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nemycchi · 3 years

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Delusion

A Childe X Lumine Fanfiction

Rating : Not Rated

Tags : Psychological, Mild Angst, Character Death

----

During moments of utter silence, Childe recalls that which Lumine once told him about a book she had read from a far away land.

"It is of utmost importance that those who seek to fight monsters must not become one in the process."

He likes to think that perhaps, by mentioning it, she had once hoped that he would be reminded of his main aspiration—to conquer the world that is, and not to simply bathe in the blood of his enemies.

It has its merits, he admits—for he finds himself fighting alongside her during the turning point of the war, the darkness in him dampened by the white light she emits—cleansing the corruption that has resided in him for the longest time.

This too though, reminds him of another of her words.

"The deep dark abyss—stare for too long and it would stare back to those who dare."

It is true, for he knows that ever since he dropped down that hole in the world, he emerged as a monster that is only tamed by bloodshed.

And from the moment he knew Lumine, perhaps by her as well.

He has always carried a portion of that so-called abyss, feeling its vines wrapping inside his very being. He is a monster, that much is true, but tamed as one can be, he became a tool under her commands.

He does not care, for it is times with her when the whispers of the dark become muted—turned into nothing but echoes of the past.

"Childe? Breakfast?"

The man spies her slender form by the doorframe of his bedroom, sees her domestically ushering his sleepy person into the kitchen and he feels as though he had achieved that which he desires, with her by his side.

To conquer the world.

They did. They won. And it was all that he could ask for.

Celestia is no more. The abyss is no more. It is just him, Lumine and the rest of the world.

He smiles as he sits down at the table, reaching for her hand as she places the bowl of steaming Calla Lily Seafood Soup before him.

"Oh, my favorite. What's the occasion, girlie?"

"Mhm, nothing in particular. Just wanted to cook something special for you." she smiles back and he thinks he saw the glimmer of stars beyond her eyes.

Or perhaps it was nothing but an illusion, masking the deeper end of the void he is familiar with—if such end even existed.

Childe shakes his head for he believes that that is not the case. Lumine is here with him. And the abyss is no more. It is no more.

And if the calling of that dark bud inside him grows too strong anyhow, he knows she is here to defeat it for him.

For she is also perhaps a monster in her own rights.

--☆☆☆--

The bags under his eyes, and the haunted looks in his face tell everyone that he is far from recovered but everytime someone comes to ask him how he is faring, he will do nothing but face them with a smile before answering.

"I'm very much fine! Lumine takes good care of me."

If there were curious glances sent his way, he does not care. They must be seething inside—jealous that it was him who conquered her heart by the end of it all.

The savior and the reformed harbinger.

What a perfect love story—great as a tale to pass down from generations to generations. He sighs at the thought.

"Childe, pardon my query but I must ask—how have you truly been?"

He already lost count of how many times the same question had been asked of him.

He stops walking—to face the former Geo Archon a few steps behind.

"I do not understand why everyone keeps on asking the same question. I already told you i'm fine, didn't I?"

Oh how he hates it when they ask—as if they were doubting his princess' ability to care for him, for it was her who has been on his bed, in his kitchen, in his very house ever since the world achieved true peace.

They do not understand just how capable Lumine is.

And they will never know, if he has anything to say.

"Though we are but friends, I must express my deep concern. The dips on your cheeks beg to differ from that which you uttered."

The blue in his eyes shift into something malicious, to that belonging to the beast he keeps inside.

"With all due respect, Mr. Zhongli. I do not appreciate the implications of what you just said. You asked and I answered." He pauses.

The abyss is no more for Lumine is with him.

"I shall be going now. My wife is waiting for me at home."

As he walks away, he ignores the burning gaze on his back. It's fine. That former god does not matter.

What matters is him and Lumine while the rest of the world could go crash and burn, he thinks.

--☆☆☆--

"Tough day at work?"

Childe sidles up to her side, wrapping an arm around the apron-covered waist of his beloved. He kisses her temple with reverence—for it is what she deserves.

"Not really. It was just Mr. Zhongli. And others. Being annoyingly repetitive as always." He grumbles, tucking her head under his chin.

The small hand resting atop his chest tightens against his clothes.

"Do they... not approve of me?" She asks almost inaudibly.

He was quick to deny the preposterous thought.

"Don't listen to them. They do not matter, girlie."

Childe feels her shift and he looks down at her.

Golden pools decorated by the glittering of stars—of tears, he realizes, meet his abyssal depths.

"Are you... are you going to leave me?"

He brushes the hair out of her forehead and tucks the strays behind her ears before promptly brushing away the tears that cascaded from her eyes.

"Never. You are mine, Lumine. As much as I am yours."

Even the sweetest wine cannot compare to the smile that adorns her face after his declaration. She buries her head on his chest once more, arms crossing behind him, bestowing him with nothing else but warmth.

Childe thinks for a second, that this moment is perhaps the best there is in the world. And he knows he is ruined for anything else.

It is impossible to feel anything akin to this feeling and he strongly believes that the desire to even experience it from others aside his princess does not exist anymore.

--☆☆☆--

The sound of deliberate knocking at the door rouses the harbinger from his sleep. Childe growls in annoyance at whoever is behind that piece of wood as he untangles his limbs from the goddess laying beside him.

He kisses the top of her head before deciding to rise and check who their visitor is.

He stills when the one in front of his humble abode makes himself known.

Zhongli, of course.

"Mr. Zhongli, why the early visit?"

The man only hums before crossing his arms, pinning him with a serious gaze.

"May I come in, Childe?"

"Ah, of course."

He lets him in and ushers the former archon to the couch. Upon sitting, the latter immediately scans his surroundings with vague concern in his eyes.

"I must say, your house is surprisingly empty and devoid of life, Childe."

"What do you mean? I think it's pretty homey. Lumine designed it by herself when she first got here."

A frown makes its way to the other man's lips.

"Childe, can we talk?"

He stiffens, tone changing into a defensive one.

"We are talking, are we not?" He spats.

"Why don't you ask Lumine to come down here with us?"

He summons one of his water blades.

"Why exactly are you here, Zhongli?"

"Call Lumine, Childe."

In a flash, the water blade comes in contact with the polearm that materialized in front of the visitor.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" He asks, hostile in every way as he accents each word with a swing of his blade—all thankfully parried.

"I need you to understand, Childe." Zhongli calls forth a jade shield that rattled even the sturdy walls of the other man's home.

A water spear slams against the shield.

"That Lumine..."

Yet another side step, perfectly timed to avoid the beast cloaked in water suddenly crackling with electricity.

"Stop it!" It yells.

But Zhongli is not known for being gentle. The wrath of the rock and the harsh truth—both must be laid out for him to save the monster disguised as a man.

"Is no longer with us."

A beat passes.

"She's gone, Childe. And you must accept that fact."

"No!"

And like that, the man surges forward with the fury enough to fuel wars.

The walls crumble and the terrified shrieks of townsfolk in the immediate vicinity sound off but Childe could no longer care.

Him and Lumine. The rest of the world does not matter.

His mind goes blank with nothing but white hot anger, and he brandishes his weapon with renewed vigor.

"Take it back." He quietly demands, voice distorted.

Instead of complying, multiple stone steles rise up from the pavement, obscuring the two men from prying eyes.

"Everyone grieves for her departure, I assure you. We are hurt as much as you are." A water blade makes contact with the archon's cheek and he winces as response, "but she chose to sacrifice herself for this world's peace and she will not be happy if she sees you rotting away to your demise, Childe."

"You—you don't know anything! Do not lie! Lumine..." A crack in his composition and Zhongli is quick to take advantage of it.

All at once, like a puppet with strings cut off, Childe falls forward when Zhongli's polearm strikes down his chest. The accumulated hunger and fatigue from weeks of barely holding on to her memory suddenly come crashing down upon his person.

Empty plates and sweet nothings.

Cold bed and pristine kitchen.

