queen smiled again "Women understand each other much better than men" 

"I will" she nodded "Thank you, my queen" Edlynn bowed her head again before Queen Elsewith turned around, walking to the nearest chapel escorted by two of the guards. 

__________________________________________

King Alfred threw a feast to celebrate the engagement. Usually, this kind of things weren't celebrated that much, but Edlynn's father, Lord Eldred, had been close to King Aethelwulf and was close to King Alfred,  becoming one of his most trusted men after his mother's death. Besides, Alfred and Edlynn grew up together and even if with time the both of them had learnt to keep their relationship purely formal, he still had a soft spot for her. 

Edlynn's sister had been married to a lord from Mercia and her brother was a proud member of King Alfred's personal guard. Now it was her turn to make the family proud by doing her duty and what she had been born to: Stand next to her soon-to-be-husband and smile politely at strangers that couldn't care less about her and her happiness but that queued to wish the both of them a happy marriage. 

Even if she knew that was what she was supposed to do, it was still boring. 

"The king has told me you enjoy reading" Lord Edmund, sitting next to her, was the one that started the conversation after talking with the king and her father about war. 

Edlynn was surprised when he spoke to her. It was the first time the two of them talked. She wasn't very talkative, at least not at the beginning, and didn't really expect more from him than the usual formalities. She had seen marriages like this many times, and didn't really expected him to acknowledge her much in public.

"I do" she smiled politely. 

"It's nice, what kind of things you like to read?" 

"Mostly, about history" she bit her lip nervously "I find the Romans particularly interesting" 

Lord Edmund nodded. 

"I will make sure that you have enough to read back in my castle" he said softly "And don't be afraid of asking for anything that you need or want to feel comfortable" 

That surprised Edlynn even more. He smiled at her confused face and his grey eyes fixed on hers. 'At least he has pretty eyes' she thought. Maybe their children would inherit his grey eyes and not her brown ones. For some reason, she didn't feel that overwhelmed by the thought of a young child with his grey eyes and her auburn hair.

"I knew you were special since I saw you, when I first arrived here to take an oath to King Alfred after my father's death, that's why I asked your father for your hand in marriage, and I'm pleased to know there's much more about you behind your beauty" 

His words were so sweet, and one lock of his bright black hair fell next to his face, giving him an attractive look that made Edlynn understand why many women had been glaring at her since the engagement was announced. 

"You flatter me, my lord" she tried your best to sound confident "I appreciate your kindness, thank you" 

From the corner of her eye, she could see her father and Hilda, the nun, watching her. Edlynn straightened her back and kept talking to Lord Edmund, feeling a strange emptiness inside her. 

____________________________________

Ivar knew taking England wouldn't be easy, but it would definitely be easier if he was leading the entire army. 

King Harald had the last word, and even if he trusted him enough to let him think about the strategies, it wasn't the same. Ivar made a flawless plan, he thought about every single detail, and he knew exactly what the english would do. It wasn't too hard. 

"So, King Alfred is evacuating the city" Harald emptied his drink, taking another piece of meat before his deep blue eyes fixed on Ivar, who ate in silence next to his brother. Hvitserk ignored them, focusing on the food on his plate "Should we take it?"

Ivar raised an eyebrow and swallowed the food before taking his cup to drink some more ale. 

"We need to defeat Alfred first, we can't do much with just the city"

Harald shrugged. 

"Defeating him in battle won't change much either, we need to gain some more ground" 

Ivar hummed, nodding. 

"I agree, and we should try and find something that gives us some kind of advantage over them, because we are outnumbered and we can't defeat them just by winning battles, they can assemble another army faster than us" 

"And? You're the strategist here, Ivar" Harald chuckled. In some way, he was happy to have the youngest Ragnarsson back on his side.

"We need to find something that makes them surrender to our terms and buys us some time" Ivar raised an eyebrow. 

"Like a hostage?" Hvitserk raised his head for the first time since the food arrived. He let Ivar do the talk, and stuck to fighting. 

Ivar smirked at his brother. 

"Exactly. A hostage, dear brother" 

"I don't think that a couple of soldiers captured in battle will make them surrender to our terms" Harald shrugged again "We'd need someone else, someone like..."

"The queen" 

The king raised an eyebrow at him, while Ivar smiled softly.

"Christian women don't go to battle, and we can't try and break into their camp, there will be too many guards"

"Exactly, so we need to find a moment in which the men are occupied with something else, something like..."

"A battle" Hvitserk chuckled. 

Ivar nodded winking at his brother.

"So you mean to kidnap the queen during the battle" Harald nodded slowly "It could work"

"The queen won't be far from the battlefield, and there won't be so many guards" Ivar shrugged, taking another bite from his plate. 

"We could go and meet them on a battlefield, I already explored some of the lands around here and I think it would be easier to attract them to the woods" Ivar nibbled one of the ribs "Then, we ambush them, and keep them distracted enough time to sneak into their camp and take the queen"

"And then?" Harald looked interested. Sometimes, he found Ivar's mind fascinating.

"Then we negotiate" he shrugged "We just want some land, right? The queen in exchange for that land, I think it's a fair exchange, then, when we have the land, some resources and a place to settle down, we can continue fighting, because we will be stronger" 

"But he could betray us after he gets his queen back" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow. 

"I know Alfred, he won't" Ivar shook his head "Not as long as he thinks we're willing to stop the raids and the invasion if we get the land" 

"So we lie to him" Harald pointed, and Ivar nodded slowly. 

"But first" he raised an eyebrow "We need the queen"

_________________________________

 The beds on the camp were uncomfortable. Edlynn didn't complain, though, knowing everyone had bigger problems than worrying about her not getting any sleep. 

Just two days after the engagement feast, king Alfred ordered to evacuate the city. The northmen were too close, and it was too dangerous, it was the only explanation she got when her father bursted into the chambers and ordered to pack only the necessary. Edlynn barely saw him since then, as he and Edward, her brother, would ride with the king when everyone was moving and didn't leave the king's tent when they camped, too busy with battle plans and strategies. Queen Elsewith was also with them, and Edlynn's betrothed, Lord Edmund, too. Betrothed... It still sounded too irreal. At least, he rode next to the carriage she traveled in. 

Mildrith was the only one that found the entire thing exciting. Edlynn often found her wandering outside the camp, and didn't mind how many times she begged her to stay in the tent, Mildrith wouldn't listen. 

Edlynn could sneak a couple of books inside of her trunk, hidden between some dresses, and it was the only entertainment she had. 

"They say tomorrow there will be a battle" Mildrith muttered as she watched some of the soldiers training. It was raining and the both of them stayed inside of the tent, just at the entrance so Edlynn could read and Mildrith could watch the people around. 

"The King and our men will be victorious" Edlynn repeated what Hilda said every time she mentioned the war "We have God on our side"

Mildrith frowned, as she always did when she heard that phrase, which was the only thing everyone seemed to say these days.

"I'm not so sure about that, Lynn" she muttered "They are smart and their Gods are fierce, they say that they're lead by the same one that took York" she lowered her tone "Ivar the Boneless" 

Her friend raised an eyebrow, the name was familiar. 

"Why do they call him boneless?" 

"Because he can't walk" Mildrith shrugged like it was obvious "They say he crawls around like a snake, and that he's fierce and vicious... Some even say he's the Devil incarnated" 

Edlynn rolled her eyes.

"Those are tales, Mildrith, he's just a man" she chuckled "A cruel one, a heathen, but just a man, he's just like you and me" 

"Some women say he's handsome too" she giggled. 

"Have they seen him?" 

"Yes, in York, they said he's cruel but beautiful, just looking at him felt like a sin" 

Edlynn closed her book. 

"You shouldn't go around saying these things, Mildrith, anyone would think you're in love with that heathen"

She laughed out loud, making some of the soldiers near them turn to look at her. 

"I'm not in love with him, I don't know him" she shrugged "But I'd like to see him, at least once" 

Edlynn rolled her eyes again, shaking her head before going back to the book.

__________________________________

Edlynn didn't know how to feel when she saw the men leaving. King Alfred said goodbye to his queen and Edlynn hugged her father and brother. Even Lord Edmund kissed the back of her hand and bowed his head with a gentle smile on his lips. She didn't know how to react, as she never had to say goodbye to the men when they left to battle. Should I cry? Smile? She tried her best to imitate queen Elsewith. 

"Pray for us" her father kissed Edlynn's forehead softly for the last time before getting on his horse "And may God be with us" 

She nodded slowly and kept silent as they left the camp. 

