By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw]

Emne: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Søn Feb 28, 2021 10:17 pm

Thread dedicated for: @Samael

DATE | Monday, the 8th of March 2021

TIME | It has turned rather dark outside - 20:20

PLACE / AREA | A small, yet beautifully kept house from the early 20th century on Amena st in Alvertona, Moonlight Falls

WEATHER | The day of the new moon is slowly getting closer and has left a thin waning cresent shinning brightly in the dark night sky.

ATTIRE | Descibed in text below..

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Content warning: Violence, blood and murder

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The scents surrounding the little witch were all very familiar smells. Dominating scents of the burning of Echinacea as well as sandalwood. Sedation and spirituality. She felt awfully fatigued but it wasn’t only by the fault of the herbal smudge in the air. She had lost a subsequent amount of blood from more than just a few symbolic carvings that had been made in her moon pale skin. All of which were in eye-catching view thanks to the lack of clothing on her body. The only courtesy she had been given was the plain and simple black underwear and bra. Everything else was exposed. The written name by her collarbone as well. Burning dark and cursive for everyone to see. Something she would usually keep covered up out of hatred and despise.
She had been suspended in the middle of the although very quaint living room. Vintage furniture had been pushed to the side to make room, and a big, heavy rug had been removed for a circle to be drawn on the wooden flooring where she had been placed in the centre of. Her arms were held up above her head and tied together with a robust rope that was further tied to the hook in the ceiling. Her wrist were flaming red from the struggles her body per instinct had performed every time the sharp knife had cut into her skin, deep enough into her flesh to draw out blood. At least was she still more or less sitting on the floor with her legs bend as if sitting on her calves but her behind having sit flexibly in between them instead. The only source of lights were well around a dozen lit candles, mainly located somewhere in front of her to lit the pages of an old spell book for the paranoid eyes of even more paranoid witches responsible for the state of Saga Rhyss.

Saga’s vision were not optimal and she had a hard time keeping them properly open, let alone sharpen. Her lips were slightly parted, being the primary supplying way of oxygen for her. Her breathing with surprisingly calm and yet there was no doubt that she was absolutely exhausted. The bleeding sigils were not just there for show. They were magic. Magic that edge itself into her. Magic meant to hurt the victim and being a being of pure magic herself, she wasn’t much of an exception. The magic didn’t only drain her for the energy she needed to get out of the trouble - trouble she really didn’t have much direct involvement with creating - but it assure her a passage straight to where every witch would eventually end up. In Hell. They wished not to risk her coming back, that was for sure. Or risk her potentially surviving the killing blow.

“It’s time!”
“Yes, we shouldn’t be wasting anymore time. The longer we wait the bigger chance is there for her to regain some strength.”
“And then what?” The little witch felt the fearful eyes of first one of the witches and then the others following along. A smile broke loose on the first witch’s dark painted lips. “She’s a covenless witch. Even if she was strong she wouldn’t stand much of a chance. She didn’t when we dragged her here. Maybe her mingling with angels weakened her as well. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was exactly what she noticed herself and therefor sought to something much darker.”
The gaze, however much fear that might be hidden in those silvery eyes, they also looked at Saga was arrogance. It was funny, really, how she had ended up there for doing what every witch were prejudged to do. To be among darkness and embracing the unholiness of their being. But Saga had been met by a too strong a darkness and it brought fear in even those kind of people. It having been unwillingly had been no excuse, so she hadn’t even bothered with such a thing. She had barely spoken a word even when it had been possible for her to do more than a whisper.

Was this it? She tried moving her fingers, but her hands had no more blood in them and she could almost not even feel them. She still had magic in her but she lacked the stamina to do much with it and she had now tried to cut the rope countless times already with no luck.

Clothes: A black suit with a red tie Link + Black shoes
- Other: Is 1,96 meters tall + Unique aura + Angelic beauty + American accent
- Powers: False Messiah (Species related), Omnimalevolence, Immortality & Power Negation