Unused scarf with the color of the skies and the clouds—like the view he's witnessing right now.

Stare into the abyss, and it stares back at you—its remnants staying within, slowly consuming that which it latches on to.

The abyss is no more—or so he believes.

"Lumine... she promised me." he whispers into the wind.

The rustling of cloth distracts him from his thoughts.

"Do not lean too close to that edge, Childe. I beg you, not as your friend, but as Lumine's—please, do stay with us."

Before his eyes closed, he heard the call from the deep dark abyss of the waters.

The sea is calm. And he couldn't care less about the rest of the world.

Him and Lumine, he thinks. Him and Lumine.

#genshin impact #childe x lumine #genshin impact fanfiction #chilumi

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

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Day 12: “Aren’t fish meant to stay in the water?”

Masterlist; Pirate terms

This may be the best thing i’ve ever written! Also ahhh we are finished with 12 days of fanfics??? which is crazy?? I hope you guys have enjoyed because this has been so much fun for me!

Pirate/Siren AU

Percy Jackson can hear the whining of the sails from his little cabin and it soothes the jagged edges of him that continue to grip the life he once had. A life of peace; a farmer’s son, plowing at the earth underneath scorching sun and buzzing insects. It is honest work, but it is mind-numbing and his hands work too quickly for the plow, and his thoughts race too fast for the field, and he just needed more. Now, almost a year later, he has plagued the seas, knotting ropes and digging his nails into the rich wood of his ship. Andromeda. He loves her with every fibre of his being he should have loved his farm life with. She is sleek, a deep walnut colour, and has bright blue sails that can be seen from miles away. It is to tell his mother he is safe, should she ever look out to sea and wonder if he lives. His heart squeezes as he remembers their last conversation, so full of tears and words left unsaid. He hopes she understands, he hopes time has healed her wounds even if it hasn’t healed his.

The white buttoned shirt hanging open exposes his chest and the flat planes of his stomach to the elements. The cold draft that always seems to sweep through the hull, pebbles his earth brown skin. He breathes in the familiar scent of the ocean, letting it fill up his tired body, as he makes quick work of the ties holding what’s left of his shirt together, before shrugging on his emerald coat, the exact colour of his eyes, and his most prided raid possession. As he’s slipping his compass into his pocket his door is flung open, slamming against the cabin wall with a loud crack.

“Captain!” His quartermaster, and best friend, gasps, black eyes as wide as saucers. “You should come see this.”

He frowns, unused to seeing Frank so excited. “Are we under attack do we need to-”

“No Captain,” He shakes his head vigorously, “It’s a wreck.”

Percy is out the door and racing up the staircase before anyone can say Andromeda. The scene he is greeted with above is enough to raise the hairs at the back of his neck. His crew members all hang over the side, peering down at the floating pieces of wood, and cloth, and disaster littering the grey seas. The air is quiet, too quiet. As if nobody dares to break the silence because it is stringing the moment together in fragile balance.

“What happenings?” He asks roughly. His crew jumps, all turning to stand to attention.

“Captain,” His sailing master, nods, “She’s wrecked, bilged on her anchor.”

“That does not cause this.” He frowns, moving towards the edge to see the wreckage up close. “This looks like she was blown through.”

“We didn’t hear any fire,” Frank says, getting nods of confirmation from the crew.

“Survivors?”

“But one Captain,” Reyna, holds out her telescope and offers it to him. It is usually attached to her, used to navigate them to his needs. His sailing master is nothing but talent and sass, but right now she looks stricken. “Northwest of the mast.”

He focuses his eyes, adjusting to the size of the telescopes frame, and sees only a flash of bright, gold-spun hair, and white hands clinging to wood. “A Jack Tar?”

“A beast.” The quarter-master mutters softly.

Percy whips around, green eyes ablaze. “Manner?”

“Siren, we believe.” Reyna’s voice is soft with disbelief.

“Bring them up,” He growls, handing her telescope back, “And do no harm.”

He can see the crew exchange looks at his request but with a thump of his sword against the deck, they all race into motion. Grabbing rope and sails in order to slow the movement of the ship. Reyna climbs up the mast and directs the crew from the crows nest, trying to get the ship as close as possible to the bobbing body, floating further away from them with every second.

Percy stands on the bowsprit looking through his own miniature telescope as he watches the figure get bigger. He hears a splash and knows someone has thrown a life-line over. He hears Frank shout to the creature, telling them to grab the float and hold on. They don’t move, don’t even look up, and for a heart-wrenching moment he thinks they’re too late.

But someone shouts again and ever so slowly the creature looks up, directly at him, and that blue gaze shatters every part of his soul. He stumbles back onto the deck and helps the crew in hauling the stranded up. Their skin, almost translucent, like moonlight, glitters as they lift an arm to wrap around the buoy. With two counts they heave, and heave, and heave. Until the creature is on the deck, ocean eyes hollow, and body shivering like they aren’t used to being exposed.

Faint scales, the colour of coral, line the undersides of their arms, and wrap around their neck, but their torso is bare, and smooth as glass. The tail, gorgeous and gleaming in the rapidly rising sun, is the same soft pink, with flecks of green and sapphire running through it.

Percy crouches down, near their head of gold, and leans over them. “Aren’t fish meant to stay in water?” He smirks.

The creature doesn’t even bat an eyelash, continuing to stare up at the sky in devoid trance.

“What is your name?” He asks, and this time his voice is carefully constructed; the captain issuing a command.

They turn their head, finally looking at him. “Your human tongue cannot pronounce the name of the sea.”

“What should we call you?” He is not deterred.

They blink their eyes, surprise there and gone in an instant. “Jason.”

“Why were you hanging around a ship wreck?”

Their face curls in disgust, “Stupid humans were having a battle and blew up their ship. I was-” They choke, as if it pains them to admit it. “I was too slow, and got injured in the crossfire.”

“Where are you injured?”

“I cannot say until i have gotten my legs.” They shrug, and he hears the scrape of their scales against his deck.

“You can acquire human legs?”

“Yes,” They purse their lips, “It is a painful process, but a protective measure should we ever be captured by humans.”

“Should it take this long?”

“It takes longer when I’m injured.” They sigh, “I will have to give it time.”

“What are we to do with you until then?”

Jason whips their head towards him, emotions flying across their face faster than he can comprehend. “You are giving me a choice? You are not going to slaughter me, or sell me?”

Percy frowns, the deep lines between his brows shadowing his beautiful face. “Why would we do that? What belongs to the sea should stay there.”

“I-” They blink, “You are not like other humans.” Before Percy can ask them what that means they are grabbing his hand, cold skin pressing against the pulsing heat of his own. “Please take me somewhere safe. The pain is starting”

And with that they close those hypnotic blue eyes and the hand in his goes limp. He doesn’t say anything to his crew as he tucks an arm behind Jason’s back, and another underneath the curve in their tail. Standing up with the grace of a dancer, he turns towards his cabin, stopping at the stairs, and looking out at his crew.

“Haul wind for Narcissus island, and do not stop unless attacked.” And then he is disappearing into his quarters, deliberately ignoring the questions he can see in his quartermaster’s eyes.

“Weigh Anchor!” He hears Frank shout, “Smartly!” before he shuts the door to the outside world.

He sets the creature down on his bed, holding their hand tightly in his as he watches their face bead with sweat. The pain is excruciating and it is a wonder the siren does not scream out. But slowly their legs appear, as translucent as the rest of their body, and the beautiful scales across their body fade into nothing.

They open their eyes, which glow in the darkness of the space, and look down to see their legs. They look up again, and a smile blooms across their face, as wide and glowing as the stars.

“Hello my love,” He grins, brushing a hand across their cheek. “I have missed you.”

“Please come home.” Jason whispers, leaning into his touch. “Your kingdom needs you. I need you.”

Percy smiles unrestrained, and captures their lips in his own. “You are here. I am already home.”