After a couple of minutes in silence, the queen walked towards her, making Edlynn nervous. Will she scold me for not doing this well? 

"Edlynn, I'd like you to join me in my tent to pray for the safe return of the king and his men"

She looked around. Some of the women looked at her, probably jealous of seeing she had the queen's favor and thinking that was the reason why she had been betrothed to Lord Edmund. 

"Of course" Edlynn nodded her head respectfully, ignoring them.

The queen smiled brightly at her, relieved to hear her agreeing. She had a bad feeling about this new war, and worried about her husband, but  also hoped to find some kind of peace on the tent. 

"You can go, there's food and wine, I'll go talk to the priest first, and then I'll join you"

Edlynn nodded with a small smile. Her eyes found Hilda's, who smiled proudly at the young girl she loved so much. Mildrith waited until the queen had walked away and then approached her friend. 

"What's with you and the queen?" 

Edlynn shrugged. 

"I suppose she's just trying to be nice, after all she understands what's like to be betrothed to someone you don't know" 

"Oh" Mildrith bit her lip, almost like she had forgotten Edlynn was about to marry a stranger "Yes, it makes sense... Anyway, be careful, people will start thinking you're trying to win the queen's favor" 

Edlynn glanced to a group of women from the court, who looked at the both of them and whispered. 

"I'll go to the queen's tent now" she decided to ignore it "Join me later? We could go to the river and maybe bathe" 

Anything to avoid thinking about the battle that was probably going to take place soon. 

Mildrith nodded with a smile and waved at her as she approached the tent. The guards bowed their heads respectfully and moved to let her enter. It was much bigger than the tent Edlynn shared with Hilda, and the bed looked much comfortable than the one they had given to her. The bedding was soft and warm, and made her sigh in jealousy as her eyes wandered around the tent. 

There was a table with some food and wine on it, and Edlynn's mouth watered as she realized she still hadn't eaten. In front of the bed, there was a table with a cross and a few candles, which was where she supposed both the king and the queen said their prayers. 

Edlynn glanced at the entrance to make sure no one entered and quickly grabbed a grape from one of the bronze plates and turned around to savor it. She loved grapes, and the best ones could only be found at the king's table. 

But as she glanced down to hide her face in case the queen entered, Edlynn noticed something on the rug that covered the floor of the tent. Frowning, and wondering why there was a dark spot just before her, she bended down to examine it, widening her eyes when she realized it was blood. There wasn't just one spot, but a trail that disappeared behind a curtain, and suddenly she realized something else. 

The guards didn't ask who I was before letting me in. 

Before Edlynn could even react, someone grabbed her from behind, putting their hands on her mouth to stifle the scream that left her throat. She writhed and fought, but there was two of them, too strong for her. Suddenly, she heard a whisper on a foreign language and then an intense pain on the back of her head as one of the two men hit the back of her head with the handle of his sword before there was only darkness. 

________________________________

Ivar was proud. Once again, he ensured a clear victory over the saxons with a flawless plan, and he demonstrated he still was the brilliant strategist everyone admired. Even Harald looked impressed to see that the risky plan to defeat King Alfred's army had been successful. Ivar seemed to read the young king's mind perfectly, and if everything had gone well with the other part of the plan, they'd have a queen waiting for them in the camp that would make things even easier for them. Hvitserk also looked satisfied, having missed the adrenaline of the battlefield and the satisfaction of killing too much. Harald admitted he was wary of those two, with Ivar's sharp mind and Hvitserk's skills in battle, they were nearly unbeatable. 

Thanks Odin any of them had given any signs of wanting the crown of Norway Harald had fought so hard to get. But he still didn't trust Ivar completely. 

But now they had a common cause, and he hoped that controlling some lands in England would satisfy Ivar's hunger for power. 

"So..." Ivar didn't speak until he had finished two horns of ale. The intensity of the battle, standing for so long and walking with the crutches left him exhausted "Do we have a queen or not?" 

The men that had just entered the tent, still wearing the saxon's armor, bowed their heads before speaking. 

"We do" one of them smiled victoriously "She's unconscious, but guarded, we had to hit her to bring her here" 

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow. Ivar had made very clear that he didn't want the queen harmed. Not yet at least, he had said with a chuckle the night before, Alfred won't surrender to our terms if we harm her. 

"She's fine, though" the other man glared at his companion "It was just a small blow on the head" 

Harald nodded, ignoring the stern glare Ivar sent their way. 

"Try and wake her up" the king ordered "We'll talk to her before feasting and resting" 

The men bowed again and left. Harald then turned to look at the brothers. In some way, it hurt to see them so close again, reminding him of his own brother, who had also been his most loyal friend. The Ragnarssons didn't have the best relationship, but he noticed they looked much closer since they went back to Kattegat after being with the Rus. He didn't know what had happened there between them, but now he was sure no one could get between them. He envied them for that. 

Now they seemed to be having a conversation in silence, with just some stares and grimaces. 

"Your plan worked" he said out loud, looking at Ivar. The youngest son of Ragnar shot him a cocky smile. 

"Of course it worked, saxons are predictable" he shrugged "And Alfred won't dare to attack us when we have his queen" his eyes shone with pride. 

"I wonder if she's pretty" Hvitserk muttered with a dreamy smile as he chewed on a piece of bread. Harald smirked at that, he understood the feeling of coming back from battle and feeling the need to have a woman after filling his belly with warm food and cold drinks. It helped to relax. 

Ivar rolled his eyes. He was never as interested in women as his brothers were, and the few times he actually was with women had ended in disaster. So he couldn't understand the obsession. 

"She's a christian, so probably not" he shrugged "Anyway, that's the last thing we should worry about" 

"There are beautiful christian women out there, little brother" Hvitserk chuckled, amused by his brother's annoyance. 

"They're weak" he narrowed his eyes "They are always scared, they don't fight and they don't have the spirit and the courage of viking women"

"How many christian women have you met, Ivar?" Harald laughed. 

Ivar frowned. He had had too much contact with christians for his liking.

"Anyway" he scowled, annoyed, as he stood up leaning on his crutch "Let's go, we have a queen to meet".

__________________________________

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#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings imagine #heathen

[elivanah-writes]

Gift of the gods ~2~

pairing: Paul Lahote x female!pagan!reader

Sum: y/n struggles with her feelings 

warnings: fluff, a bit angst

Yes there will be a part 3

masterlist   part 1

Ever since the day Kim and y/n had breakfast at Emily’s and had met Paul things had changed. She couldn’t really describe how but she felt it. Emily and the guys had been so welcoming to her and just accepted her into their group. It was nice, she had a harder time than others to trust people and she really felt like she could trust these people. She felt at ease like she belonged here. But she knew it wasn’t really the group that made her feel like that. It was mostly Paul. At the end of that day, Paul and she had exchanged phone numbers after they had sat on the beach talking while the rest of the guys played soccer. Even from those few hours of talking she could feel the connection between them like it just clicked between them. At first, she thought it was weird how quickly she felt at ease with him but then again not much surprised her anymore. And she had asked the gods for balance, who wasn’t to say that just like Kim had said the gods could have granted her wish in the form of a person?

The following few weeks she and Kim spend almost every day with Emily and the guys when they weren’t working. By the end of the first week, she really saw them all as friends. It was easy to say that she even had started to develop feelings for Paul, she didn’t know yet how strong those feelings were, but she had them. She knew he was interested in her too, he had even asked her on a date not long after that day on the beach. But she had to let him down, she really wanted to say yes but dating him would make leaving so much harder. And she knew a long-distance relationship was not something that would work for her. He understood, said that he’d be anything for her that she wanted, a brother or a best friend, he even kept the option of a lover open for her if she ever decided to give a relationship with him a shot. That only made her feelings for him grow. The way he talked to her, made her laugh or smile when she felt down. It was like he just knew what she needed, and he just gave it to her. 

La Push had always been her home, it seems that being back here only made that even more clear to her. Where she lived now she never had felt like she was home, even the people she had around her, her adoptive family never felt like real family to her, she only had a good relationship with her mother, she’d do everything for her. Being back where she was truly happy made her rethink everything.

It was her last week in La Push and she didn’t know how to feel, she felt torn. She wanted nothing more than to stay here and give in to whatever she was feeling for Paul. But sadly, things weren’t that easy. She had a job to go back to, her adoptive family. She couldn’t leave just like that. 

That’s how she found herself back at the beach at sunset, she had spent most of the day hanging out with Kim and Jared but she had felt like she was third-wheeling most of the time. She had muttered some lame excuse and walked the short distance to the beach where she found her usual spot and sat down. This time she wasn’t going to start a ritual, she was just going to pray to the gods. She tried to calm her racing heart as much as she could, took a few deep breaths, and cleared her mind before softly speaking.