Over the weeks, since he'd first met this witch, he'd been rather curious about her and who she was, so of course, he'd gotten quite a lot of information about her and her past. He'd also gotten one of his followers to keep an eye one her so that if he were to need her, it would be more than easy to find her. He'd considered coming by her shop, to give her a tiny deal, she would have dinner with him, and he would answer any questions she should have, nothing more than that. He might even go as far as to let Lucifer go, which had been the whole point of him going to her, in the end, he was quite fascinated by her as a person, which deeply irritated him, to the point which when he walked down the street, every single dark-haired woman reminded him of her. He was a man who liked being in control, so when aspects of his life went to the point where he couldn't control it, it angered him to the point that he wanted to ruin everything for someone else. In this case, it had meant the torture of Remiel.
Even though it made him angry that he was fascinated by Saga, in the way that he was, and that probably also meant he should either just kill her and get over with it, or leave her alone, and move on with his life. He did end up standing outside the house, of which she was currently trapped, after having been told by some witches, that some fanatics had found her and kidnapped her. He could sense the magic inside, he could even sense her and that she was weak. A smirk came upon his lips, and slowly he walked inside, making sure he came inside as quietly as possible. For someone as tall as he was, he could be surprisingly quiet, if he needed to be.
He wanted to make an entrance, he liked the idea of someone fearing him, just from the first moment of their meeting, as if they feared what he would do to them, without him actually having touched them at all. He had learned a few things from Jesus, regarding making a good entrance, though not in the same fashion as the messiah, as the human had done it with good intentions, and his own weren't as positive. He moved around the house, getting an idea about what was going on, so that when he met the first witch, who'd been standing around further away from the others, he destroyed her vocal cords, and then rather brutally removed her head from her body, only holding it by his side via her hair. Blood had been spattered on his cheeks and hands, though rather nonchalant he removed the blood, before then proceeding towards the room, where they all appeared to be. He didn't say anything at first, just watched with his black eyes, his gaze even for a moment lingering on the naked form of Saga, before then making his presence known, by throwing the bloody head towards them "Why hello ladies, so lovely to see you all," he tilted his head when letting his gaze move from the marks on Saga's body, to the other witches, who would soon be dead witches. Before they would even be able to use their magic, he snapped his fingers, an echo almost going through the room, the witches now just as good as humans would be, which meant useless.

He was here.
The little witch had only met the man that one time and his visit hadn’t been long. But he had left an enormous impression on her. So much so that it would be considered impossible and outrageous had she not immediately recognized the sensation of his presence form the very moment he ventured inside the house and further towards the living room where it only became stronger and more prominent. It might only have been the short moment before he appeared in the same room as she, that she became clear of him, but a part of her had had her suck her stomach in even before then. Then as he come forth through the open door and stood near the doorway, she weakly and very discreetly moved her head - just a tiny bit - so then let her eyes look to him. Her vision was slightly blurry and her head didn’t quite allow for her to tune in sharp, but she wasn’t in doubt that he was there. What she didn’t understood was why. The witches behind this unfair choice of execution used her affiliation to this exact man as the main reasoning for it, after all. Collaboration was not a possibility. Surely.

Saga had seen the moment of his arm, as he throw.. something round like a heavy ball, but her attention had stayed only with him, as if she wasn’t worry about what the other witched would do to her. She felt strangely safe and in immense danger at the same time. And none of the feelings had anything to do with what had been going on up until now. It wasn’t until a loud scream sounded, that she got reminded of other people in the room than her and him and even then she barely swayed.

The scream had come from the lone male witch in the room. But even before that scream, the entirety of the group had turned as fast as they could towards Samael, the moment he had spoken and revealed himself. All in unison taking about half a step away from him, all showing apprehension and guard. All displeased with not having noticed him, not having noticed how unnaturally natural his presence had felt. Because his presence was surely not unnoticeable. It just wasn’t all who were self-aware enough to pick it from everything else, it seemed. One witch, the one seemingly with the highest amount of spite towards Saga, looking down on her for being covenless and mislead gasped terribly. “It’s him!” she stated breathlessly. “How did you find this place?! It has been heavily warded! No demon should’ve been let in.” She had clearly underestimated the man and now she paid the price with her ignorance. And it was then, that the scream rang out through the room, as the male witch, a little behind the outspoken witch, fell to his knees right in front of the rolling head and grabbed it with shaking hands. “Cherise!!” he yelled horrified and heartbroken, recognizing the head as his own dear. “No! No no..“ But there was a bit more to the man’s voice than simply a loss of love. There was selfish fear in it too which there only was one explanation for and hadn’t he worn clothes to cover it up, the exact name he had screamed would be visible by his collar.
The remainder of the witches had automatically turned to see what the commotion had been about but as soon as it had become evident, they all just turned towards Samael again. A caramel-skinned witch not wasting time to raise a hand and spurring a spell… but.. nothing. And it was so transparent how it made the witch feel as she noticed. Her face turned ashy and pale. Her magic had no effect. She could feel it, but only somewhat. “My magic..! It… It doesn’t work!” she squealed in panic, instinctively trying again. “It must be him!” This didn’t only scare the one witch but the remaining of the half a dozen.
However the front witch didn’t let the fright force her to cower. Much like the ebony blood-caster, still bound and only vaguely responsive in the middle of the ritual circle, she was not about to simply flee or bow down to such tearing obscurity as Samael was. She grabbed the long, freshly sharpened knife, they had been saving for Saga’s demise, and lunged herself at the man. Not hesitating to stab it deep into his chest, expecting to hit the heart to the very least buy herself - and yes, only herself - enough time to get away with her life. But as she stood there, with the knife so deep into his flesh that it was only the handle guard which had stopped it from going any further, she thought to herself; why hadn’t he moved? Why wasn’t he staggering? Or flopping to the ground? She good feel his blood on her cramping hand, so she had hit something. So with wide grey eyes she slowly looked up towards his face.