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

Tags:

@nishlicious-01

@spoopylucy

@leydiangelo

#jercy #12 days of fanfics #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #jason grace #percy jackson

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waiting4inspiration · 5 years

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Just Try XVII (Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader)

Summary: Lately, you’ve been feeling different and blame it on stress for the mission. And it’s making you nest

Warnings: This is like super fluffy…

Just Try Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

As the days went by and the mission drew closer, the tension was definitely high in the compound. Training became more vigorous and you became more tired. The mission was next week and you were stressing about it - for some reason.

Maybe it was because you felt sympathy for the omegas being imprisoned and tested on and felt pressure to help them. Or maybe it’s because this is your first mission in years. You don’t really go out on missions unless it’s a huge thing that needs a lot of hands. Something like this one where you have to scout an enormous building quickly and get every omega out in (probably) under 5 minutes. So, yeah… Definitely stressful.

The entire situation made you stress-eat. You found yourself searching for snacks and food quite regularly much to your own dismay. The most frustrating thing about stress is the fact that you felt bloated all the time.

Wiping the sweat off your forehead as you walk into the kitchen, you’re desperate for some water after a workout session with Nat. You thought that working out might make the bloating go away or at least let some of the stress die down. But it didn’t really help.

Opening the fridge to get a bottle of water, you catch the scent of something unpleasant. Turning up your nose, you groan as a wave of nausea washes over you making you quickly shut the fridge and step back.

“Hey, you okay?” Nat asks as she walks into the kitchen, catching you stare at the silver fridge in front of you.

Glancing at her slightly dazed, you nod your head before looking back at the fridge. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” you say, turning around and leaning against the counter. “I think we might need to clear out the fridge. Something smells off.”

“Probably some leftover takeout that Tony forgot about,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and making you chuckle as you take a sip of water from your bottle. She opens the fridge and stares inside for a while before closing it and turning around to face you. “I don’t smell anything.”

You frown at her for a while before turning back to your water bottle. “Maybe it’s an omega thing,” you murmur, grabbing your bottle and heading towards the door. “I’m going to take a shower,” you shout over your shoulder to her before walking out the door with a hand over your stomach, still feeling slightly queasy.

Taking a long, hot shower to relieve the ache in your joints from the workout. Thankfully, breathing in the steam from the shower helps the nausea disappear. After getting dressed in something comfy, you stand in the middle of the room and run your finger through your damp hair to untangle it.

As you work on your hair, your eyes burn into the bed a few feet away from you. Pulling your hands away from your hair, you gently bite on your nails as you run your eyes over the bedding, the blankets, and the pillows laying on the bed. Shaking your head, something inside of you tells you that the entire set up is not good enough and that it’s missing something. Something like more blankets. And pillows.

But you can’t just go into someone’s room and steal their bedding.

Thinking about the abandoned room that Bucky was using before he moved in with you, you quickly turn to the door and walk down the corridor with purpose. Going straight to the room, you quickly throw open the door and smile brightly at the sight of the unused bedspread in front of you. It’s perfect.

Ripping the blanket off the bed and wrapping the pillows in it, you catch a hint of Bucky’s scent still slightly embedded in the material. It makes you smile even more.

Making your way back to the room as quickly as you can, you shut the door behind you before clearing the made-up bed of its contents. Staring at the piles of bedding, blankets, and pillows by your feet, you start to slowly and strategically place them on the naked bed.

You stop every now and then to think carefully about your next move. It’s as if you’re playing chess and need to think about every move to have a victorious ending. Editing and re-editing the layout of every single pillow and blanket, you finally step back and examine your work.

Letting out a satisfied sigh, you gently crawl onto the comfortable and cozy spread you’ve constructed so carefully. Nuzzling a pillow under your head, a frown creases your forehead as you quickly sit up and glance over the setup again.

Something’s missing. Instinct tells you that you need something that smells like your alpha. Something stronger than a pillow or a blanket.

Quickly jumping off the bed, you make your way towards the drawer containing a few on Bucky’s shirts. Sorting through them to try and find the one you want, you let out a frustrated sigh when none of them appeal to you.

Falling back onto the bed, you let out a desperate whine as the feeling of that one missing item nags at you constantly. Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling and wrap your arms around your body as the nagging persists at you like an annoying mosquito.

The second Bucky walks into the room and his scent hits your nose, you quickly sit up and stare at him. That when you realize what it is you need. “Your shirt. Give it to me,” you demand, pushing yourself off the bed and stomping over to him.

“What?” he chuckles, pulling his eyes away from the strange set up on the bed to frown down at you.

You pull at the hem of his shirt and look up at him with demanding eyes. “I need it,” you whisper, roughly pulling it over his head before returning back to the layout and leaving him standing shirtless in a confused daze.

Crawling back on the bed, you precisely place the shirt where you want it and let out a sigh of relief. “Are you… nesting?” Bucky questions with a small laugh, pulling you out of whatever trance you’ve been in for the past few minutes.

Staring at him, you quickly glance over the nest that you have indeed made and you chuckle at yourself. “I guess I am,” you whisper, looking back up at him as he steps closer.

When he tries to touch the blanket on the edge of your nest, you let out an instinctive growl making him step back with his hands in the air. “Okay. I’m not going to touch it,” he states, trying so hard not to chuckle at you. Sitting up on your knees, you lower your head and mutter out an apology as your fingers play with the material of his shirt that smells so richly of your alpha. “Why are you nesting?” he gently questions, making you slowly lift your head back up at him.

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head lightly as you look around you. “I think I’m stressing about the mission so much,” you start to explain, feeling a lump form inside your throat and tears to line your eyes. “And I just needed something to comfort me and I just had the sudden urge and I didn’t know what it was but I just followed it and turns out I was building a nest.” By this time, you’re properly crying, unsettling Bucky because he wants to comfort you but knows that you’ll bite his head off if he tries to enter your nest with your permission. “And now I’m crying for no reason. And I’m hungry but I don’t know for what and I’m tired and bloated. And I’ve had this killer headache since I woke up,” you whine, wiping the tear away from your cheeks before glancing up at him. “Alpha.”

Your plea is enough for him to quickly kick off his shoes - knowing that it might upset you farther if he climbs into your nest with them on - and crawl over the bed to wrap his arms around you. “It’s okay, omega,” he consoles, gently stroking your head as you sob into his chest. “It’s completely normal for you to build a nest if you’re stressing.”

Sighing out as he lays you down, you press your nose into his neck above his scent gland and breath in deeply. As he gently places kisses over your shoulder, you wrap your arms around his waist. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better. But you’re lying in the wrong spot,” you whisper, making his chest vibrate with a chuckle before he allows you to move him in the exact position you want.

…I’m not going to say a single fucking word…

Tags: @rororo06 @chameerah @tephi101 @spaghettirogers @bookwormmads @veganfangirl5 @prussiangilbert @kissakatterna @thewinterwolf @captainamericasbeard @kulteule @collette04 @satellitespidey @marvelgirl7 @bxxbxy @summernykole @ek823 @buckaro0 @gracethegeek9902 @oldspirit @rubyquartzshade @classyunknownlover @blellaa @ben-wyxtt @sasunarushiita @fairlightswiftly @thelostallycat @brokensunflowersworld @hennessy0274-blog

#alpha!bucky #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier x reader #bucky abo #alpha bucky #the avengers #the avengers imagine #the avengers imagines #just try

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javocjovian · 5 years

Text

Getting to Know You, SPN Bingo

Title: Getting To Know You Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/42254309 Square Filled: Friends to Lovers Ship: Sketch (Sam x Ketch) Rating: E Tags: Powerbottom Sam, Face Fucking, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Anal, Casual Sex, Hair Pulling, Improvised Lube, Humor Summary: Ketch doesn’t have any friends. Sam learns why after he offers him some company. Word Count: 1800

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Quote: Ketch may have been breathless and overcome with need in that moment, but his old stiffness returned to him in an instant, “Oh Hell.” He muttered, then unceremoniously grabbed Sam by the hair and shoved him onto the ground.

