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WARNING This thread contains: A masochistic character displaying themes that some viewers may not enjoy, starting with the very 1st post. Reader discretion is advised. |
it's poetry carved in flesh, this beautiful hell of ours
His flesh bore the marks of his self loathing, bleeding crimson trails that wound down his arms and torso. He was painfully lucid, excruciating aware of what he’d done and what he’d failed to do. The wolf had gotten the better of him. Samael had sought vengeance, and Samael had nearly died as a result, failing for the first time ever to get exactly what he wanted. Well, almost the first time ever. He would never get what he wanted from the woman he desired, but he contented himself with living as her pet. Even so, he’d abandoned her and he’d abandoned everything in his own misery and weakness. He didn’t deserve to live.
The moonlight shone on the darkened sea—the waves crashing against the rock strewn coast in an eternal rhythm. Dark, matted hair hung down over his face, down his shoulders, down his back to veil his features. Light caught the blade in his lap, clutched in one hand and stained darkly where it’d already met his skin. Silently, contemplation drew to a conclusion, peering around at the shadowy figures that reached for him with gnarled fingers. His own fangs were bared back in response, wickedly curving his lips upward into a cheshire grin. There was only one thing to be done now.
The silence was broken only by the voices of the damned.
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Word Count :: 385 ♥
The silver-shaded hybrid had thought of Samael since his departure; she thought of all her lost and missing children, always. There were so many of them, though, that to cycle through all of them and devote an appropriate amount of time of yearning for their presence or mourning their loss, the silver-shaded woman would never accomplish anything. Even so, the silvery coyote's children called to her through dreams and nightmares, writhing in their hells. Samael was alright; the coyote woman knew he lived. His children were proof of that—Sepirah and Mkhai and Enkiel. They were proof of his life and his devotion to her still—they had come crawling to her in Inferni, strengthening the silver-shaded woman and the clan both.
Night was familiar and friendly to to the silver-shaded coyote now. He was dead. It was over. More weight than the coyote could adequately express had been lifted from her shoulders, but it had been replaced by a burden that was no lighter—guilt. She had not done it herself. She had not been able to take him herself, and so her son had carried the torch for her, and now both leaders of the clan bore his wounds. Each step sent a shiver of pain through the hybrid's leg, but she carried on nonetheless—there was nothing unfamiliar in pain, there was nothing new here to Kaena, and duty beckoned regardless of her physical condition. She would do this until she could no longer—it was written into her very bones, and it had drawn her thousands of miles back to this place.
The silver-shaded hybrid's nose twitched at a familiar scent, one that sent her marching straight toward the source. Samael was near again—by now, the scarred woman had learned not to question his nature; she saw her mistake in having him come to Inferni. It had driven him mad, but she had needed his protection. She had needed him. He had not failed her—in the silver-shaded woman's mind, he could never fail. She made her way forward, her ears folded back as she saw his ragged and violent form, his lips drawn back into a snarl at his own imagination. She said nothing to him, merely lowered her head, her eye drawing over his scarred and bloodied body.
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darling take me home to the castle made of skulls and bones
She came for him as he knew she would. She was the only creature that he could truly love, and he would readily die for her. He could not stay away—never—even if it killed him. He would be glad to die by her hand. Crimson eyes lifted as she drew nearer, expression softening into something far less fearsome, and far more reverent. He could hide nothing from her—he could only bare open his soul, exposing everything horrible and wicked and vile within. When they touched her thoughts would be forever clouded by the sordid knowledge of his affection.
He rose, knife yet in hand, to approach the yellow-eyed woman. His hand sought her’s, attempting to wrap her fingers around the handle of the blade even as he lifted it to press the cool metal against his throat. “I failed you,” he said, voice low. “I am Belial. I am worthless. Kill me,” he said, desiring for her to punish him for his wrongdoing. He’d failed. He hadn’t been able to kill the blue-eyed man that’d harmed her. She hadn’t even been able to tell him of what’d transpired, but Gabriel had been first to learn of it, in turn informing Samael.