He found it rather funny, how they would assume to gain power over him, even as it was yelled out how it was him, he found it amusing they tried doing something, it was like watching rats trying to escape from drowning, never quite near enough to reach safety. It was this survival instinct and how they fought to stay alive, even if that living was quite possibly the most pathetic version of a living state. Even as the man yelled the name of his mate, he didn't quite understand the pain of this loss, he knew he cared for Maelle and in a way also loved her, he would even be angry if she died and probably avenge her death, but would he yell out her name this way? Feel the anguish and torture of knowing he would never look into her eyes again? Or hear her voice as she said his name? Emotions had never been easy for him, he didn't understand sadness or even love for that matter.
So he watched the witches with a certain fascination, like watching an animal in the wild, never really understanding how it was built, yet so fascinated by its mechanics. It was only truly when he heard the panicked voice from a female witch, the fear coming from her voice and whole being, as she realized they wouldn't be able to use their powers against him. A grin flashed across his lips, turning into something rather malicious as if it was a smile that in it of itself could betray all that stood in the sense of good and innocence. It was quite clear, not only had these witches sealed their fate, they weren't going to be able to do much fight in return. While yes, they could probably hurt him a bit, he was a lot harder to kill than they were and how horrible their deaths were going to be.
"Indeed it is me, now that witch you got captured in there, I have no wishes for her to be killed or hurt, and as I can sense you've hurt her and you've captured her, and as much as I can respect how well it was done, I will kill every one of you." He started moving towards them, slow and gracefully, his blue gaze never quite leaving them for one second "I can tell you as much as it's going to hurt and it will be slow, you will wish for death in so many ways you're tiny little minds will never understand," he always found this part amazing, seeing the fear flash before their eyes.
His movements suddenly turned quick, going from slow to extremely fast, as he reached his hand out and then punched through the first person his fist met. This meaning that all the other witches would look on, as his arm was not only trapped in the chest but his hand was out through the back, with a heart in his hand and as he pulled his arm back, the body would fall to the ground and so would the heart as he let go. His eyes targeted the other witches, with chaos now completely in order, his presence more on the uncomfortable and evil side, rather than what could be described as alluring and inviting. It was as if taking lambs and setting them free in shark-infested waters, meaning this was going to be bloody and it was going to be deadly.
Much to what was expected, as witch after witch met their fate, him having hunted them down and then brutally killing them, meaning his before very well suited clothes, now stained with the blood of the witches. The only one that was missing had been the girl who had called out she was lacking in powers, somehow she'd found a way to escape his gaze and now he had to find her "Come out, come out wherever you are little one, you're the only one left, and I might just give you an easy death if you come out right now," his voice echoing throughout the house.

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Fre Apr 09, 2021 4:07 pm

The witch, who had attempted to go on the offensive to get a chance to rid the demonic man from the world of the living, was barely allowed a gasp before the hand punched right through her. Instead she gurgled, blood immediately filling her mouth and seeping out form the corners and down over her chin. For a good few seconds the agony she felt was still present in her silvery eyes but eventually every bit of life had escaped and frozen her face in a frightened and tormented expression that stayed firmly as his impaled arm got pulled out and she flopped like a flaccid marionette doll without its supporting strings. Dead. On the spot. Witches were powerful beings but they were possibly also the less balanced of all the living creature on Earth as well as Heaven and Hell. The ability to do anything and yet too easily killed. People seemed to forget that. Especially witches themselves.

The following scene was an absolute slaughter. Screams were muffled by the same silencing spell the group had placed on the walls of the warm-atmosphered house and someone should be thanking their god that it was the case. Passing folk, unfortunate to be out on a walk in the area, would surely be traumatised by not only the vocal cords but the breaking of bones and tearing of flesh. The little witch in the middle of it all should be ever so grateful for being as dazed as she was, her vision as blurred as it was. However she smelled the blood. And she listened. Still she was barely moving. At most she gulped strenuously
And then… silence. Everything she could sense was him standing alone in the room, his presence overtaking every corner or crack. Her breathing, however calm and weak, had turned to a strange rhythm of a rather quick and short inhale and an ordinary, long exhale. It wasn’t irregular since it held that rhythm as a new normal.