- gif belongs to me -

Getting To Know You

“21 January 2015 Lebanon, Kansas USA

British Men of Letters Attending Officer: Mr. Arthur Ketch Report Type: Class C Sub 8

At 16:24 on January 20th, a type B spirit was reported in the home of Mr. and Mrs. White, 42 Oak Lane, Stockton, Kansas. Type C spirit was confirmed upon further investigation. Samuel “Sam” William Winchester and myself, Arthur Ketch, attended the scene under identification code 342. The subject in question was cremated and it was determined their spirit was attached to a self portrait, artistic taste notwithstanding. We returned to the house at 23:00. The portrait was burned by myself, while Mr. Winchester ran surveillance. Upon subsequent investigation, the spirit was determined to be evicted. We returned to Bunker 1A, where I proceeded to fuck Samuel “Sam” William Winchester in the artifact room.

See attached file for a full list of documents and expenditures.

...”

Ketch paused, a subtle smirk on his lips.

“...You know you don’t have to write those anymore.” Sam appeared beside him. “You don’t work for the British Men of Letters anymore.”

Ketch took a calculated breath. “Yes, well. These are for my own records.” He minimized the document and swiveled around to face Sam.

“Uh-huh.” Sam said, unconvinced. “Does it say anything in there about the artifact room?”

“Oh.” Ketch said. “In vigorous detail.”

Sam laughed. “Unbelievable.”

“Yes. I thought so, too.” He eyed Sam approvingly.

The hunt had started off innocent enough. Ketch didn’t have any friends, you see. And Sam, well, as Dean put it, he had a habit of taking in strays. He was sensitive. Yes, that’s what it was, sensitive. Anyhow, Sam discovered that Ketch spent his evenings alone and decided to offer his friendship. These were trying times, he said, and it was important to stick together, previous complications and attempted assassinations aside. So Sam invited Ketch to join him on a local hunt. Nothing major, in case Ketch tried to murder him again or what have you.

Ketch had to admit he was curious. He had never truly seen Sam work a case, and he’d been told that Sam was simply the best. As it turned out, these rumors were vastly understated. Sam was a convincing and effective liar, proficient in both evasion and combat, and a natural born killer. In other words, everything that made Ketch’s nether regions quiver.

Once they hunt was over, they didn’t made it three feet into the bunker before they were making out, hard and severe against a storage cabinet. Sam was always Ketch’s favorite. Sure, Dean was hostile and aggressive with the mouth of a sailor, suggesting he’d be quite the bed mate. But Ketch had a secret fetish for damaged goods, and Sam was the perfect balance of broken yet unbreakable that made Ketch want to see just how far he could bend him.

It hadn’t been entirely Ketch’s fault. Sam had certainly played his part.

“So much for friendship.” Ketch muttered smartly, directing Sam’s hips to rub against his erection as they made out against a table in an unused artifact room.

Sam huffed a laugh, grinding against him gladly. “Yeah. Wasn’t it you who said you don’t have friends because you end up either killing them or sleeping with them?”

“Mm.” Ketch hummed approvingly. He grabbed a fistful of Sam’s luxurious hair and pulled his head back, “And what was it you said in return?” He kissed Sam’s neck, holding back a prideful smile. “That it ‘had better be the latter’?”

Oh yes, it was all Sam’s fault.

Sam smiled breathlessly. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d be all talk though.” He goaded him.

Sam was even more resilient than Ketch had expected. He immediately understood what Lady Bevell saw in him, as regrettable as it was to be reminded of her in such a moment.

Ketch planted his hand firmly on Sam’s ass and rolled their hips together. “Are you challenging me, Mr. Winchester?” He rose a brow.

“What if I am?”

Ketch smiled, then pushed Sam down onto his knees, “Then I’d have to put you in your place.”

Sam gave him a dangerously flirtatious look and began unbuckling his pants.

“That’s a good boy, Sam.” Ketch watched him fixedly, “Perhaps you American hunters are a smart lot after all.” He teased, although his voice was heady and breathless.

Sam sprung Ketch’s cock free of his trousers as casually as if he were flipping through a page of lore in the Men of Letters’ library. Ketch’s breathing went shallow. Sam flashed him another one of those promising looks that made Ketch’s knuckles go white on the table, then he opened his mouth and dove in.

Ketch swallowed and groped a hand through Sam’s hair, “Although, if you were truly smart, you’d have shorter hair. Harder for an enemy to pull.” He seemed to be speaking more to distract himself, but Sam wouldn’t let him get distracted. He licked a broad stripe up the underside of Ketch’s cock.

“What if I like it pulled?” He licked his lips.

Ketch had a response prepared, until Sam swallowed Ketch’s back into his mouth and sucked. Ketch sighed in pleasure instead.

“That’s it Sam...” He clenched his jaw.

Ketch’s hand tightened in Sam’s hair as he bobbed about him. He found a steady, comfortable pace, making Ketch melt against the table. Soon Ketch was pulling his hair in earnest, forcing his cock down his throat. Sam craned his neck and closed his eyes, but he wasn’t just letting Ketch face fuck him – he was fucking him back. While Ketch thrust his hips off the table, making Sam’s lips brush against his hot skin, Sam’s fingers were woven into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him back and forth.

“Sam, that’s so bloody good.” Ketch panted.

Sam grinned inwardly. He could taste Ketch’s precum dripping down his throat and thickening his saliva. Sam gave Ketch a firm, claiming suck and enjoyed the shudder of Ketch’s hips and the shameless groan that followed. It made all the discomfort worth it.

“Oh, I knew you’d be naughty.” Ketch breathed. “Oh Hell. I’d take you right here, Sam, if you’d let me. Show you what it’s like to be fucked by a proper Man of Letters. Hm?”

Sam swallowed a rush of arousal. That was the most polite way anyone had ever asked to fuck him, and yet Ketch said it so savagely that Sam could feel the lust dripping off his lips.

“Can a ‘proper Man of Letters’ get the job done?” Sam flirted, enjoying the sight of Ketch so uncharacteristically riled up.

Ketch may have been breathless and overcome with need in that moment, but his old stiffness returned to him in an instant, “Oh Hell.” He muttered, then unceremoniously grabbed Sam by the hair and shoved him onto the ground.

Sam could have laughed. “There’s the Ketch I know.” He swallowed, tasting him again.

“Hm.” Ketch smiled. “I thought you hated ‘this’ Ketch?” He said, making quick work of Sam’s pants and boxers.

Sam looked sideways at him. “I do. I mean, I did. You were such a dick...”

“Apology accepted.” Ketch replied. His gaze softened as he eyed Sam’s toned ass and proud cock jutting between his legs.

“...But I always knew you’d be good in bed.” Sam finished.

Ketch’s gaze sharpened. “Very impressive, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam smiled in amusement.

It took a while for Ketch to get Sam loosened up (“And you call me a tight ass.”), but he turned out to be quite good with his hands. Sam thought so, anyway. Ketch found some oil in a supply cabinet, and soon he had one hand on the back of Sam’s neck and three fingers inside him. Sam groaned shamelessly on the floor, but it seemed that not even Ketch’s fingers could wipe that look of defiance off his face. (“Where’d you find lube?”) Ketch didn’t mind at all. He actually preferred it that way.

At last, Ketch slid a condom on (“You just keep those on you?”) threw his tie over his shoulder, and sunk into Sam’s ass. Sam’s defiance faltered at last. Their groans fed off one another as Ketch pushed in hot and slow. Within minutes, Ketch was fucking him hard. He gave Sam all he had, while Sam shouted his approval on the floor. Ketch grit his teeth and goaded him on the whole time.

“You’re so fucking tight, Sam. Oh bloody… you feel incredible.”

“Too many… syllables… fuck harder.”