“Make me strong in spirit, courageous in action, gentle of heart, let me act in wisdom, conquer my fear and doubts, discover my own hidden gifts, meet others with compassion, be a source of healing energy, and face each day with hope and joy” she repeated the mantra a few times until she felt completely calm and had a clear mind. She knew she could make decisions better with a clear mind. It had felt like only a few minutes had passed since she had arrived at the beach but when she looked up, she saw that the sun had gone down completely and made place for the dark night. She must have zoned out for quite some time because she could hear voices calling out for her. As fast as she could she got to her feet and slipped from behind the bushes and surely, she could see Paul and Jared walking straight at her spot calling out her name. It was like they knew she would be here.

“I’m here! Sorry, I lost track of time.” She spoke as she walked in their direction. “How did you even know that I was here?” 

“Kim told us you like to come to the beach to think so we figured that we would find you here,” Paul said as he scratched the back of his neck like he wasn’t completely sure of what he was saying. Kim never knew about her usual spot on the beach so she knew Kim couldn’t have told them, but she didn’t call him out on it. “Well, I’m taking Kim to dinner, so I need to get going if we want to be on time. See you guys later.” Jared said before taking off leaving her and Paul alone on the beach.

“Walk with me?” 

“Sure” she smiled as he held her hand and started to walk together along the shore. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after a long comfortable silence “I don’t really know how to start. It’ll actually sound crazy, but I need you to trust me.”

“Of course, you can tell me anything, Paul. Whatever it is, I’ll promise that I won’t judge you.” She reassured him and softly squeezed his hand letting him know he could go on.

“I don’t know if Kim ever told you about our tribe’s legends?”

 “Her parents did, I think, back when we were little. I thought those stories were amazing, how some of your tribe members are supposed to transform into these giant wolves to protect the rez, right? At least that’s what I remember, it’s been a long time since I last heard them.” She smiled as she thought back to the times that Kim’s mother tucked them into bed and told them all these stories.

“Yeah, that’s the essence of the legend. But what if I said that those aren’t just stories, what if…?” 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she quickly says when he didn’t finish his sentence. she knew that the wolf she had seen on her first night here in La Push had seemed familiar when she thinks back to it, the wolf’s eyes had looked so much like Paul’s. And in a way she felt like she had always known, he had been the wolf that had been watching her as she did her ritual. 

“What?” Paul asked a bit confused and stopped walking to turn towards her; this wasn’t how he thought she would react. Yes, he had expected her to take it better than how most people would but this he didn’t understand.

“The day I arrived, I came to the beach and I saw two wolves. You were one of them, weren’t you?”

Paul could only stare at her in amazement. She knew, she just knew and didn’t freak out about it.

“How did you know?” He asked softly

“When we met at Emily’s I already had the feeling that we’ve met before, your eyes just seemed so familiar, and then one day when we were talking you just looked me straight in the eye and I just knew where I had seen your eyes before. It was those wolf’s eyes, it was you,” she explains with a soft smile.

“So you’re not afraid of me?”

“No, of course not. Call it strange, but I knew you’d never hurt me from the first second that I saw you. I felt a connection like it was meant to be.” 

“I’d die before I’d ever hurt you. I promise you I’ll never hurt you,” he said as he cupped her cheek with his free hand looking at her like she had hung the moon and stars in his sky. Little did she know that was exactly how he felt. The moment was so intimate that neither noticed that they started to lean into each other until their noses touched. Before Y/n really knew it soft warm lips brushed over hers and for a minute she forgot all about why she felt like a relationship with him wouldn’t work. At that moment it was only him and her and nothing else mattered but them. If she had to describe it she’d say that a bomb of butterfly’s exploded inside her belly. If she wasn’t sure about her feelings for Paul, she was now, she was in love with him. Her mind was clear, no worries, no questions, just warmth and him. She let herself be selfish for once. Pressing her lips fully against his deepening the kiss into a passionate embrace of their lips. She doesn’t know how long they stood there with one of his hands on her cheek while his other hand was still holding hers as their lips and tongues danced with each other. 

The days following that kiss felt like she went through hell, it’s not like she regretted the kiss but it had complicated things. Leaving La Push, leaving Paul was going to be one of the hardest things she needed to do. That day after he dropped her off at Kim’s place she had cried herself to sleep, mourning a life she wished she could have with Paul here in La Push. For once in her life, she disliked the fact that she had a family and a job waiting for her to come back to. The following days she stayed inside her room, silenced her phone, and kept herself busy with packing her bags. Both Paul and Kim tried to talk to her, tried to figure out what was wrong but they were met with silence. That was until Kim had enough of her sulking and just used the spare key to open her bedroom door. Kim’s heart broke a little when she saw her best friend sitting in a corner of the room with teary eyes. She just sat down next to her, pulled y/n into her embrace, and cried with her like she already knew what she was going through. 

“ Whatever you decide to do, this will always your home too y/n,” Kim said later that night when they lay on her bed before the two of them fell asleep. 

Friday had never come this quick before, all her bags were packed and loaded into Kim’s father’s truck ready to drive her to the airport. Kim’s family had wanted to throw her a goodbye party but y/n shut that down as soon as they had vocalized the idea. Instead, she just wanted to spend her last hours in La Push with them as a family. Now she sat on the edge of her bed, taking in the room for the last time when suddenly there was a knock on her already open door. She expected it would be Kim or her father, but instead, she saw Paul standing there leaning against the doorpost. When their eyes met he gave her a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes completely. He looked like he hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours in the last few days and she knew that it was probably because of her but still he smiled at her. 

“So you were leaving without saying goodbye?” He said. It was more a statement than a question.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it would be easier like that.” She softly says as she turns her eyes back to her hands.

“Why would that be easier? Please talk to me, don’t shut me out.” Paul asks as he makes his way into her room and sits down next to her. “Because it just makes leaving harder, I can’t say goodbye to you.”

“Then don’t, don’t leave. Stay here with me.” he pleads, takes one of her hands in his, and gives it a soft squeeze so she would look up at him.

When their eyes meet again he can clearly see the tears in them ready to fall. 

“ As much as I’d want to stay I can’t. Please don’t make this harder Paul,” 

As soon as she started talking the tears fell, her heart already starting to break.

“If you want to stay, then stay. We can work something out, we can work. What, what about that kiss? You can’t deny that it felt right, amazing even.” he spoke like he was getting desperate.

“Yes that kiss was amazing and felt right but it complicated everything. I really like you, a lot, but I have a life back home, people who expect me to come home.” 

“I know, I’m not asking you to give them up. I’m asking you to give me a chance, to give us a chance.” He says turning his body fully in her direction.

“Look I know this isn’t the way I wanted to tell you but there is another part of the legend that I haven’t told you yet. Every wolf has this ability to imprint. It’s when we find that one person and you look at her for the first time and suddenly it’s not gravity that holds you, it’s her. She gives the wolf balance, peace. The wolf’s whatever the imprint wants him to be, a brother, protector, a friend, or a lover. they’re soulmates.” He explains as he looks at her hopefully.

“I’m your imprint.”

It was something she already knew deep inside herself, it might not be in the same words but she knew, she felt it. He brought her balance and she had never felt more at peace and loved. That’s why it was that much harder. Soulmate or not, long-distance would never work, but then again staying wasn’t an option. She had too many people depending on her back home, she couldn’t leave them fending for themselves. She couldn’t be selfish even if she wanted to be.

“Yes, you’re my imprint.” He smiled weakly as she just cried a bit harder than she already was and without thinking he pulled her against his chest. He knew he couldn’t force her to stay so his heart broke together with hers. He understood why she was leaving and couldn’t stay. But you couldn’t fault a man for trying, he wanted what’s best for and if that was not here with him then he had to let her go.

“Can we at least stay friends, stay in touch?” he asked her while a tear of his own fell.

tags:

@its-la-push   @ghostmistwalker @bisexualcrazybeans @fatiguing-thoughts @pawfect-melody

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #alex meraz #twilight #paul lahote x y/n #paul x reader #paul lahote fanfiction #pagan reader #wolfpack #embry call #jacob black #Jared Cameron #sam uley #Quil Ateara #Kim

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

#eivor x randvi #eivor randvi #lady eivor #lady knights #women in armor #my writing #randivorprideweek #randivorprideweek2021

[m0srael]

Torch Your Inhibitions

2k | E | Read on Ao3

Third installment for @magpiefngrl's 2021 Summer Writing Challenge. Prompts: Bonfire + Sex Pollen + Unreliable Narrator. I joked about making this just a whole lotta nature-based group sex and...well... Thanks @nv-md and @devilrising for making this even better!