A creaking of the floor announced the revealing return of the caramel-skinned witch. She was a beautiful witch, even with a kind face and warm eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Her lips were painted with dark make up like the front witch - now laying as the first victim on the bloody floor - but it suited her naturally instead of bold. Her hair was big and curly, almost coily, only reaching her shoulders due to the sheer volume. She looked anything but menacing, like someone who’d kill someone. But somehow it made sense for her to be part of the group, believing the German witch-prodigy witch mingling with someone like Samael to be too evil. She looked like someone who’d believe in the necessary evil.
She had only taken very few steps forward before she very carefully get down on her knees. Her every limb shaking vaguely. And her eyes never left Samael. They didn’t even steal a glance towards Saga. They were… captivated. By him. Because she was weak of mind. She crawled the last bit of distance until she sat right in front of the false messiah. “Have mercy. We didn’t know she was so important to you. She’s just a covenless witch. You can take her. So please spare my life.. my lord.” Her eyes were pleading and her hands hand found each other by her chest as if she was praying. She looked like a dog begging for forgiveness to her owner. Her lip quavering.
“I… I’ll serve you,” she then mustered, still not so much as fleeting a look away from his him, craving for him to meet her eyes.

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Fre Apr 09, 2021 5:07 pm

He'd been walking around a bit, even getting closer to the room she was held in, only did he stop as he sensed the young witch presence, turning to met her as her movements announced her being closer to him. It was bold of her, actually getting out from her hiding place, and face him directly, he did admire this trait, this boldness of someone who he could just as easily have found and slaughtered slowly as he'd done with her sisters and brothers. His eyes followed her, as she got closer to him, only to then get on her knees like she'd been presented with the image of God, though he didn't meet her gaze, rather for a moment he looked away, knowing how she craved it, knowing in some way her tiny little brain craved him more than she would crave food. As it was, many people had different reactions to his presence, some scared, some loved him, some even grew obsessed and this little one, she went for something along the line of a believer being presented with their saviour, their messiah and their God.
As she started speaking, it only then he truly met her gaze, allowing her to take in the colours of his eyes, the slight hint of a smile on his lips, the expression on his face. He was a man with a God-Complex, he loved being served, being admired and most of all loved and feared, though not as a monster, but as a living God.
He slowly allowed his body to sink down to her level, as he almost got to his knees, though not in the same fashion as her because while he admired the stance of the prayer position, he would never allow himself to fall to his knees for anyone "You sweet little child," he said as he then reached his hand out and with the back of his fingers, softly ran them across her cheek, almost like a loving touch, before then guiding her on her feet again. His eyes now only lingering on her, the expression as if he considered her suggesting, of actually letting her serve him, which wouldn't be strange, given that he did have followers and in some circles an almost cult-like status, as a saviour to some.
His hands still touched her skin, before he leaned forward, to let his lips touch hers, a kiss he would view as a gift to her. As he did hold high thoughts of himself, letting some be kissed by him or even fucked by him, could be considered a gift of something special, like being allowed to not only bear presence to something Godly but also being physical with this deity. Though at the kiss ended, his gaze turned cold, and the before soft touch of what could be a lover, got more brutal. He looked into her eyes, with no emotion and no care, now with his hands around her neck "How pathetic you are, to believe I would let you serve me, I wouldn't even feed you to dogs." His eyes turning completely black, as his grip slowly tightened, removing whatever ability to breathe she had. Never once did he look away, as he then choked the life out of her, even lifting her tiny body above the ground, to really be able to get the sense of her fear and then the realization that she would die and that she was also going to feel every single agonizing moment before the life would then drain from her eyes and she would fall limp. It was only then he let her go, her body that would then fall to the ground like a rag doll.
He didn't even give her dead body a second glance, as he stepped over her, her death meaning as much to him as it would mean if an ant died and she meant even less to him before she died. He turned his attention towards Saga, his little lamb, as she hung by her hands "Hello little lamb, how lovely it is to see you again," his eyes still completely black, but they slowly turned more human-like, as a smile emerged on his lips.