And instead of wrecking havoc on the man he’d been thrown into the sea, nearly dead, to drift away into the she-jackal’s arms. He’d used her as needed, and he’d disposed of her. She had been worthless to him once he’d finished with her. She’d given him three children, and in turn he’d given them to Kaena. It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d tied a bow around each of their necks and handed them to her on his own. Beyond that he cared nothing for them, as he cared nothing for anything outside of Kaena.
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dksdlgpskld short
Wretched and wild as he was, there was not an ounce of fear within the scarred woman. To anyone else, Samael might have been Haku himself. He had and would turn on his own family, not that the Centurion knew any of this; even if she had, it would not have given her fright of him. Clutching his knife, he came for her, though she did not think for one instant the blade was meant for her. Perhaps she put too much faith on the boy's love, or maybe she was simply the only one who could afford this luxury.
She reached for his hand, putting hers about his wrist lightly, pulling to keep the blade from digging into his skin. “No, no,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You would never do something like that, my Samael,” she reassured him. In him there could be no fault, no flaw—he was her perfect prince, belonging to her and her alone. They had both bled, and their wounds were fresh, but the silver-shaded woman felt only relief at this presence.
“How could you fail me with such grandchildren?” she said, almost chiding him. There was not a hint of anger in her voice for him, and she lifted her other hand to his face, intent on wiping some of the dirt and blood that had flecked there. “Besides, you've come home to mama,” she said, pulling that same arm around his back to draw him closer to her. She would could not trust men, but for her children, and this one most of all—he who desired her above all else, yet restrained himself to madness.
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darling take me home to the castle made of skulls and bones
He could never harm her. He would harm himself long before he ever could bring harm to her. She was the only soul alive granted this protection from the devilish man. He would, and did, turn on his own flesh and blood, marking them with his bloodstained hands. They were above the rubbish, but they were not perfect. No one was, save perhaps for Kaena. She denied his words. She was the mother, clouded by affection. She could not see his fault, so glaringly obvious. He wished to weep, even as she pulled the knife away. “They are yours,” he said, again offering them up as a gift to his mother. He did not care about any of them one way or another, and now their mother was nothing more than scattered bones across the wasteland.
They had no one. They were worthless things to be used and abused as she saw fit. He smiled. She pulled him close and he allowed her, dropping his knife for the time being to the sand at his feet. “Always,” he replied, honestly. “Even if I cannot protect you as I’d like to, I will always find you,” he said, promising himself as much as he was promising the world. Let heaven or hell try to keep him away—he’d tear the fucking sky asunder.
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Word Count :: 362 Miss Popps, I just want you to know how much I enjoy our creepster Sam-Kae threads. They are the most epic things. :3 Also derp derp I forgot Kae would still be wounded in this thread from Haku shenanigans. 9_9; But uh, yeah. I'm going to pretend she was shifted anyway because then old things wouldn't make sense in this thread. ;; Also if you have an issue with any of my powerplay-y things, please PM and I will change. Also feel free to do similar things to Kae, derp derp. 8D
 The ashen hybrid sank to the ground, finding it too tiresome to remain upright. Her body was still broken and hurting, but the wounds had stopped bleeding. Samael's were still leaking crimson, dripping it into his summer-golden coat. She held his arm where he had not scratched it and drew him to her, wanting to have him close to her—there was no safer feeling in the world than that of a mother with her baby monster, and though Haku had been killed, though he was gone, she still did not feel safe. Maybe she never would again, not unless her Samael was here.
He spoke of his children neutrally, indifferently—the coyote smiled faintly, still gently holding the arm she had guided him here with, her single eye watching as the thick crimson oozed from the wounds. “Our blood is beautiful,” she affirmed, lowering her muzzle to his torn forearm to her muzzle to lick some of it away. It could not be wasted, and it should not be wasted; Samael's children were beautiful, and better than that, they were hers. “I know. You love me,” she said, and though her voice was soft, barely a whisper, there was some flatness and tone to her voice that indicated his other love, that love that should have been taboo—that love she should have rejected and scorned, according to society, according to her half-brother.