“Malfoy, are you sure the invitation says no pants allowed?” Harry says to the mirror as he grimaces and tightens the rope holding his robe closed around his hips.

“Yes, Luna has been very clear about the order of this evening’s events, and frankly it just seems... neater to me. You disagree?”

Harry forgets to reply for a moment, distracted by the broad swath of pale chest Draco’s own robe has left exposed, one hard, pink nipple on full display. Draco doesn’t notice that Harry’s jaw has gone slack as he’s too busy readjusting himself under the thick, burgundy fabric that makes his hair seem more golden than usual.

“Well, I mean, she’s not going to check, is she?” Harry manages to say, despite the marked blood deficit in his brain. “Bloody hell, what am I saying, it’s Luna of course she’d check.”

“Right. So…” Draco murmurs , matter-of-factly, as he moves to stand close behind Harry, making eye contact in the mirror, “knickers off, Potter.”

Harry tells himself he doesn’t know what Draco is about to do, but the moment he feels the fabric shift against his arse he freezes, hoping beyond hope that he has guessed correctly.

“Alright?” Draco whispers on a smirk into his bare shoulder as an unsupressable shudder shakes through Harry.

Harry can’t speak, so he just nods.

Draco slowly gathers up the bottom of Harry’s robe in his fingers until he can slip his hands underneath it, letting it cascade down his wrists. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic band where it wraps around Harry’s hips.

Harry’s eyes fall closed as Draco’s fingers drag against his skin, down and down Harry’s thighs, until his pants fall to the ground.

Draco makes a soft sound. When Harry’s eyes fly open he realizes that Draco’s gaze is fixed to the tent in his loose robe, all the more obvious now that his cock is free.

“Steady, Potter. We haven’t even made it to the party yet,” Draco growls, before turning quickly and stalking out of the bedroom.

Harry groans and covers his flaming face, letting his head thunk against the wardrobe door. He doesn’t understand what it all means.

He and Draco have been living together for a year and a half. For the first six months they avoided one another almost entirely. The eight or so months after that had been punctuated by short, fiery conversations as they felt each other out, slowly arriving at some mutual understanding and even cautious friendship.

The last few months, including the very moment Harry finds himself in presently, have been an unending nightmare. He never realized how tactile Draco is with friends, but he touches Harry all the time.

When Draco needs a glass from the cupboard over Harry’s head, he plants one hot palm firmly on Harry’s lower back to steady himself. When they sit on the couch watching films, Draco always slides his cold feet under Harry’s thigh for warmth. It only takes half a pint at the pub before Draco’s leaning into Harry’s side, and another half before Draco drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder and presses his nose into Harry’s throat.

Draco also apparently has some aversion to closed doors. Harry is sure it has something to do with growing up in the Manor, being shut in for so long with such terrible people. It doesn’t really bother Harry, who also hates feeling trapped.

Though...he did accidentally walk in on Draco in the shower, mid-wank, last week.

Harry had stood, mesmerized in the doorway, watching for longer than he would ever admit (even to himself). He only averted his eyes when Draco noticed him, and said, “Are you going to stand there gaping, or are you going to help, Potter?” He laughed mockingly as Harry hurried down the hallway shouting apologies.

A tiny part of Harry’s brain recognizes Draco’s behavior as flirtatious. The other part--the louder part--knows that never in a million years would Draco Malfoy share Harry’s secret desires. This is just how Draco is with everyone. Harry only started to notice it once they lived in the same house.

“Harry...I know you told me to stop asking, but...you’re sure you’re okay with this? You want to go? The details of the ritual were pretty clear, and Luna did say that no one was obligated to--”

Gods, did Draco think he was that naive and squeamish? No, he would see this through, if only to prove a point.

“Yeah, yep...yes. I’m okay. I mean, I want to go. I’m...curious. NO! I mean, well...I want to...support Luna, so…” Harry trails off as he joins Draco on the front steps.

“Uh huh. Convincing,” Draco smirks, “if you want to leave, you can. Okay?” he finishes in that soft, pedantic way of his before taking Harry’s hand and apparating them to the coordinates from Luna’s invitation.

*

Luna had insisted everyone arrive rested and well-hydrated, and Harry was glad he’d taken her advice.

Before the sunlight faded completely, they set up the May Day altar together, followed Luna in a series of prayers for fertility and abundance, and danced around the maypole. Neville had even brought everyone a seedling to plant somewhere in the forest or take home to plant in their garden.

Harry would be feeling a little silly about all the neo-pagan pageantry, if his stomach weren’t tying itself into knots the further the sun falls below the horizon.

Before he knows it, Seamus is tossing a lit torch onto a giant pile of logs in the center of the forest clearing.

“Happy May Day, everyone!” Luna sing-songs as they all assemble around the bonfire.

She reaches into a fold in her robe and pulls out a small pouch.

“It’s time for the most important rite of the evening. I hope you all took the time to read the pamphlet I included with your invitation. If you’d like to forgo participation, I suggest you step away from the fire before we begin. If anyone is still unsure about what this part of the evening entails, please let me know now! There are no silly questions!”

Harry watches as a few people say their goodbyes and apparate away. He lifts one foot slightly as if to move away from the fire before catching Draco’s eyes across the circle. His brow is furrowed—he looks upset. His eyes are glowing in the firelight and he flicks his tongue out along his bottom lip. Harry plants his feet, nodding slightly as if to say yeah, I’m okay, I’m staying.

“Alright, everyone! Take the hands of the people beside you!”

Harry’s hand closes around Neville’s on one side and Pansy’s on the other. He makes eye contact with Neville and can’t stop the manic, high-pitched laugh that ekes its way out of his throat. Neville just smiles warmly and squeezes his hand. Harry’s stomach flutters.

“Have you all got the kits we sent with your invitations?” The group murmurs affirmatively. “Good! Just in case, there are extras in the basket over there! Can’t be too careful!” says Luna as she opens the pouch and dumps sparkling powder onto the fire.

The flames turn a brilliant deep purple color and leap up six or seven feet, giving off thick plumes of lavender smoke. Neville inhales and sighs deeply.

Harry closes his eyes and lets the fragrant smoke overwhelm his senses. He feels a soft breeze caress his hot skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He gasps as his robe rustles around his thighs.

Every ounce of nervousness melts out of him and into the earth. He’s distantly aware that there are people moving around him but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes and look at them; he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life.

Gentle fingers slide into his hair, making his mouth fall open to receive an eager tongue.

“Harry…” Neville whispers into his mouth before kissing him soundly. They stand for a while, lips sliding over each other’s mouths and palms moving over each other’s bodies.

“Mm, s’good…” Harry slurs as someone unties the rope around his hips and slides his robe off. He shivers at the sudden kiss of cool air and curling smoke.

When he finally pries his eyes open his view is full of the top of Neville’s head, now on his knees in front of Harry. Harry rolls Neville's head in his palms until their glassy eyes meet. Harry hadn’t realized he was so hard--he groans as Neville takes him in hand and begins to stroke him lazily.

A hand slides around his chest from behind and a soft, warm body presses flush against his back.

“I always thought you were fit...” Pansy mouths against the back of his neck. Her small fingers tease his nipples as she rolls her naked body against his.

Harry shivers again when the thick smoke parts and his eyes land on Draco across the fire. He’s kissing Seamus deeply, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, as he strokes them both with one hand. He gasps when Draco opens his eyes and turns his head slightly to look right at him.

Making sure he didn’t chicken out, probably.

Harry’s head falls back onto the top of Pansy’s as Neville takes him into his mouth, inch by inch, humming around him. Harry’s first orgasm rolls through him almost without his knowledge, every cell in his body pulsing as Neville moans and licks him through it. He watches as Neville pulls off and strokes himself to completion, one hand gripping Harry’s thigh tightly.

*

He’s on his knees in front of Pansy, who he’s backed into a tree at the edge of the clearing, his face wet and hot, when he hears that voice.

“My loves,” Draco purrs. The clearing is filled with the sounds of heavy panting and urgent moans.

As Draco leans over Harry’s shoulder to kiss Pansy, his cock rests hot and heavy on Harry’s shoulder. Harry slides his tongue out of Pansy, replacing it with two fingers, to press his mouth to Draco’s throbbing flesh. Draco curls his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling hard.

“Harry...need you…now...” Draco pants, pulling his head further back so they can make eye contact. Pansy moans loudly and Harry can feel her tighten around him, hips rocking forward onto his fingers.