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Fre Apr 09, 2021 6:24 pm

Excitement already settled in the witch from the very moment he started dropping further down to her level. Her hands cramping slightly open up and tested the waters of reaching up towards him, while her wrists remained fused, only really being held back by a sudden sensations of utter respect for the man and desperately not wishing to, in any way what so ever, bring disgrace upon him. So she never ended up grabbing him even if he was.. so close. His hand touched her and her breath instantly shook violently and audibly. Looking into her eyes, anyone would be able to see her falling deeper and deeper into the toxic devotion that had taken her over. The devotion to him. To the Anti-Christ. To Samael. Being touched by him was like being stroked by God himself and she clearly reacted as such. Her lips parted and the ends of her brows curved down wards and the inner parts, upwards. Soft folds having formed in between them. He leaned closer in and she gasped sharply just before she was met with a kiss. It filled her up but she didn’t dare do anything. Her entire body tensed up and her hands shivered even more, fighting the fight to not grip him. Her eyes closed she knew, she just knew! that she was spared. That he had accepted her into himself. It was pure euphoria and as he pulled back, she was still tranced. So much so, that she didn’t get a chance to witness his eyes turn cold as ice. She didn’t hear his words, not properly. He had showed her mercy. She was convinced. He was a merciful man after all.
At first she had believed the choke, he held around her neck, was rough play, and not even one red flag or alarm was set up. Not before his hands squeezed tighter and tighter until she couldn’t breathe at all. And it started to hurt. Her trancelike expression finally let up and her eyes widened gradually and became more and more terrified. Quickly she had moved her hands to grab his wrist to pry his hands away. She tried speaking but she couldn’t. Only horrible and nasty burbling noises found their way out of her throat. She was thrashing, though with limited movement. There was no saying exactly how long it took until she began to go limp and her eyes, burgling from their sockets, rolled all the way up, until life had left her completely and she was thrown with the rest of the trash on the floor.

Saga had been there to watch. And to listen. And somehow, the silence that was left was the worst of it. Still, she hadn’t looked away, so the moment she sensed his tall silhouette get up and walked closer, her ocean eyes were already on him. Observing, as much as they would manage in the state she was in. The closer he got, the clearer an image she got of him as well as the more she had to turn her look upwards. But, she didn’t need to see it to tell that he was smiling. “You,” she spoke at last. Her voice meek, howbeit not rough or fragile. She slowly breathed air in, visibly rising and sinking her chest. “I can’t say that the feeling is mutual. Samael.” There were other things different from then and the last time they had met. Other things than the sorry state of herself. She now knew his name, the name he hadn’t given her the first time. And she knew much more of who he was.

As if out of nowhere she dropped all the way to the floor as the rope, hanging her partly up, gave in as if either but or something snapped. She groaned lightly of the pain that shot through her and from the abrupt removal of the displeasure from holding had her arms stretch out over her for so long. But while the hanging rope didn’t hold her any longer, her hands were still tired together in a tight knot, that had already left deep bruises on her moon pale skin. After short moment she sluggishly rose her head to look to him again. “Are you going to kill me too?”

He chuckled as he moved towards her, not faced the slightest by her disdain of him, as if this was what he'd expected from her, he would rather have been surprised if she'd shown the opposite and being pleased with seeing him. Though, as she threw the so-called power move, of knowing his name, his head tilted slightly "So you know my name, so you've searched upon information about me?" he asked, almost flattered if this was the case. Of course, he himself had also gained a bit more knowledge of her, than what he had when he'd first met her, even though back when they first met, he did have a tiny bit of information about her.
Her sudden drop to the floor, made him raise his eyebrow curiously, as she now laid by his feet, probably not in the most comfortable position, considering how long she may have been hanging and from the bruising, probably hadn't been treated too kindly by these now dead witches. Her question, whether or not he was going to kill her too, while absolutely fair, as she may have gained knowledge of his passion for torturing and killing people, fell to his more humorous side and he slowly lowered himself down to her position "Now why would I do something as stupid as that?" he asked, removing some of her hair from her face, before then pulling off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders, granting her just as a bit of heat against her clear lack of clothes, during a not so warm day.
"I mean, you're far too interesting just to kill right now, so no little lamb, I will have my fun with you." The smile crept to his lips, and then he gently lifted her up from the dirty and cold floor, holding her as a groom would his bride on their wedding day. He walked to the door, and kicked it open, before leaving behind every thought and opinions he may have held towards the house and the witches inside. Their deaths, in the end, held as much meaning to him, as it would when one stepped on an ant, alas he didn't really care and the one witch he somewhat cared for or at least held enough curiosity towards, was held in his arms.