Ketch didn’t hesitate to, not when he was buried to the hilt and Sam was still talking back; still fucking back. Ketch grabbed Sam’s knee and bent it against his chest, removing his leverage. The sideways position finally seemed to do the trick. Sam gasped and grabbed a chair leg for support, knocking it over, while his other hand flew down and began stroking himself.

They were both down to one syllable in no time.

“Oh, yeah… there… fuck, Ketch!”

“Yes… that’s it, so good, Sam.”

Sam was stroking himself, tight lipped and eyes shut, while Ketch ravaged him. Ketch himself was only slightly disheveled, but that alone did wonders for Sam. He could see the lust in Ketch’s eyes and hear it in his voice. He loosened his tie as he began to sweat and threw his jacket off, redoubling his efforts. Sam groaned in encouragement.

Ketch’s hips pumped hungrily into Sam’s ass while Sam stroked himself faster than ever. Within seconds, they were both seizing up and trembling. Sam came first, spasming in bliss with his cheek pressed against the tile floor. He moaned hotly and arched up like he couldn’t get enough of Ketch’s cock. Ketch came within seconds. He pulled out quickly and stroked himself through it, groaning heavily. He sank down into a sitting position against the table leg while he caught his breath. It took him longer than Sam.

Sam sat up groggily, noting the mess they’d made.

“Why did you pull out?” He asked. “I thought you had a condom.”

“I did.” Ketch nodded breathlessly. “But olive oil breaks down latex you know.”

Sam considered this as he tossed Ketch his clothes. He had taken off the most, yet was still the more fully dressed. “We had olive oil? In the artifact room?” Sam asked, getting dressed.

Ketch took a deep breath, then smirked slightly. “Well, holy oil is derived from it so... I’d say yes, you do.”

Sam blinked. “Holy oil? Really?”

Ketch rose a brow.

Sam scoffed. “Well at least I’m angel resistant.”

After the room was cleaned, Sam and Ketch decided that what happened in the artifact room stayed in the artifact room. Frankly, it was nobody’s business except theirs. Well, theirs and the report filed away on Ketch’s laptop. But it was like Sam said, Ketch didn’t work for the British Men of Letters anymore, so there was no reason anyone needed to find out at all.

#spnkinkbingo #supernatural #arthur ketch #ketch #Sam Winchester #SamWinchester #Sketch #My writing #my gifs #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #gif

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vizhi0n · 6 years

Text

Sawney - Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

If you want to be tagged or untagged, lemme know!

@castielwinchester22 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash@genevievedarcygranger @kijilinn @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @lucifers-trash-stash @superprincesspea @doyouhaveavacancy @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @strangersangel9 @kellyn1604 @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @moonypetyr @darkangel66a @backseat-negan @vinylmadwoman @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @jasoncrouse @mcnegan @melodicdolls @itstotalyblue @imjustmakingsuffupagain @jeffreydeanneganstrash @gremlinfuck @originalwinchestervamp @negans-network @toxic-ink @nycktmcginn @collette04 @romeomontvgue @chiwawha @deviousginga @orchiddingme @negans-shtten-pants

Warnings: just smut and Negan’s potty mouth.

“Follow the light…good…good — definitely concussed. Possible swelling could occur as well, and we don’t want that.”

Desa watched as Carson flipped off the flashlight, tucking it into his pocket. He gestured for Negan to sit up, handing him back his shirt. With Desa’s help, he was able to slip it over his head.

“I’ll be back with some pills. Try not to strain yourself, Negan,” Carson said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “Please. Try and take it easy.”

“When have I not?”

Carson huffed and left. Desa immediately leaned over to press a kiss against Negan’s parted lips, sighing as Negan returned the act with vigor.

“We’re in the clear,” Desa said softly. “For now. All I want to do is…be with you. I know you have your wives—”

“Not one of them has come to fucking see me,” Negan replied, as Desa reached out to trace her thumb across his swollen eye. “So I don’t think they mind what the fuck I do in my spare time. Or who I fuck.”

Desa smiled. “Are we still going through with the Estate plan?”

“I’m alright with it. Simon is going to be fucking pissed — it was his idea first place, and I shot that shit down. I was too scared. I was focusing on the shit that went on before, not thinking logically…”

“Even after all that, you’re content with leaving Father alive?”

“For now,” Negan said, the bitterness in his voice clear. “I’ll have my fun with him. Make him wish he’d never fucking done the shit he did. That fucker is going to be begging for death by the time I’m through with him.”

“Will it help?”

“Will what help?”

“Keeping him alive,” Desa said softly. “Is it good for you to keep Father alive like this?”

Negan narrowed his eyes, and Desa turned her head away. His words were not condescending, though there was a hint of bitterness in them. “I don’t enjoy causing people pain, Desa. Fuck. I didn’t enjoy burning the fuck out of Dwight’s face — but this? This I’ll fucking savor.”

Desa ran a hand down her face, nodding. She knew she wouldn’t be able to deter him. She only hoped that he wouldn’t get to caught up in his revenge, and that she wouldn’t eventually join him. The sight of Father still made her blood boil, and she feared that even seeing him would unhinge her.

Negan went to stand, but Desa stopped him.

“You need to stay sitting—”

“I’m just going up to the fucking parlor. Too my room,” Negan sighed. He grinned suggestively, intertwining his fingers with Desa’s own. In a soft voice he said, “Come up with me. Please?”

“I have no desire to stay with your wives.”

“I’ll tell them off. They don’t fucking come into my room unless I ask,” Negan murmured, pulling Desa close and pressing his lips against the top of her head. One hand slipped beneath Desa’s shirt, tickling her hip. “You aren’t going to the Estate yet. Let me fucking spend time making you feel good.”

Desa smiled. “I’ll give in. For you.”

They ignored the hushed whispers of the wives, closing the door to Negan’s room. He hobbled slightly, sighing as he kicked off his shoes and eased onto the dark bedsheets, flopping onto his back. Desa watch the rise and fall of his chest, uncrossing her arms and hopping onto the bed next to him. She watched Negan close his eyes, a devilish idea striking her — she eased up his shirt, exposing the trail of dark hair that extended down to his crotch. The moment she went for his belt, he lifted his head and smirked.

“I’m supposed to be fucking you,” he murmured. Desa shushed him with her lips, her other hand easing his pants past his hips. He was erect by the time she wrapped her fingers around his cock, prompting Negan to sigh into her mouth. He sat up, grunting as Desa lightly squeezed.

“Get to it, then,” Desa replied.

“Fine,” Negan wrapped an arm around Desa’s waist, easily spinning and pinning her beneath him. He remained knelt between Desa’s legs, making an effort to go slowly as he stripped, starting with himself before moving to Desa.

The moment her jeans were removed, Negan’s lips were ghosting across her skin, from her ankle to her calf, down to that sweet spot between her thighs. With two fingers, he pushed her panties to the side. He murmured, “Have you ever had a man do this to you?”

“No.”

“Fucking good. Jesus, your tight little cunt tastes sweet,” Negan flicked his tongue against those sensitive bundles of nerves, chuckling when Desa gasped. He did it again. Then again, burying his face between her legs and lapping up whatever he could. Desa squirmed, unused to the feeling. It didn’t long for her breathy groans to start forming syllables, begging for more. Begging for him, even as he drew out that last drop of pleasure.

Desa’s body fell limp, and she let out a breath. Negan lifted his head, looking satisfied. The moment Desa tried to sit up, he stopped her, saying, “You don’t have to give anything back. I wanted to do this for you.” Negan crawled next to Desa, resting his head against the pillow next to her. The soft mattress enveloped her in warmth, and Desa felt her eyes getting heavy. She shook her head to remain awake, blinking several times as Negan watched.

“When was the last time you rested, Desa?” Negan asked. “I don’t think you’ve fucking slept since…we were back at the Estate.”

Still coming down from her high, Desa replied, “I’m okay, Negan.”