Draco pulls Harry away from the clearing, the light and sounds from the bonfire growing distant and muffled. He urges Harry onto his back on the forest floor before straddling his hips.

“So...beautiful,” breathes Harry as he runs appreciative hands over Draco’s scarred chest, “want you so much…”

“Want you too, for so long, Harry,” Draco replies as he pops open the cap of the little bottle of lube Luna had sent them. The handmade label reads ‘A Happy May Day is a Lubricated One!’ complete with little drawings of butterflies.

“What?” replies Harry, hands stilling in confusion.

Harry can’t temper the sound that tears out of him as Draco wraps his wet hand around them both and begins to roll his hips. Harry thinks he’ll come again from that alone, but before he can Draco’s hand is gone.

“Aren’t you glad, now, that you listened to the no-pants rule--ah--Potter?” Draco quips as he lowers himself slowly onto Harry.

“Mmmm, yes, yes you were right,” hisses Harry as waves of heat and sensation roll up his spine.

“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Draco teases on a breathy laugh that quickly becomes a low moan.

Harry’s hips press up to meet Draco’s every slow, languorous thrust. Harry drifts, pulled under by Draco’s fingers and his lips at Harry’s ear whispering all kinds of incredible things.

You’re all I want, Harry. Need you, all the time, not just tonight. Please, I’m yours, I’m yours, Harry.

When Harry comes, he cradles Draco’s face in his hands, open mouth pressed against the corner of Draco’s mouth. Draco immediately follows, breathing out Harry’s name again, and again.

Harry can’t stop the laugh that forces its way out of his chest, and he’s delighted when Draco laughs along with him, folding forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s.

*

When Harry wakes up the next morning his memory of the night before is complete in his mind, but it feels wrapped in a purple-tinted haze. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s not alone in his bed--Draco is tucked up against his side, breathing gently.

Harry turns to watch him sleep in silence for a moment, finally admitting to himself that Draco really had been flirting with him the whole time. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he doesn’t want to wake Draco.

It takes him a moment to notice that Draco’s eyes have blinked open sleepily.

“Mine?” whispers Harry.

“Yours, Harry.”

#2021 summer writin #drarry fic rec #drarry fanfic #drarry #Luna doesn't f*ck around when it comes to bonfires #Except that she does if you know what I mean #mosewrites

[hvitserkmarcosource]

Into The Woods

(Hvitserk x Reader)

Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Unprotected Sex, Virgin Reader, Christian x Viking)

Requested by @lady-valkyrie

Word Count: 1,928

I hope everyone enjoys! My requests are still open, if anyone wants one, send me a message!

................................................

It was stupid, you knew it was, but you were dying of thirst and the men at camp weren’t going to fetch any water. “Stupid pompous, ignorant men” you grumble to your self as you walk further into the woods.

You were stationed at camp, a skilled nurse and an even better cook, waiting for this war to be over. You can’t understand why King Alfred would want to start a war with people who were once his allies. It boggles your mind terribly.

But who are you to judge... that’s right, no one.

You are a simple cristian, a servant to Alfred, and nothing more... isn’t that exciting. You roll your eyes at your own thoughts. Finding yourself angrier the further you walk. Stepping in mud and God knows what else.

After a long while you find the stream and your anger slowly starts to fade. The water is so beautiful and you guess nature isn’t so bad... The Lord made everything here so you should appreciate it more. You should stop and bask in all that the Lord has made, let it soak in and wash away all of your sins-

“Well well well, what brings you to our side of the camp little bird?”

You freeze, because what else could you possibly do in a situation like this.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles “You are a Christian yes? I have not seen you before and trust me I would have remembered you”

You nod, it seems a cat has indeed got your tongue.

“Are you alone, little bird?” He asks

And that’s when you start to cry. You are alone, so terribly terribly alone, with no means to protect yourself and no one to help. Or hear your screams.

The man gets off of his horse and before you know it you’re running, running across the stream and as far away from this Pagan as possible. He was going to kill you, that’s for certain. He’ll kill you and send your head back to camp as a message.

Strong hands grab you and wrap around your mouth to silence your screams. Your body is pushed into a tree and you wince in pain. “Stay quiet” he warns “I don’t want to hurt you. This war is idiotic and unessesary… Will you be calm if I remove my hand?”

You nod frantically

True to his word he released you, spinning you around to face him he says “See much better, I was not trying to frighten.”

“You can understand my fear, I hope.”

He smiles “She has her voice back, praise the gods.”

“God” you correct him, to which he smirks

“You have your God and I have mine, I never understood why it is such a crime for people

to believe in different things. Why it has started wars”

“Because men like to fight” you answer him “They would rather be bloody on a battlefield than silent in a temple or church.”

He sighs “I guess you’re right… I’m Hvitserk.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t tell me, it is better I don’t know who you are” Confusion must have been clear on your face because he explains himself “If you are of importance I will have to do things I don’t want to do”

“O-oh”

For a moment a silence falls between the two of you. Your back still against the tree and Hvitserk still standing closer to you than he should be. However, you're not uncomfortable… he is handsome for a heathen. He isn’t filthy or fat. He’s young and,

you’re sure, fit under the layers of fur and armor.

“You’re staring, little bird.” He says softly

“So are you”

He chuckles “You are beautiful, you can not blame me”

A blush creeps onto your cheeks and you desperately try to avoid eye contact.

“Do you have a husband?” He asks “Is there a man back at camp that is missing you?”

You shake your head “No one is missing me, I doubt they even know I exist”

In an instant his lips are on yours, making your head spin… this is so wrong. He may be handsome but he’s the enemy and this is a sin.

You push him away and wipe your mouth off with the sleeve of your dress. “How dare you!” You yell “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs “You are beautiful and all alone… and I want to have sex”

You gasp at how crass this man is being “Well you’re just going to have to find someone else-“

He cuts off your sentence with a laugh “You liked it, admit it, little Cristian.” He points at you “A Pagan made you want to break the rules.”

You scoff “That simply isn’t true”

“Then why is your face red and why did it take you so long to push me away. I thought you Cristians couldn’t lie”

You clear your throat “We can’t, I am not lying.”

He steps closer, so close that you begin to get hot. You can feel the sin creeping into your brain. You want him to kiss you again. In fact you want him to do more than kiss you. You want him to throw you up against this tree and make you forget everything about your teachings.

“Little bird, I’m going to kiss you again.” He says it softly, so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I’ll be gentle and I promise it will feel good… and when we’re done you’ll come back to camp with me and forget all about your King Alfred and his Wessex.”

Your lips meet, and your breath leaves your lungs. Your legs turn to jelly and knees buckle as he rests your body against the tree. One of his hands comes up to grab your leg and you let him. You let him hike up your skirt and wrap your leg around his hip.

You let him kiss your neck and leave little bites. You let him mark your sensitive flesh. Bruise you.

Your mind is fuzzy, blissed out by how good he’s making you feel. You’ve never felt like this before and my God you don’t want it to end.

His hips rut into yours and you moan, head tossed back and bottom lip between your teeth. He curses in his language and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. That alone must be a sin.

“Please- Please-“ you don’t know what you're asking him to do, why you're begging like this, but you are and he seems to enjoy it. His lips are on yours again, more aggressive than last time and more heated. You’re moaning like a whore and he’s growling like an animal. Heat rises to your cheeks in embarrassment, you are so going to Hell for this.

His hand slips inside of your undergarments and a small cry leaves your lips when he starts playing with you. Coating his fingers in your wetness and then gently rubbing the most sensitive part of you. You grab onto his shoulders for more support, feeling a fire burning in your belly like a hot coil that is getting ready to snap.

“Let go little bird.”

And you do, that hot coil inside of you snaps and you're reduced to a moaning sobbing mess of pleasure. You’re whispering his name when he lays you down on the ground.

He starts kissing your neck, your face, and lastly your lips “That was so good, so good little bird… are you ready for me now?”

You nod and are rewarded with another kiss. The both of you melt into it just for a moment. It’s slow and sensual and everything you’ve imagined a kiss to be like. You’ve decided you could stay like this with Hvitserk forever.

Once more, you allow him to push your skirt up, his head dips down but you’re too nervous to look. Too nervous, so you close your eyes. You let him kiss your ankles all the way to your hip bone, you let him slide your undergarments down, and you let him kiss below your belly button. “I will not lie, this is going to hurt a little in the beginning. But only for a moment… Is that ok?”