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Man Jun 07, 2021 8:19 pm

“You yourself wasn’t much help.” I’ve been called many things had been his simply answer that time she had become acquainted with the devil son, now squatted down in front of her weakened self. Powerful as ever. Sovereignty seeping out of every knock and granny. The little witch wasn’t fond of not knowing who people were. It was a constant comfort for her to be wrapped in information. It was what kept her as calm as she was. She hadn’t shown desperation back when he had refused her that comfort, she had known how he craved that control over people. Much like herself. But although similar, she was convinced they were still different. “Samael Morningstar.” After figuring out just how he was, many puzzle pieces had fallen into place on their own. And she remembered how she had been able to still feel his choking hand around her neck, as she had sat down and actually searched him up. Or at least the known history of him. There wasn’t much else, she had realised.

The hand brushing away a lock of her raven hair, made her face partially by instinct squint a bit as it he had touched a sore bruise even if there wasn’t any in the vicinity of her face. And in reality it hadn’t hurt. At all. It had been the insignificant spark that jolted through her body by just the slightest of his touch. Her body recognised it immediately and so did her mind. As if it had been only yesterday. And as if a part of her had craved it which in a sense what was made it so displeasing a feeling. She hated very little, but this… this feeling she hated. Albeit only by thought.
Her gaze didn’t leave him and it didn’t change much by his reply - replying with another question as if it was so obvious that he wasn’t going to kill her. And it probably was. Had that been his plan he would’ve done it as he took the lives of the other witches. Had his plan been for her to die, then he could’ve just as easily let them do it. And yet it had been the question that had seemed the most crucial. She had observed him. He wasn’t a man without logic but his logic didn’t seem to follow the rest. But then he put his jacket over her nearly naked body and the candid surprise exposed itself upon her face. The fabric was smooth against her skin, and expectantly cool but his body had managed to warm it up just enough. Her dark brows furrowed as she looked for answers in the angelic face. And the fold only became deeper as he added on an actually reply to her question, just they soothed out as soon as he suddenly got his arms in under her and got her up from the ground. She didn’t weigh much, but the ease which he did so, spoke loudly of his strength still. “Kill right now. So you will at some point?” she repeated - calmly - pulling full attention to how he had phrased his explanation, not having let the last few words pass her unnoticed, though.

Saga felt herself gulp strenuously as he walked off with her. Almost as if she was flustered rather than fearfully nervous. The force that kick the front door open was in stark contrast to how gently he held her. The cold had her seek closer to him unwillingly. It bit into the still open carving on her stomach, arms and legs, but the stinging was nothing. Really. She took a deeper breath than her usual ones, slightly shaky, and as she breathed out she also spoke: “Put me down.” She could force herself out of his arms. She could. She should be able to. But the closeness, which he had created by carrying her, kept her body from doing as she commanded unless she fought hard. Instead her eyes tried to meet up with his. Ushering him to do as she said. She should be able to walk on her own and if she couldn’t she’d rather stay on the cold street.

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Fre Jun 25, 2021 4:03 pm

She often asked the deep kind of question, he'd come to notice, her question held something behind them and weren't just the usual ones "Are you going to kill me?" or "Why are you hurting me?", no it made him think of what he'd planned for the future. Because had he planned on killing her at some point? Or would he let time decide what kind of fate she would suffer and if she was to actually suffer at all? "I have yet to decide that," he admitted, being rather thoughtful for a moment, it wasn't that it was necessarily meant in a cruel and teasing matter, rather that he had yet to make a clear decision on this matter. His gaze had shortly looked down at her, with his thoughts going other places, as he found the general topic to bore him rather quickly. He just didn't really wanna give away all the answers, which was probably also why he hadn't given his name or any general pieces of information when they first met.
Her attempt at a demanding voice, telling him to put her down, while she also sought to be closer to his body and warmth, made him laugh for a moment. He would describe it as cute, the way she said one thing, but she didn't really try to enforce those words with her actions, as he didn't really hold her that hard and she would be able to get out of his arms easily if this was truly what she really wanted. While he could answer, give her a sarcastic comment about how she could just stop him from doing it, he instead let his gaze linger on hers for a moment, the intensity of their deep blue eyes, almost mixing in with one another, while also having the contrast of them being at to ends of the poles, when it came to what kind of ocean they eyes would remind someone of.
He continued to walk, with a clear place in mind for which he would let her sleep her at, but it was probably not a place Saga herself would have guessed as the first. One would think he would take her to his place, and do whatever he wanted with her and someone could also have the thought that he would take her to a hospital, let someone else take care of her, but it became clearer as he walked down the streets. For Saga, if she was to look around, the streets would become familiar, especially when he stopped at her shop. He forced the door open, somehow not completely damaging the frame of the door, as he made his way into the shop and then towards the door that would lead to her home. Just as she'd made an effort to know more about him, he'd done just the exact same thing, and this also meant on a more intimate level, as he'd quickly come to know she lived just above her little shop.
He walked up the steps, completely ignoring if Circe would be there and if they would try and stop him, or make any kind of irritation towards him, rather he just walked into her apartment, with the same kind of feeling from the witches den, as if he owned this place. However, it was with the surprising gentle touch, he placed her on her bed as if she was delicate and the most precious being he'd met, he placed her down as if he didn't want to let her go, but at the same time also wanted her to be better. The complexity of this one act, shouldn't really be as complex as it appeared, and yet it somehow was. "Now you sleep and get better, little lamb and I'll see you around." His voice however soft it was, indicated it was both a promise and a thread, with the whole thing becoming even more mixed when he placed a kiss on her forehead, after having ran the back of his fingers over her cheek, as a soft touch of a lover, and then finally straighten himself up and stepped back from her bed, not making any effect whatsoever, to take back the jack he'd placed around her.