But Samael was nothing like Kairo, and Samael was nothing like Haku—the silver-shaded woman was blind to the crimes he might have committed elsewhere, indifferent to the pain he might have inflicted on others like Kairo and Haku had inflicted on her. Samael would never hurt her in such a manner. There was only love, endless love, and he cherished her like no other. “I love you,” she said, her voice twisted and choked—she should not have said such a thing; she should not have felt such a thing, but it was there, nonetheless—beyond her mother's love, something else had developed, something that no one else in the world could possibly understand—even her other children would have recoiled, and she damn well knew this.
Table thanks to Ithen!
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darling take me home to the castle made of skulls and bones
It was a wrong kind of love, or so others would claim, but Samael had never cared. He’d only cared about what she felt, and as long as she could never love him back he would writhe in misery in his own personal hell, locking himself away. Desperation leaked out, marking his flesh where the wounds lay open and bleeding, displaying his internal agony for the world to see. But he hid from the world, unable to remain within Inferni the way things were. He was the fallen prince with a broken, bloodstained crown—heir to nothing but ash and emptiness. He knew nothing of his father’s legacy save the myth and the lies. True hell he could not obtain until the day that he died, and he wasn’t yet prepared to slit his wrists to the bone as long as Kaena remained on this plane of existence. She sunk to the ground and sorrow lifted in his soul, unable to see her in pain, whether physical or mental. She grasped his arm, licking away the blood that lingered on his skin and emotion rose up within his heart like a tidal wave, threatening to overtake him.
He lowered himself to the ground as well—to be closer to her, rather than standing above her—even as her words reached his ears. Crimson eyes lifted to meet her single one, unable to speak, unable to feel anything save deception birthed from his own desire. “Our blood is beautiful only because it comes from you,” he said, his other hand moving to his wrist, gripping the bottom of his arm to pull gently at the skin, opening the wounds to allow the crimson to flow forth further. The sight was fascinating, alluring, and he smiled gently. “I will always love you,” he said, voice soft. He always had. Since the moment life had been breathed into his body he had loved her, and nothing could ever change that. He reached for her hand, attempting to bring it close to his lips, pressing her skin against his.
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Word Count: 524
Anything that might have been wrong with him was conveniently ignored by Kaena, pretended away by her mother-blindness. He was a killer and a murderer and all other sorts of awful things, but to her he was none of this; just her perfect child, both bound and tormented by endless love. Gabriel did not trust Samael; he could not trust the red-eyed boy, and though some distant part of Kaena understood this, she did could not think of it. Such a crack in her logic might have driven her to the same point where her son was, tearing at his own flesh. The silver-shaded hybrid held him close, her fingers still lingering on his arm, though she did not move to stop him this time as he pulled at the wound. Instead, she watched as the blood bubbled up again, dutifully returning her own crimson-stained muzzle to lick it away. Her tongue touched his flesh, her nose buried in his fur, inhaling the scent that was so familiar to her. She lingered a minute there, breathing in that scent. It was not as if she could forget it, but it was still sweet each time, still reminded her of the tiny puppy the scarred and bleeding man had once been.
“My blood is your blood,” she said, drawing her muzzle back from his arm, her golden-yellow eye looking toward him defiantly, as if she expected him to speak against such a thing—as if Sam would ever do that. Maybe it was narcissism that had made her love him this way; maybe it was seeing herself reflected in him, his children. But if that were true, then she should have loved all her children like she loved Samael, and that surely was not true. The silver-shaded coyote could not truly recount how such a thing had happened—she did not want to question it. She had given up; nothing had made sense in the fall but Inferni and the monotony of the day. There was only hurt and war and Haku, again and again—maybe she was worse off than she pretended to be deep down. Samael would never leave her, Samael would never hurt her, and what they had was stronger than just blood or just love.