Your voice is shaky when you answer, the fear starting to kick in. You say “Yes” anyway. You don’t know what possesses you, may it be a demon or just the man hovering over you, but you want this. You want this probably as much as he does.

The sin is exciting. The chance of getting caught out in the open. The scandal that your first time will be with an enemy of Wessex. It’s all too exciting.

Your consent is all he needs, it all happens so fast you barely have time to register the sharp pain in your core. And the more he moves the better it feels.

A moan slips from your lips and he starts to pick up the pace, hitting a part of you you never knew existed. “You feel so good little bird- fuck… so good”

You cry out and your body convulses. His thrusts are so powerful that your body moves backwards every time he pushes into you. He buries his face in your neck, moaning and cursing like a mad man.

Your hands search for something to hold on to, finally coming to rest on his upper arms, your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt. “More” you whisper, arching your hips as much as you can. Trying to get more of him inside of you. His hand reaches down and starts to rub circles into your bundle of nerves, sending you into sensory overload.

Another moment of sin, you make the first move and pull him into a kiss. It’s hot and messy and- “Ohhh God!” You scream when your second climax hits you, this one even more intense. Tears streaming down your face and body shaking.

He doesn’t slow down.

Pushing you through your first climax and sending you head long into another. Your body quivers around his, your walls still spasming. Screams die in your throat as wave after wave of pleasure continue to wash over you. Thrust after thrust you get closer to the edge.

He brings your leg up to wrap around him “You’re mine,” he chants “all mine, understand?”

You’re a hiccuping mess but answer him as best you can. “Alll y-your-rss”

He loses his rhythm, his own climax roaring through him quickly. to keep from shouting, he sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh of your neck as he loses control. Spilling inside of you and triggering your third orgasm.

Both of you are quiet, the only sound in the forest is of your heavy breathing. He rolls you over to lay on his chest and wraps an arm around you. For a long while you stay like this, resting, recovering, enjoying the moment of peace in this crazy war.

Suddenly the quiet is broken by Hvitserk’s laugh “Well I don't think you can go back to your camp.”

Playfully you hit his chest “Thanks to you”

He kisses the top of your head and teases “You're welcome”

“I have to go back, Wessex is my home”

He sighs “It doesn’t have to be… I wasn’t joking when I said I want you to come back with me.”

“To a Viking camp? No one will want me there”

He sits up slightly, just so the two of you can look at each other. “I want you there…”

#marco ilsoe #marco ilsø #hvitserk vikings #hvitty #hvitserk ragnarson #history vikings #vikings #hvitserk #marco ilso x reader #marco ilsø x reader #marco ilsø smutt #hvitserk smut #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #marco ilsø smut

[winchestershiresauce]

Motivation or Distraction?

Summary: The reader is so over researching and Sam, in an attempt to provide motivation, distracts her further. To say she welcomes the distraction would be an understatement.

Sam x Reader

1798 words

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral sex

Note: I wrote this one morning when I couldn’t sleep or get work done, but I just realized I never posted it to tumblr. It’s not my best work but I can’t say no to more Sam smut.

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Slumping back into her seat at the table, she sighed dramatically. She let her head fall back, her neck refusing to hold it upright anymore. Sam looked up from the large tome in front of him and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Everything okay over there?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “I’m worried you may have just up and died.”

“I can’t focus on this shit anymore,” she groaned, lifting her head just enough to make eye contact with the hunter across the table.

“Find anything, at least?” 

“Kinda. I mean, I found some clues as to the origin of this stupid thing, but I’m at the point where I’ve read this same paragraph six times and I still couldn’t tell you what it says,” she replied. She sat up a bit straighter and gestured at the laptop in front of her. “It seems to be some kind of pagan something or other but my eyes are rolling back into my skull every time I try to figure out its motivation for taking these people.”

Sam let out another small laugh at her dramatics as she shut her laptop and plopped her head down on her arms, covering the laptop. Sam stood up and walked around the table, stopping behind her. “Sounds like you might be struggling to find your own motivation,” he suggested, and she couldn’t quite place the tone in his voice. He put his large, strong hands on her shoulders and began lightly massaging the tension from her body.

“Keep doing that and I’d be motivated to do just about anything,” she half-joked, melting into his touch. He continued to push his strong thumbs into the tightest muscles in her neck and shoulders. 

“Is that so?” he asked, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “But if I keep this up, you won’t be able to focus on research.”

She sat back in her seat and looked up at the gorgeous, tall man above her. He stopped massaging her neck and let his fingers slowly dance down her bare arms. Every point of contact between his skin and hers left a trail of electricity through her body. She inadvertently let out a soft sigh as the blood began to rush to between her thighs.

“Would that be a bad thing?” she asked, allowing her eyes to drift closed. Sam leaned forward, draping his body over hers, and she could feel his breath ghosting over her ear.

“That all depends on what our goal is here,” he whispered, so close to her ear that his lips brushed against her skin. She let out some sort of half-sigh, half-moan and Sam responded with a breathy laugh. She opened her eyes, and he was still right there. His body crowded hers so that she could feel the heat from him, and she knew her next move would have consequences. She and Sam had always had a certain level of sexual tension between them, but they had never really acted on it. Sure, there were the occasional light touches that lingered just a bit too long, or the way their thighs always seemed to brush against each other after a few post-hunt beers, but this was different.

She turned her head toward him and his face was so close that their lips just ever-so-slightly touched. They hadn’t yet reached the point of no return, but they were dancing on the line. Sam gave the lightest of smirks and she couldn’t hold back any longer. Twisting her body to better face him, she reached her hand up to grab the back of his head, feeling his soft, pullable hair between her fingers. She started to pull his mouth toward hers but then he was on her in an instant. 

Their lips crashed together as they plowed right through that point of no return. His tongue roughly pressed against her bottom lip and she opened up for him. As he licked into her mouth, she stood up to better get at him. Suddenly, she had her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands found her breasts. He ran his thumb across her right nipple, groaning into the kiss as he found she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipple hardened under his thumb and she arched up into his touch. With his other hand, he cupped her whole left breast, covering all of it with his long, thick fingers. He kneaded her tits in his perfect, giant hands and she pulled him even closer. 

He moved one hand to her ass and grabbed, pulling her hips into his. She could feel his arousal pressing against her core and she desperately needed more. He pressed her backward until her hips hit the table and he lifted just enough to sit her on the table top. The move allowed her to wrap her legs around Sam’s waist and she bucked against him. She was so wet that she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Need to feel you, Sam,” she whined, snaking her hand between their bodies. The hard, throbbing evidence of his arousal pressed against the seam of his jeans and she gasped as she could feel how big he was. His hands moved to the button of her jeans, quickly opening them and thrusting his hand inside. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he felt how truly soaked she was. “Is all this for me?” he asked, the rough pad of his finger teasing up and down her slit.

“Yes, Sam. All for you,” she moaned, making quick work of his belt to open his jeans. 

“Need these off,” Sam growled, his face pressed into her throat. His teeth grazed the skin of her collarbone and she thrust her hips up into his hand. He pulled his hand out of her pants to hook his fingers into the waistband and pull. She lifted up just enough for him to slide them under her ass, and she tore her shirt up and off as he stepped away to pull off her jeans. 

“So beautiful.” He admired her naked body as she reached for him again. She slid her fingers under his shirt, dragging her fingertips along his bare back as she lifted the shirt up toward his head. He reached up, ripped it off and tossed it away, and immediately his mouth was on hers again. She wrapped her legs back around him and pressed her soaked pussy against his cloth-covered cock. Without breaking their kiss, he shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs, letting them pool at his ankles. He stepped out of them and pressed roughly against her.

“Fuck, Sam,” she moaned as his thick, heavy cock pressed against her slick folds. He reached down to pump his cock a few times before rubbing it up and down her absolutely soaked slit. She let out a cry, the anticipation killing her. He teased her ready entrance with his tip before pulling away all together. Her eyes flicked open and she mewled at the loss of his touch. She reached out for him, but he dropped to his knees in front of her. As he positioned himself between her thighs, she tightly gripped the edge of the table she was sat on.

“Wanna taste you,” Sam answered, his face inches from the junction between her thighs. She opened her mouth to say something in response, but all words and thoughts were cut off with a sharp gasp as he wrapped his lips around her clit. He maneuvered one of her legs so that it rested on his shoulder as he flattened his tongue and ran it through her folds. She laced her fingers through his hair and gripped so tightly that Sam let out a groan, which rumbled through her sensitive cunt. When his lips found the small bundle of nerves again, she bucked her hips up toward his face, desperately reaching for more. Understanding what she wanted, he swirled his tongue around her aching bud. 