“You can stay in my bed,” Negan murmured. “Fucking rest a bit. I’ll be back.”

Desa watched as he stood, tugging up his pants and fishing for his shirt. She met his gaze, smiling warmly — he returned the gesture.

She was asleep before he even left the room, eyes closing and sending her into a dreamless slumber.

“How does it fucking feel? Last time, I was fucking tied up,” Negan knelt, tapping Lucille against the ground. The cell that had once held Mother now held Father. He was tied, arms extended above his head in the same position Negan had once been in. His lips were caked with dried blood, his face bearing evidence of the fight, much like Negan’s. He looked far worse, however, because he’d received little medical attention.

“Are you going to inflict the same degree of torture? And if so, what will you gain from it? Vengeance is a sign of weakness.”

“Is that why you got your goddamn panties all in a wad when I mentioned how I strangled your wife? Or, to be more fucking specific, your sister?” Negan leaned in close, raising Lucille and resting her barbed end against Father’s cheek. “Tell me about that. Have you been fucking her since the world ended, or did that shit start…before.”

Father tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. Negan kept a firm grip on Lucille, his heart beginning to pound. A small part of him wanted to end Father, right then and there. His curiosity, and his desire to watch Father break was stronger.

“Nothing from before matters. Nothing now matters — we’re dead. All of us,” Father murmured. “I saw this as an opportunity to experiment. To explore. It just happened to turn into something bigger.”

“It’s all an experiment to you? Desa? Your sister? Those people in the fucking cellar?”

Father shrugged. The movement was so casual that it caused Negan to snarl.

“Nothing matters,” Father said. “Not my life, not yours. I desired entertainment, so I created entertainment. Whatever I desire, I create. Just like God created his children.”

“You’re caught, now. You’re not a fucking god. You’re just a sick, fucked up man who needs to be put down.”

“Then put me down. I’m ready.”

“I will, when I fucking feel like it. You’re at my mercy,” Negan sneered. “I’ll kill you, when the time is fucking right.”

“I’ll be eagerly waiting.”

Negan left the cell, slamming the door and standing with his head ducked, angry words flooding from his mouth in sharp mutters. Already, he was feeling disoriented and confused, face flush. He eventually pulled himself together, lifting his head to see none other than Drake, Simon on his heels.

It was the first time he’d gotten a good, long look at the Sanctuary’s new residents — he was one of a dozen. There were more, Desa had told him. Father had a contingency plan for everything.

Drake had stepped up and become a representative for his people. Or, for what was left. The shaggy haired man didn’t intimidate Negan, though there was a cunningness in his eyes that made Negan wary.

“Where’s Desa?”

“In my fucking room, relaxing,” Negan rested Lucille against his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “Why? Am I not fucking good enough for you?”

It took a second for Drake to unpack Negan’s words, head bobbing slightly as he said, “Okay. That’s good…she needs the rest. Listen, I was on scavenger duty when all that shit went down. I come back, and I’m in the middle of a gunfight. I had no idea what was even going on.”

“You want me to feel bad? You chose to follow that limp-dicked incestuous asshole in there,” Negan jerked a thumb towards the cell. “But whatever puts food on the goddamn table, right?”

“You’re right,” Drake agreed, much to Negan’s surprised. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to survive. So are the rest of the people from the Estate — the ones that are here, and the ones that aren’t. The ones that aren’t? That’s, uh, what I’m here about.”

“Your group split.?” Simon glanced over at Negan, before stepping closer to Drake. “They aren’t planning some kind of ambush, I hope?”

Drake seemed a bit put off by Simon’s size, and his closeness. He was still able to talk, though his voice trembled in the beginning. “The splinter group that escaped went to somewhere called the Hilltop. We’ve known about the place for a while. Father and Mother don’t ever let us interact with any community we see while we scavenge—”

“Desa sure as hell broke that goddamn rule.”

“That’s because Desa never listens,” Drake replied. “Anyway, that was our contingency plan. Well, one of our contingency plans. I can take you to Hilltop if you want, maybe sway my people there. Get them to come back here.”

Simon let out a breath, shrugging. “I can lead a team. Pick up whoever’s left, grab some stash from the locals. Some or a lot. Your call.”

“A lot. You know the drill,” Negan replied. He glanced at Drake, trying his best to sound genuine. He was always putting on a goddamn act — he’d blurred the line between sincere and mocking. “Thank you, Drake.”

“No problem.”

“What about Desa?” Simon asked. “She’s with us. He’s with us,” he glanced at Drake. “It would be good to have the two of them. Help make the argument more convincing.”

“Fucking fine by me. Go fetch her for me, Simon,” Negan dismissed Simon with a wave, before a small cough caused him to turn. Drake was still standing, swaying awkwardly on his feet.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Fucking shoot.”

“Are you and Desa together?” Drake cringed at his own words. “Intimately, I mean.”

“Why? You like her?” Negan flashed a grin, a devilish idea flashing through his mind. “I don’t fucking blame you. She has some nice tits, round ass…the sweetest pussy you’ll ever fucking taste.”

“I…I know. I’ve seen her naked.”

Negan’s face fell. He stared blankly as Drake continued to run his mouth.

“You know…most of us have. The ones that get invited to Mother and Father’s room as a ‘reward, a least,” Drake toyed with his fingers. “I was just asking. I was curious. I shouldn’t have been curious, I’m sorry.”

“No…don’t be. Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Negan turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. That urge to open the cell door, walk in, and pound Father’s head into a pulp with Lucille returned. Negan shut it away before he made the mistake and acted rashly. When he turned back around, Drake was a few feet farther away. “Listen, kid, for both of our sakes, let’s not talk about any of that.”

“I’m sorry. I…I don’t know how to talk to people casually. When I’m planning things, focused, I can say whatever I want. It’s weird.”

“We’ll fucking work on that. You’ve become very fucking important, Drake,” Negan slapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “I trust you. I trust that you’ll do the right fucking thing.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Now get to it.”

Drake hurried off — the sound of boots padding against the floor caused Negan to turn. Desa approached, head tilted as she warily watched the back of Drake’s head. Her gaze then shifted to the cell door, and she said softly, “Is he in there?”

“Yeah. You don’t need to see him,” Negan extended an arm, stopping her before she could make a move. “I’m fucking serious, Desa.”

“He hurt you.”

“I know. And I’m fucking hurting him right back,” Negan ducked his head, meeting those doe, brown eyes. God she was beautiful. “Trust me. I have a job for you — Desa. I have some shit I need you to do for me.”

“What is it?”

“Some of your people survived. They went to some place called…Hilltop, or whatever the fuck it is. You, Drake and Simon are going to take a group and round them up for me, then go set up the Estate outpost. I’ll come by if I can.”

“Letting me leave the house for once. That’s atypical of you.”

“I know you can handle this shit. Plus, you’ll be with Simon,” Negan smirked. “He likes you. Not as much as I like you, but he fucking likes you. He’ll watch your back.”

“What if I want you watching my back?” Desa murmured. She snaked her hands around Negan’s waist, sliding beneath his jacket. He could feel her warm breath against his neck — he grunted, and he could have sworn his dick went from flaccid to rock hard in a nanosecond.

“I know you’re capable. That’s why I’m trusting you — I’ve got shit to run.”

“Wives to sleep with?”

“Hey. Knock that shit out,” Negan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Desa rested her cheek against his shoulder, still holding on. Negan returned the gesture, stroking her hair with his hand. He murmured, “They ain’t shit compared to you.”

“Why do you stay with them, then?”

“They rely on me, and I rely on them. Sucks, but that’s how this shithole of a world is. Don’t dwell on it. I think of you when I’m with them, anyway,” Negan glanced down and found himself gazing into Desa’s brown eyes. He smiled sheepishly, shaking his head. “Shit. I need to stop talking.”

“Somewhat. But not altogether — I’d miss the sound of your voice.”