He didn’t put her down. He just kept going. And there was very little in which the little witch could actually do about it. There was reasoning behind her lack of fighting back and the singular command. She was a prideful woman, after all. One who wasn’t about to unceremonially roll out of his arms and fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. She might do that anyway had he done as she asked him, but at least there her dignity and control of the situation was still present. It had been the same way in which she had told him to let go of her neck back that fated first evening. Where he had her pinned to an unescapable space between his ever-consuming being and her own shelf.
But her words and demeanour had no power left over him. Her voice was too revealing in just how weakened she was. He had called her little lamb and in a sense that was exactly what she was. Unsteady on its thin legs and ready for the slaughter. In the strong arms of the butcher.

There was nothing else but silence around them from that time forward. Even the night was silent. No cars seemed to pass them although they traversed through the city. At some point they must have arrived at a portal point because suddenly they were no longer in Moonlight Falls but in Gaia. Oakheart, more specifically. Her mind was ever so foggy, and her body had leaned more and more into his chest as time passed. She barely noticed the familiar streets before they passed through the doorway to her down humble boutique. And that she nothing noticed because of the chime of the non-existing bell that called out someone coming inside. He had brought her… here? She neither understood nor complained. She had been busy making sure that she at the very least wouldn’t fall asleep in his arms, which had turned out to be a challenge, as his darkness had felt like a wrapping blanket more so than his jacket did over her shoulders.

Relief shallowed her nearly whole when she got placed upon the bed. Not only the relief of something soft but also a relief of loosing that craving direct contact to Samael’s body. He hadn’t been particularly warm to the touch and his built wasn’t particularly soft and yet… yet…
Her eyes found their way up to him immediately after being let go. Just in time to witness his face move warily close. She wanted to move away but her body was too sore to do so. The kiss burned against her forehead. Burned like licking flames of hell. And the gentle stroke of her cheek that followed was like ice compared. Her tired face was like a constant dilemma between disgust, hurt and relish. How she hated it. As he moved back her eyes were there again, ready to meet his. Filled with dazed confusion. “No,” she then uttered. That single word with the same complete lack of hesitation. “Don’t seek me out again.” Please. Lifting a hand cross her chest to hold onto a corner of the jacket, he had left around her, she carefully moved further off the bed to the edge of it until she could slowly get her legs over and her feet to meet with the beautiful hardwood floor to eventually stand. With the hold in the jacket she pulled it slightly more over her as if hiding her partially nude state would make any difference now since he had already seen it.
“I told you then that I wouldn’t be a hand in what you’re planning. That hasn’t changed.” Her posture was greatly affected by what had been done to her even though she tried to not show it. She looked anything more powerful. Except her eyes. They were as strong as they always were. Staring free of filter rather than just looking. “You name isn’t the only thing I now know off you. I’m aware of who’s lo-…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence when sudden nausea waved over her and she shot a hand up to cover her mouth while her body sort of just flopped down on her knees, curled over. She didn’t throw up, but she was close. Hadn’t she been quick to shallow the gag she would’ve. There was no real way to tell if it had been the prolonged exposure to Samael or the poisonous elixir. Possibly a dangerous mix..