“I’m so close,” she panted as she began to come undone under his touch. Taking that as a challenge, Sam thrust two fingers into her slick channel. His fingers rubbed against the sensitive sweet spot inside as his lips wrapped around her clit again. She cried out, her pussy convulsing around his fingers as her orgasm took hold. She threw her head back, gasping for air as Sam continued to pump his fingers into her, working her through her climax. As soon as she was in control of her body again, she tugged on his hair, pulling his face up to hers. She had wanted to feel him before, but now she needed him inside of her.

She could taste herself on his lips and he pressed against her. Her legs, which dangled off the edge of the table, wrapped around his waist once again. He rutted against her, feeling her wetness coating his cock. He reached between them again, this time wasting no time lining himself up with her soaked opening. He thrust into her, filling her completely in one movement. He swallowed her pleasured whimpers as he began to pound his hips into hers. Each time he pulled out and slammed back in, a moan escaped her lips. 

“You feel so amazing,” he purred, dropping his head down to pop a nipple into his mouth. Her hips were jerking up to meet his every move, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. She was so wet and tight that what little control he had melted away with every thrust. She pulled herself closer to him, dragging her teeth across his ear lobe.

“I wanna feel you come,” she whispered directly into his ear and he lost it. He slammed his hips into hers as he came with a roar. Feeling hot ropes of come spurt into her dragged her over the edge, as she came again with him. Her tight walls spasmed around him and they continued to slam into each other with bruising force as they rode through their climaxes together. Their movements slowed as they started to regain their breath and Sam placed a soft kiss to her lips.

“That was incredible,” he sighed, his lips still touching hers. She nodded with a grin and he pulled his softening cock out of her, grabbing his shirt to clean them both up. She laid back on the table, all energy completely gone from her body.

“If this is how you motivate me, I’ll do any and all research you ever need,” she said with a smirk as she rolled onto her side. She met his eyes and he grinned back at her.

“If you could find the energy to focus, that is,” he answered, giving her ass a light slap.

--

Tags: @hobby27 (Wanna be tagged in future postings? Join any/all lists here!)

#spn fanfiction #spn smut #sam x reader #sam winchester smut #spn fanfic

[n3rdybird]

Healing Touch

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s Hamilton Lyric challenge!  This story went through so many re-writes and changes, god I hope this mangled mess is okay, haha.  My prompt was the line “My name’s been through a lot.  I can take it.”

Vikings

HeahmundxReader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some blood, talk about Church, self-flagellation etc (referenced, not described in depth) suggestive language, oogling a man of the church (haha)

Gossip was always a funny thing in small villages.  Perhaps you had not been thinking clear when you established your home on the edge of the holy town of Sherborn. Nestled in the woods near a stream, you were both close enough to the town to visit for supplies but far enough away that your arrival stirred up a bit of mystery.

 As an unmarried woman with no known family, you already raised a few brows of the more prominent families.  But it was your talent for herbalism that set most of the tongues wagging.  The smallfolk were more pragmatic towards your skills.  They could overlook your marital status if it meant well-made salves and tonic for their aches and illnesses. With their payments, usually traded goods that you could not make yourself, and the bounty of the forest, you rarely had any need to visit the town marketplace.  Which only furthered the mystique around you.

 When you did grace the town with your presence, most of the townsfolk gave you a wide berth, allowing you to shop in peace.  Even the merchants seemed to deal in your favor, giving you more than was due for your wares.  You heard the rumors.  Half the town believed that you were a cunning woman and would bring misfortune to any who wronged you.  The other half sang your praises, that you were even more skilled than the clergy.

 So it was to your great surprise as you kneeled to rearrange your parcels in your basket that a shadow loomed over you. You glanced upward, schooling your features as you saw the Bishop of Sherborne himself, Heahmund, standing over you.

You nodded your head in greeting before standing, slinging your basket over your shoulder.  The bishop was a popular man, known for his devotion to God as well as to the sword.  And lesser-known, his propensity for women.  Mostly gossip, but living as you had, you knew there was at least a kernel of truth to any rumor.  His handsome face did not help, nor the way his stubble gave him a rakish air.  He was a far cry from the average holy man, fat and week from a sedentary lifestyle.

 “Your Grace,” you greeted and dipped into a shallow curtsey, giving the most powerful man in Sherborne due deference for his position.

 “You know who I am?” he asked.

 “Of course.  One could scarcely live in Sherborne without knowing of its Bishop,” you answered.

 He nodded in agreement, before gesturing for you to walk with him.

 “Please allow me to escort you home if you are finished for the day,” he offered. 

 You had no intention of spending any considerable time with the church official, but you erred on the side of caution and walked in step next to him.

 “I apologize for not making my acquaintance sooner, I meet most of my parishioners on Sundays for mass,” he said, keeping his eyes forward. 

 You hummed noncommittally, but inside, you blanched. Heahmund's statement seemed polite on the surface, but you knew he was angling for an answer to why you had yet to make an appearance in church.  In all honesty, it wasn’t that you weren’t Christian.  You were, in your own way.  It was the idea that one had to go to church to be considered religious that you didn’t agree with.  So you had to pick your words carefully.

 “Well then I am pleased that I’ve had the chance to meet you today,” you said, avoiding the point about the church, focusing on his former words rather than the latter.  Heahmund cut his eyes towards you, clearly noting your evasion.

 “Quite.”  His tone was sharp and you felt as if you failed an unknown test.

 The conversation dwindled to Heahmund telling bits of history about the town or gesturing to points of interest as the two of you left town.  You were glad when you walked past the boundary of Sherborne. You were used to the curious stares when you were alone, but with the Bishop as company, it seemed the gazes were amplified.  The gossip mill would soon be in a frenzy.  The path home took you past the open fields and into the shaded forest along a winding path.

 “Living alone, so far from town, must worry you,” he noted.

 “Why would I be worried?”

 “Well a woman such as yourself, living alone.  You would be far better protected living in town.  Roaming bandits, animals, or even the occasional Viking incursion.”

 “I worry as much as the next, I suppose, but living in town has never appealed to me.  Not to mention it is easier to collect wild plants,” you explained.

 “Yes, I’ve heard of your skills.  Where did you learn?”

 You paused your walk, noticing a crop of comfrey sprouting from the ground.  You knelt in the dirt, brushing the purple buds with your fingertips.  Too young.  You’d have to wait a few more days to harvest.  You stood up, wiping the dirt off your skirt.  You glanced back at Heahmund who had stopped several paces away.  He was watching you closely but looked away as soon as your gaze met his.

 “Family mostly, I’ve never learned formally.  I’ve found that there is much in nature that can help or hurt.  It only takes a practiced hand to know the difference.”

 Heahmund stiffened, his hand resting on his sword.  His gaze turned to stone as he eyed you critically. 

 “And do you only heal?  Or do you hurt?  I admit this meeting was no coincidence.  There have been rumors that reached my ears.  Half the town believes you to be a cunning woman, a witch, and I do not suffer pagans under my watch.”

 You swallowed.  You shouldn’t have disregarded the gut feeling you had the moment he began speaking to you. If the Bishop found any fault in your words, he could kill you now and be firm in his belief that he was in the right in his duty as a man of God.  There was no one around who could come to your aid, not that any would stand against the warrior.

 “Do you deny it?”

 “Perhaps you could tell me which rumors have graced your ears, so I may better defend myself.”  The words you spoke were calm and confident, the complete opposite of how you were feeling. The sounds of the forest melted away and all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat as you tried to control your fear.

 Heahmund tilted his head as if trying to suss out your guilt or innocence.

 “‘Which’ rumors?  You are aware of what people say about you?”

 “My name’s been through a lot.  I can take it.  Women are always subjected to gossip, especially unmarried ones.  I would be a fool to believe otherwise.  I hardly see the point in trying to change someone’s opinion of me.  People do not like to be wrong.”

 “Lord Oswald has claimed that you hold dark influence over his daughter, causing her to act out and defy her father.  And that you placed a curse upon him, causing illness.”

 At the mention of the man, you clenched your fist.  You had first met his daughter when she visited you, draped in a cloak to hide her face. The purple bruise that spread across her cheekbone like a wine stain caused your immediate hatred towards the man she called father.  You may have let out a few choice curse words as you treated the abrasion and consoled the young woman.

 “That man is a pig.  I couldn't care less what he thought of me.  As for his illness, perhaps he should be blaming his poor diet.”

 “Lord Oswald is an upstanding and-”

 “Upstanding?  That man would sell his daughter to the vilest devil on earth if it meant he’d get more power!” You blurted the words out, angry that that man would be considered upstanding.