“You belong to me. You always have,” the hybrid said, affirming things he had said to her many times, things he had shown her many times. He would leave and he would always come back; he would always return to the blood and body that had shaped him. For all Astaroth had ever done to her, he had given her one great gift—this boy. He was hers, unequivocally. Astaroth had told her once one would belong to her, but he had been wrong about which; for all the lies he had spun, maybe she did believe there was some magic in him after all. He kissed her hand, and she brought his arm again to her mouth, licking over each of the wounds he had inflicted carefully, moving up his arms and closer toward his chest, closer to the heart that beat only for her.
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darling take me home to the castle made of skulls and bones
Her scent, her touch, her voice—everything about her encompassed beauty and love, and nowhere else in the world could he find anything the same. He could never love another living soul in this manner as he did for her. Perhaps it was simply because she’d been the first to show him unconditional love, from the moment he’d been born, that caused him to feel this way. All else was sin and darkness—lies and deception. Only here could he find true love, even if it was sordid and screamed against the natural order of things. But what was the natural order? He cared little for his own children. He could breed with his own family, embracing the perfect blood that flowed through their veins. He cared little about their well being. She was perfection, with scars that spoke only of the hardships she’d endured, making her stronger, more beautiful, not hideous as another might believe. His scars were weakness.
His scars were self-inflicted, though he did not care. All loveliness had faded from his features long ago while he was still young and yet impressionable. He’d allowed any hand to touch him, marking his flesh so that he could revel in the destruction of his flesh. The pursuit of pleasure and the end of the world were his only purposes now—and yet even the latter only held a half-hearted interest at this point. He was a selfish man. Whether the world burned or endured he could not care. Kaena was here, and Kaena licked away the blood from his flesh, drinking him in, taking his life into her body. He felt weak, unable to stand any longer. Surely he was dreaming. He’d never been happy, so why should he be now? It wasn’t his place. Suffering was his existence.
And yet, her tongue was warm, assuring him that this was true. “It is,” he agreed, for her was her son and nothing could ever change that. She had brought him into this world, and she would always be his mother—would always share his blood. “Destroy me,” he whispered, voice growing dim momentarily. “Use me. Command me. Tear me to pieces and fucking kill me,” he said, handing her his soul in every possible way that he could. Toward his vile beating heart, this feeling was unbearable as her tongue washed away the physical manifestation of his misery.
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The silver-shaded woman had long ago given up on love; she had not actively pursued such a thing since Ahren. Laruku hadn't been love, and neither had anyone else since. She hadn't had too many close brushes with love, but each time it had hurt her worse than any physical pain she had known. Her lover had left her, she had shoved them away, something had gone completely awry in the time she had been close to it. She had begun to believe she was simply too old to find it anymore. It had snuck in innocuously enough, of course—the silver-shaded woman did not doubt her mother's love had spawned this twisted thing that was supposed to feel terrible.
Maybe more unsettling than anything was that it didn't. She did not feel terrible in the least, and this did not feel wrong; more than anything it felt right, maybe the natural progression from where they had started out to here—maybe this was intended and meant to happen. Her tongue reached his collarbone, drawing over a long, thin gash there, and his voice murmured, soft and far-away. She turned her head to put her tattered ear against his chest, listening to the thudding heart there.
For a long moment, there was no response from the scarred woman, but she put her hand to his throat, her claws resting over his flesh, just barely able to feel the pulsing blood there. It was not his blood she wanted to see running out and over her fingers. She could not have that blood; she had not been capable of taking it from Haku, and she had failed herself and her clan just as miserably as Samael believed he had failed her. Her breath came in a heavy sigh, and she lifted her head, drawing her fingers to pull his chin toward her.
“Mama loves you,” she said, drawing her hand to his hair, winding her fingers over it. She delicately avoided the knots that had worked their way into it, and pulled a small leaf from him when she felt it beneath her fingertips. “Mama needs you,” she murmured, pulling him closer. Maybe she would destroy him without meaning to; maybe she would destroy herself in the process, but the silver-shaded coyote could not bring herself to care. He loved and accepted her always, in the ways no one else ever could—what more could she have asked of him?
table by kahilli
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