Emne: Sv: By the hands of your own flesh and blood [cw] Man Sep 27, 2021 5:48 pm

He didn't do much as she almost begged him not to seek her out again, him being more curious as to what she was going to do. He'd originally just planned on leaving her there, yet she started moving around and talking, and suddenly he couldn't quite just leave yet. It was almost as if he felt stuck against the floor, unable to move away and just with his gaze lingering on her weak body. A part of him wanted to do something, make her feel better, but another part also wanted to hurt her, make her scream with terror and pain. It wasn't always easy, to pick which side he felt against, which one to chose, though he would often pick pain, making people fear him rather than that of care and love. Many felt as if he wasn't able to feel anything, which to a certain degree was true, but that didn't mean he couldn't have emotions or wants and needs, just that there were different. Yet with Saga, it wasn't as if it was only darkness talking, and yes she wanted him gone, and nothing to do with him, but he didn't want to be gone from her, even if he would never say this to her.
He titled his head slightly, feeding into the curiosity of what she was going to say or do, yet as she suddenly fell ill to something, or at least looked like she was about to purge up every amount of content in her stomach, he did something one might not think of him. He quietly left the room, searching through her kitchen to find a bucket, filling it with warm water and soap, and then he cooled down a cloth, with some cold water. When Matthew had been sick, this was how people used to help him, while he'd often not shown much care in his brother's life, often going the extra mile to destroy it, he did notice the small mundane thing.
It didn't take him long before he returned to her, placing the bucket by the bed. He tried getting her to lay down again, this time at least placing her covers over her body, while he then sat down on the bed beside her, though making sure not to take up too much space from her "I have many plans for you, but it is not about danger or at least not anymore." There was something different about him, seeing her sick reminded him of when he'd been a child, wanting nothing more than the love of his father, and how there had been these few moments when he'd been sick, where his father would show some sort of love to him. He didn't say much more than that, only placing the cold cloth against her forehead, and then the back of his fingers, running across her cheek. It was much different from his usual touch, this one more gentle, as if he didn't want to hurt her or for that matter break her "Sleep," he said with a soft tone to his voice.

He left. And a surge of relief had almost hit her to intensely, that it would’ve knocked her out. Only, the relief wasn’t completely deep-seated. It only really graced the surface of her mind, the awake and completely aware part. Her thoughts. And yet she let that part control her and yet her body believe it the lie; or maybe half-truth. The hand she had held over her mouth glided down and dropped heavily down to meet the other one on the wooden floor to help with the support of her curled up body. She felt so sick but finally she could breathe better again and the pressing tension had disappeared from her stomach. The dizziness was still there, though. She knew better than to expect it to fade right away because Samael always seemed to linger like a comfort blanket wrapped much too tightly, even when he no longer was around.
She was breathing rather heavily, although she was suppressing it so it at the very least didn’t give much sound. She fought the urge to collapse completely. However, it then became apparent that the surface relief was only covering up for what was still stringing a weave inside her and by the sheer sensation of his return to the upper floor, she understood why. He hadn’t actually left..

The little witch lifted her head to look to the Devil’s son without hesitation but also without hurry, whether it was due to her self-control or weakened state. He moved closer and she wanted to tell him to stop, to leave, again, but then his hands were on her and she rose from her half-collapsed position like she weight nothing more than a crow’s feather. Her own hands had found a mixture of support and fight-back by placing themselves on his upper arms. Her brows furrowed faintly at his words. Or at least not anymore. She couldn’t put a finger on how she felt about that last addition and her ocean blue eyes looked up towards his one more time. This had to mean something had changed. And she would be lying if that thought didn’t worry her more. Her jaw clasped as discreetly as she gently shallowed. “…” The cloth on her skin was nice but even if all he really wished and hoped for her was comfort and sleep, there was no way for her to actually relax in his presence. He understood that. Right? He had to. She hadn’t exactly been vague with him. She grabbed the wrist of his caressing hand and moved it calmly away from her again before taking the cloth of her forehead and started to sit up in the bed again. His jack sliding automatically off her shoulders in the process. “Sleep?” she repeated at first. Her tone was neutral and flat and yet she managed to get some condemnatory sense through. “You don’t even leave me alone in my sleep. I’ve been seeing you in my dreams long before you came to me in person the first time. A large black raven, misplaced and watching. Every dream.”
She was still holding on to his wrist. Not with force but she somehow knew that she didn’t need to. Unlike her, he hadn’t pulled from her touch. “You scare me,” she admitted with a composed voice while then moving his hand towards her and placing its palm in against her upper chest for him to feel her heartbeat. On the outside she might look calm but her heart was frightened to the core. “Innately. And whenever you touch me, it’s like stroking velour. You leave me utterly powerless.” She breathed in deeply, hollowing her clavicle slightly and raising her chest and his hand upon it. The tip of her tongue slithering out between her lips to nervously wet them. She had had to add the last thing because he really wasn't doing anything to scare her. He hadn't the entire night. He had saved her. And yet...

» A tale of flesh and blood
» Bloody hands - James
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» Oh yes, there will be blood [TW]
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