“Fucking flirt,” Negan smirked, pressing a kiss atop Desa’s head. He angled his hips, murmuring against her skin, “You feel that?”

“We don’t have time—”

“You leave tomorrow morning,” Negan replied, dipping his head and capturing her lips before she could say anything else. When he pulled away, he breathlessly added, “We have all fucking night.”

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad

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rageagainstthemarine · 6 years

Text

Do Not Reach Beyond the Sky (5/?)

Warnings: None Tags: Canon-typical violence, Freeform, Retelling, Original Characters, Additional Tags Pairing: None yet Characters: All of them

Fahleon Lavellan is several things, a Dalish elf, a deserter Warden, but Herald of Andraste is not of them. The Creators have played a cruel trick if anyone is to believe he played some part of the Conclave even if the evidence is a rift-sealing mark on his hand. Where he does fit, he doesn’t know and isn’t fond of finding out.

Previous|Current|Next

The demons did come, faster and harder than Fahleon was prepared for. They tore their way through the men battling them to claw at his head and slash at his mind. They mocked his weaknesses and prided themselves on his useless powers while whispering of the kind he'd need to defeat them. They promised he could attain it. They described the true horror he had yet to face and leaked hints to just how he could protect himself. He only needed to give up, to give in, they encouraged. Fahleon turned out their sharp-toothed likes and looked past their spittle slick lips. He could do no more, not when the mark in his hand took every part of his attention just to push away the Fade and stop the Breach. He'd bear their laughter and their taunts but he wouldn't move from his spot unless it killed him.

From the way the air burned and popped and hissed with every pulse, he thought it very well may have.

"Run," the Divine yelled, from somewhere, muted by time and space. Fahleon felt the memory as a quiver in his calves and squashed down on the impulse to flee. If sealing the Breach could kill him, turning back now absolutely would. The Veil twisted and turned in violent attempts to wrench itself free from its grasp and would snap back at him given the chance. He tightened his told on the magic coursing through him even as it slipped between his fingers. The effort of it made him dizzy and nauseous and he grit his teeth against the overwhelming tide.

At the rate he was going, the demons would force their way through the elgar'vian, and Fahleon wasn't sure he could fight off both the Fade and the demons that lived within in.

"Kill him," a rough voice roared above the cacophony of whispers, crackling of the Fade, and the battle cries of those around him, and Fahelon found himself waking with a snarl ripped from this throat.

The crash of steel against scales and snap of heated air was replaced by his raspy cry. Fahleon clutched at his throat and swallowed to ease the roughness if it. He could feel his pulse jump like a frightened rabbit beneath his fingers, and he drew in a handful of slow breaths until he felt it calm. There was no foe to fight here, no enemy to stare down or push back against - wherever he was.

A cabin. A small one and much more intact than the temple of Sacred Ashes. Yet, just as unused.

Dust turned the pelts that adorned the walls gray and insects had eaten at the woven tapestries that hung above the doors and stretched along the windows like curtains until their patterns were one, dull, color. A thick rug coated the floor and collected rat pellets. Unsteady light streamed through the branches of a tree outside to cast shifting shadows from a golden afternoon sun without any trace of a greenish glow. Charming was the least of the place's qualities, but Fahleon cared only for its quiet and distance from demons.

Fahleon let out a breath and the panic leeched out of his limbs until he was tired and empty. He should have learned more about his surroundings or his whereabouts at the least, but it meant rising from the bed he laid on in search of answers. He'd have to ask someone, and it was the knowledge that it would be Cassandra he'd have to ask that kept him all the more firmly planted against the pillows.

They were damp with his sweat and he wrinkled his nose. There was less of an issue if it came to finding someone to change the sheets. Fahleon threw them off and gave the bandages wrapped tight around his middle a brief look until the sharp sound of a plate shattering to the floor drew his attention. Dread wolf take him for letting his guard down. He curled his lip at the girl who stood, hunched and curled in on herself as if her arms and elbows could protect her from the shards. They wouldn't protect her from him if she tried to move any closer than the low table she pressed against. He should have known the shems would try something the moment his usefulness outlived himself. It was a wonder his hands were free even now, and not clapped in irons again - once more the guilty party he'd first been. More surprising, still, was that they hadn't simply skip over the show of slowly dragging him across town, belting out his crimes, and kill him on the spot. Yet, that was. Worse, still, was that he was still alive for another purpose. To be leashed and trained like a docile servant for the humans that ruled above. There was still time to fit in another disappointment.

He bared his teeth and hoped he looked as intimidating as he hoped despite injured, confused, and without any weapons. Even Ada was gone.

The girl flinched nonetheless and the pitcher she held in her other hand joined the plate on the floor. She yelped and jumped away as water splashed up her legs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know when you'd wake up. I'll go - I have to, I have to tell the Seeker -"

"Wait," Fahleon snarled. He'd tear himself in half if he had to see that woman again. She halted so abruptly that only her hands shook as the rest of her stilled mid-step, one leg still bent and ready to take her back to the door. "Tell me where I am."

She wobbled on her one leg and her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "I-I'm supposed to tell the Seeker-"

He glared at her. He'd tear her in half first, and then himself, if it meant he wouldn't have to see Cassandra. He would not cowed like an animal for the slaughter. "You won't tell her anything. Answer me," he continued and there was a sudden and heady rush of power at the vigorous nod she gave him. It knocked the white braids wrapped around her head to show the slight point to her ears, and he blew out a breath. He pitched his voice lower. "What happened. After the..." What had they called it? Fahleon turned his eyes up towards the window to look for the elgar'vian again.

"The Breach, messer?" She finally returned her foot to the ground and straightened the apron hung loose over dress before folding her empty hands in front of her. Her eyes slowly moved from the broken silverware to stop and stare at his hand, and Fahleon felt his fingers twitch under her wide-eyed look. "You closed it. The demon came pouring through the tear until you showed up. They've been calling you the Herald."

He curled his fingers over the wound that still stretched across his palm to hide it from her sight. He felt his skin buzz with the power still leaking from it, but it was a faint tingle compared to the burn it had been before he'd shoved it at the Breach like he had any thought as to what was supposed to happen. He'd only wished to end it all, the climb to the mountains, the judging eyes always weighted heavy on his back, the overwhelming threat of demons, and then that burn had been directed at the rift itself.

He had the power to control the Fade and fight the demons that pushed against it. He had the power to inspire a misplaced hope in some hearts, and fear in others. Himself as well, and Fahleon didn't know if which one of those he was. He wasn't a mage with the knowledge to understand the magics he held and fought against. He wasn't a warrior to stand strong and resolute against the tides of war. He was a hunter, a drawn out but one time chase that ended in bloodshed. He was an elf, and one that liked only his own company. His concerns stretched as far as the boundaries set by his forests, his battles fought only against the hunger of his clan. Fahleon was no hero, no savior, no Herald.

He looked up to demand of her again and caught the girl sneaking towards the still open door. She squeaked when she was spotted and she stuttered on a hasty apology. "I have to tell the Seeker."

Fahleon cursed under his breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed, bandaged wounds or not. She worried his lip, bitting down harder with every second it took for him to find his footing, and he ignored her offer to help as he crossed the room. He refused her offered arm, too, and she hesitated to go for the items she'd dropped as he stood over them.

"What were you doing?" Was she sent to spy on him after all? Or was this all a clever ruse, meant to get him to talk while played as a simple interaction. He couldn't trust any of them as far as he could throw them.

"I...I was bringing it. I was tasked with taking the food and drink to you. And to go to the Chantry the moment you awoke to tell the Seeker.”

Fahleon's brow twitched as he stood over the spilled meal. The ground rolled up to meet him when he bent to pick up the cracked plate and he once again smacked her outstretched arm away with a growl. He snatched up one of the rolls that had oncebeen piled on it, brushing off an insect with a sweep of his thumb. The bread was hard and dry and difficult to eat, but his empty stomach welcomed it. "I'll find the Seeker. Not you."