 “His daughter is his by rights, and as such may marry her to a man of his choosing. That is the duty of daughters,” the Bishop intoned, repeating the words drilled into him by years of church teachings.

 You scoffed at his words, biting back harsh curses.  Duty, you’ve never cared for that word.

 “Duty, what a hollow promise.  Is it not a father’s duty to protect his daughter? And not to lay a hand on her in anger?”

 Heahmund’s face softened at that particular bit of information.

 “Did you place a curse on Oswald?” he asked again, his voice low and stern.

 “I wouldn’t have to.  That man will drink himself into an early grave,” you spat.  You nodded to where his hand was still resting on the pommel of his sword.

 “So what is your judgment?  Is thinking a man worth less than a pile of shit enough to die? Or not congregating with hypocrites on Sunday who profess their goodness only to hit their wives or cheat on their husbands or sleep with clergymen?  Are those my crimes?”

 The last bit of course was aimed at the Bishop.  He was taken aback by your words.  He too knew the hypocrisy of humans, he had seen it firsthand in others and himself.

 “Regardless of any sin committed, man can repent and ask forgiveness.”  It was what he told himself every time he failed in his duty to God.

 “But I am judged by the words of one man, and that’s enough to condemn me?  And what of all the kind words said in my favor? Because they are from the smallfolk they aren’t as important? But as soon as someone with ‘prestige’ speaks horrible lies, you must come running to investigate.  Like a trained hound set out by its masters.”

 Dismissing the warrior bishop, you shook your head.  Rigid, sanctimonious, and arrogant.

 “If you are going to kill me, kill me.  I do not wish to suffer your presence any longer.”

 When Heahmund did not speak but removed his hand from his sword you gave him a terse nod.

 “Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

 Heahmund watched as you walked away, your skirts swishing behind you.  You had spoken the truth.  He had no interest in you until the upper echelon started their complaints.  He was all but demanded to get to the bottom of it.  As much as your words stung, you were correct. He could have denounced the hearsay as soon as they were spoken, owing to the fact that smallfolk all but revered you.  So he bowed under the demands to keep his place secure.

 You, however, were not what he expected.  Young, unmarried, and striking.  He thought you might be an older widow, with the talk of your skills.  Instead he got you, a fiery, educated young woman, who wasn't afraid of speaking her mind.  It was almost refreshing to have someone not fawn over him.  Yes, you treated him with respect but did not trip over yourself to please him.  You had no problem criticizing him.

 He rubbed the pommel of his sword, worrying the raised designs with his thumb.  You were interesting indeed.

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

 After you left the bishop to mull over your words, you had hurried home, half expecting him to come after you and take you in for your supposed crimes. When he did not follow, your steps became shaky and you found yourself stumbling into the small cottage you called home.  You flung the latch closed and leaned against the door, trying to regain your wits.

 You had been accused of crimes, as untrue as they were.  The Bishop himself was sent to investigate.  And you had thrown a tantrum, insulting him and his life.  The next few days you did not venture far from your home, fearing retribution.  You debated leaving your home, going to another area.  But you tired of running away.  As the days passed, you breathed a little easier.  No one had come to take you away, and the smallfolk continued to do business with you.

 After a particularly grueling morning over a cookfire, and setting a poor child’s broken arm, you were exhausted.  With the hot sun overhead, you plucked at your tunic as it stuck to your skin.  A dip in the water would do nicely.

 Gathering your satchel and clad in a lightweight chemise, you began your trek to your preferred bathing spot.  A small bend in the river where the water calmed and you could bathe in relative peace.

 Placing your bag within reach of the water, you glance around before unlacing your chemise, letting it fall to your feet.  The water was cool, refreshing on your overheated skin.  You ducked under the water, brushing your wet locks away from your face.  You wiped the water from your eyes before reaching for your soap to wash away the grime of the morning.

 “Perhaps you are not a witch, but a water nymph from Greek stories,” a familiar voice called out.  You spun and stared gobsmacked at the bishop sitting near the edge of the water.  You bristled at the nerve of him openly staring as you bathed.

 “Shouldn’t a man of the cloth look away when a woman is bathing?” you retorted, wishing for the first time that the water was not so clear.

 “Ah, but you have already judged me a hypocrite, would that not be proving you wrong?” he replied but turned his head away from you.

 You grumbled, a bit irritated that he had thrown your own words back in your face. Making your way to the shore, you all but snatched your chemise with outstretched fingertips, and dressed with haste.

 “Is there something you need, your Grace?” you huffed out, irritated that he had spoiled your bath. You grabbed your satchel, swinging it wildly over your shoulder, hitting his chest with the soft leather.  You immediately dropped your pack in alarm when he hissed in pain.

 “I came to apologize,” he said between clenched teeth.  “Would that be amiable, or would you prefer to hit me with your bag again?”

 The weight of your bag should not have caused him any pain, especially if it caused him to grit his teeth.  You peeled back his tunic and gasped at the sight of several scratches adorning his chest.  Though most were superficial, a few deep welts drug across the expanse of his skin.

 “What on earth happened?”

 Heahmund jerked away from your grip.

 “It’s nothing to worry about," he said, brushing off your concern.

 “I’d ask you not to lie to me.  Take off your shirt.”

 When he didn’t follow your command you rolled your eyes.

 “Lord save me from bullheaded men,” you muttered, reaching for his shirt.

 “You can either take off your shirt, or I will cut it off.  It matters not to me what you choose.”

 Heahmund raised a brow at your demands and pulled his tunic over his head with a grunt of pain.  Kneeling in front of him, you tried to not ogle the Bishop as you took in his wounds.  Most were already scabbed over, others dark with crusted blood.  You curled your lip in dismay.  You traced your fingers over his skin, the newer cuts crossing over old scars.  Some of the deeper gashes were warm to the touch, a sign of infection.  You looked up, his eyes watching your hand as it moved across his chest before looking at you.

 You pulled your hand away, clucking in a scolding manner.  Rifling through your pouch, you pulled out a strip of cloth and some salve.  You dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing out the excess before blotting at the wounds.

 “You would think someone with your knowledge would know to treat cuts, no matter how trivial,” you said, as you washed the crusted blood away.  “You look like you got in a fight with a cat,” you joked.

 “Thorns actually,” he amended.  When you looked at him confused, he clarified.

 “My self-penance, along with asking for your forgiveness.”

 You paused in your ministrations, horrified at the thought.

 “You believe God would want you to harm yourself to seek forgiveness?”

 “It brings me clarity, to better understand what path God wishes me to take.”

 You shook your head before reaching for the salve.

 “What is there to understand?  God gave us free will, for us to make the choices in our lives.  Maybe making mistakes is part of his plan?” you said softly, applying the paste with deft fingers.

 “I fear I make too many mistakes, stumble too often in my path,” Heahmund confessed.

 “You were right.  About Oswald and the rumors.  His daughter confirmed it in confession.  She was quite worried about you when she heard I came to visit you.”

 You shook your head, sighing.  The last thing you wanted was to cause more trouble for the young girl.

 “I hope you told her she was not at fault.  I can take care of myself.  Please tell her not to worry.”

 He took your hand in his, his calloused fingertips running along yours.  Your hand was calloused, but not from holding a sword.  You had burn scars from hot pots, tiny cuts from mishaps with knives. Your hand that he had accused of witchcraft and misdeeds was the hand that wiped away his blood and applied medicine, something he did not deserve.  A healing hand.

 “Choices and mistakes shape our lives, make us who we are.  My life brought me here, to Sherborne.  As your choices brought you to me.  It was your choice to let, rather than kill or imprison me, something I am grateful for,” you said matter of fact.

 Heahmund laughed.

 “We shall see if that works in my favor.  Provided you didn’t poison me,” he said, nodding towards his chest.

 You rolled your eyes and licked your fingertip, still coated in salve.  Heahmund’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at your action.

 “Well if it were poison, now I would die as well.  So fear not your Grace, you should be on the mend quickly,” you jested with a smile.  Heahmund returned your smile with one of his own.  You felt your stomach flutter at the expression on his face, and the threat of a blush warmed your neck.

 He brought your hand up to his lips and planted a warm slow kiss on the back of your knuckles.  The rough brush of his stubble sent a zip of desire down your spine.  This was dangerous.  This was a mistake in the making.  But you found yourself caring little as you stared into his eyes.

 “Please, allow me to repay you.”

#vikings fanfic #heahmund x reader #star's hamilfilm lyric challenge #heahmund fanfic #vikings fanfiction #bishop heahmund