“Y-yes, ser. My name is Raya, if it pleases," she said. He hadn't asked and he wasn't pleased.

"Disgusting,” he told her, even as he bit into it again.

She blinked, a frown forming on her face as she held the platter out to accept it. Fahleon turned away from it and watched a pair of guardsman pass by. Several more were hidden around the perimeter of the house, identified by the sharp glares of sunlight on armor. When he passed by them to find Cassandra, they hesitated for only a moment of shock before slapping a fist against their breastplate. A man across the path dropped the box of supplies in his haste to copy them. His ears twitched at the hush that settled around him. It followed him up the hill to the Chantry, a silent ghost on his back.

Dread wolf take him, indeed. If Cassandra didn't kill him before someone else did.

Like Chancellor Roderick - or whoever the weasel employed to do it for him. What strength his convictions held was found only in his voice and nowhere near his arms. At least, not enough to do the beheading himself. If he even needed to. Fahleon would cut his own head off if it relieved the headache pounding behind his eyes just from the sound of it as it echoed through the Chantry's interior. One more demand to ship him away to another cell in another city had him turning from the elaborate door it came from to find an axe behind a smaller and much less detailed one. He half-heartedly hoped he'd find something sharp within.

Sharp eyes and sharp tongues made him groan.

The squeak of hold hinges and his muttered curse interrupted a heated argument discussing a topic he hated even more than the ones about himself - politics. Fancy names and all the times their owners thought it earned them.

"You cannot prove the Inquisition was founded on Justinia's orders," a man snapped. Fahleon mistook him for a woman for all the whining he did. A real mustached twitched under a fake one when he frowned with what part of his dry lips showed under the mask. Fahleon curled his lip when the man spat at him.

"More of the faithful flock to Haven every day, Marquis," a real woman soothed from the shadowed corner of the room. A candle lit atop some sort of tablet illuminated her face and put a spark in her eye that unnerved him more than the eerie mask. He growled and the woman waved off his anger like the smoke from her flame. The power of her dissimial was its own sort of magic that the Fade wound couldn't feel. "Let me introduce you to the brave soul that allowed this happen by risking his life to slow the magic of the Breach. Ser Lavellan," she said, with another and entirely different gesture of her hand. Fahleon flinched but only a brush of air hit his cheeks. "May I present the Marquis DuRebllion - one of Divine Justinia's greatest supporters."

"And rightful owner of Haven," he added, too quick for Fahleon to even draw in a breath to deny his pleasure. "House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for pilgrimage, not as a beneficiary to this 'Inquisition'." Fahleon's fingers twitched at his sides and it was the only the thought that Cassandra would, somehow, find out that kept them from reaching out to strangle the man just to make his voice stop. "I will not stand by and let some upstart order remain on her holy grounds," he added, with much less resolution, and Fahleon crossed his arms with a raise of his brows.

"So sit," he growled.

The woman let out a choked noise and she covered it up with a polite cough. "You will have to do neither. If you do not take Seeker Pentaghast at her word, she may challenge you to a duel." The Marquis's strangled noise was the first one he bothered to listen to out of his mouth. "It is a matter of honor among Nevarra. Shall I arrange it for tonight?"

"No, no," he said with a wave of his arms. "That won't be necessary. I...admit I may have been hasty with my reaction to the Inquisiton's presence."

"That would have been the best part of my wook," Fahleon said as he watched the door swing shut behind the noble. Or not noble. Did he have to claim land to keep his title? He rubbed at his temples and wondered why he cared.

"The DuRellions are Orlesian," she explained, though he hadn't asked and certainly wouldn't for any clarification. "Any claim they held to Fereldan would have to first go through Celene to negotiate with Anora on the matter. But these are trying times, Herald. Her current concerns are a bit larger than land disputes; he is not in so strong a position as he believes. Unfortunately, he is not the only disgruntled...dignitary we will have to contend with."

The Chancellor's voice resounded louder as he made another claim on his head, and Fahleon let out a sigh. Any other distraction that took him from the Chantry would only make his sentence worse for him. He might as well head in while the fight was still good.

"If anyone calls you," she started, and Fahleon gave her what very little patience he had left for her to voice her thought. She tapped the feathered end of her quill against her lips and cleared her throat. "If anyone would dare you call you something you dislike, bring it to me. I will have it dealt with at once."

The...warning still stung whether he expected it or not. He thanked her for her...courtesy with as little of a scowl as he could manage with anger and shame tugging hard at the corners of his mouth. He hoped, for everyone's sake, that the Chancellor stood out of the way of the door.

Whether it was Fahleon's luck or Roderick's, he was on the opposite side of the room when Fahleon slammed it open.

"I will not stand-" Roderick had started, and Fahleon's hand dragged down the grain of the door, nails scratching deep into the wood. It was a constant loop with these shems and time magic was not another sort he needed on top of whatever leaked from his hand.

Cassandra's eyes slid from the door back to the Chancellor's. Her voice was tight and rough between clenched teeth. "The Breach is stable, but it still a threat."

"You want me help with that," he said - not asked. Fahleon entered the room proper and gripped the table with both hands to lean his weight against it. He hoped it cracked. Papers were rough under his palms. Maps, they looked like, with all their twisted lines and filled circles. Some had more scribbles on them than just the names of rivers and towns, perhaps soldier movements or rifts but neither held his attention much. It was the feeling of eyes on him that kept his thoughts in place. The Breach wouldn't kill him, not anymore. Demons wouldn't fall from the sky in the rate they had been. Something had caused this other than just a not so happy coincidence and Cassandra was more than happy to cow him into a servant to find out.

Help indeed.

"I want you in chains!" Roderick, again. Fahleon rose to his full height - still two heads shorter than the man - but he didn't need to be taller than the chantry brother. He needed to have stronger convictions, and Fahleon was convinced the man needed to be silenced, forever, more than the Chancellor thought he needed to be imprisoned.

He felt someone at his back and snarled when Leliana placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave," she said. "They could have died with the others. Or have allies that yet still live." Fahleon hadn't looked at her, but he watched Roderick's eyes widen and wondered what she was doing. With the han still on his shoulder, it wasn't much of a mystery.

"Are you suggesting me?" The surprise in Roderick's voice sounded better than any crush of bones under his fist. "I'm a suspect but not the prisoner?'

"Among others," she agreed.

"The Divine did call out to him for help," Cassandra added, quickly, and with an enthusiasm Fahleon didn't think she had anywhere in her frozen, solid core. "We heard her voice in the temple. The Maker...he must have sent you to use in our darkest hour."

Fahleon reeled. Not even Cassandra's physical punches had knocked him off center as hard as that had. "You just wanted me dead. Now I'm your divine savior?"

"Perhaps I was wrong. About many things." Cassandra's nose wrinkled and Fahleon hoped the apology tasted bad on her tongue. "I still could be. But I will not pretend that you were exactly what we needed exactly when we needed it."

"I was dragged from the mountain in chains, not wrapped up like some gift."

"Yet the mark on your hand is the only hope we have to seal the Breach."

"You don't get to decide that!" Roderick demand ended on a high note as Cassandra tossed a thick book on the table in front of him. It scattered the parchment near it and he jumped from the fluttering pages. He glared at the book like it held worse news than that he was already privy too.

"The Divine does - with this writ. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn," she announced, with more conviction than Fahleon and much more than Roderick. "We will close the Breach, we will find those who are responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval."

Maybe Roderick was right, as much as it pained Fahleon to admit, and from the ringing in his ears it was very painful. This was much worse news. "If I refuse?"

"You are free to go," Leliana answered as she moved out from behind him and left the door great. "We cannot hold you here, but let it be known that all of Thedas may collapse without you."

"Fantastic."

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition fanfiction #inquisitor lavellan #cassandra #leliana #varric #solas #fahleon #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #my writing #do not reach beyond the sky fic

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