#nephilims lament au

[batim-nephilims-lament]

Taaaaa-daaaaaaaaaa!!! The title page! I initially intended for this to be a colored comic, but... it looks better like this to be honest. By a lot. Who is Itzabelle? Why does Henry look so old in comparison? WHY IS JOEY DREW THE PERSONIFICATION OF “IT’S NOT A PHASE MOM”?! All will be answered! Maybe. I’m not promising anything. Not even a release date for pages or a promise of what week day because of IRL shenanigans. But still. Bendy and the Ink Machine: Nephilim’s Lament begins soon on the Prologue: Songs Of Ink

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 23: Poison (tka, yuhuang)

king’s avatar shadowhunters au requested by @thorndykechristopher

summary: yu wenzhou is a warlock with a very slow spell casting speed due to a childhood injury. huang shaotian is the shadowhunter assigned as his bodyguard. Their first mission together is an unmitigated disaster but it all works out in the end.

ao3 link

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With a loud, foreboding clang, the door slams shut and every window in the warehouse seals up. By the time Yu Wenzhou is able to coax his stubborn magic to his hands, it’s too late.

He’s trapped. They’re trapped.

He turns to glare at his latest Shadowhunter bodyguard, poised between Yu Wenzhou and the door with his blade raised. “I hope you’re happy now.”

Not for the first time, he laments the day Huang Shaotian roared into his life like a typhoon, loud and obnoxious and with no respect for Yu Wenzhou’s quiet life. He’s an accomplished fighter, that’s plain to see, but Yu Wenzhou has had doubts about his overall competence from the beginning. This mess of a trap has only confirmed what he suspected.

“Me?” Huang Shaotian points at his own chest with the hand not holding his mundane sword, as if Yu Wenzhou could be speaking to anyone else.

“I told you not to bring anything with adamas to this place. The warlock who owns this place hates Shadowhunters. All her worst traps are sprung by adamas.” Yu Wenzhou regrets not physically searching his new bodyguard before allowing him along on their first outing together.

He should have known better to think a Shadowhunter would listen to a warlock. It always took them a few months in his employ to learn basic respect. This one in particular seems more interested in listening to his own voice than following orders.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what you said, Yu Wenz—excuse me, High Warlock Yu. If you’d said that, I would have done it. I know how to listen, I’m a great listener. You said not to bring my seraph blade or my stele and look,” he twirls in place, showing off his empty thigh and back holsters. And incidentally, a very nicely shaped backside. “I only brought the sword you gave me. See, do you see? You might be very smart, but you’re also very wrong.”

The unexpected compliment throws him but he brushes it aside. “You must have missed something because look around, the trap is sprung. We’re trapped here.”

“I didn’t miss a blade. I did what you said,” Huang Shaotian insists. After a beat, he presses his lips together in thought and pulls out a necklace from beneath his black tactical gear. “My necklace had adamas in it. Maybe next time tell me why you want me to do something, instead of treating me like an idiot and leaving me in the dark. Do you treat all your bodyguards like this?”

Yu Wenzhou searches his memories and feels a flush of embarrassment. The Shadowhunter is right. He’d specified seraph blade and stele in his preparatory instructions, not adamas. Huang Shaotian followed him to the letter. Unfortunately, he’d been chattering non-stop during their preparations, something about why everyone called him the Sword Saint. Yu Wenzhou had tried to tune it out as he went over his part of the plan but he had reluctantly learned that the ridiculous nickname was one Huang Shaotian gave himself. If Yu Wenzhou hadn’t been so irritated at nearly being late, he might have been charmed.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yu Wenzhou says. He pauses and adds, “My apologies, Huang Shaotian, it won’t happen again,”

It’s not just lip service. Yu Wenzhou is far from perfect but he doesn’t make the same mistake more than once. And as it turns out, Huang Shaotian is sharper than he appears at first glance.

“Apologies later. I don’t plan on dying here so let’s concentrate on not dying.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he sheaths his sword and stalks off to prowl the edges of the room, searching for weaknesses.

The warehouse is large, an old storage facility gone to seed. The weak overhead lights flicker as they open the boxes and search for anything they can use to escape. Most wards this strong are anchored by a physical object but Yu Wenzhou doubts the object is within the bounds of the wards. A powerful enough warlock could keep the object with them and the warlock who set them up was more than powerful enough.

For the sake of thoroughness, Yu Wenzhou, examines each of the sigils on the doors and windows with exploratory tendrils of magic. It confirms what he already knows. The spells used to seal the room were perfectly cast. The only curiosity is the strange variation in part of the magic. Some kind of clause for breaking it, though the terms for fulfilling it are vague.

Something about The Kiss to End Life. Talk about needlessly dramatic.

The occasional banging and tapping comes from where Huang Shaotian is probing the physical defenses of the room, chattering to himself while he works. His voice echoes off the metal walls and for a brief moment, Yu Wenzhou is struck by the horrifying thought that Huang Shaotian has managed to replicate himself into multiple copies, all of them speaking rapid-fire nonsense. Thankfully, it’s nothing but a flight of fancy and perhaps a sign that Yu Wenzhou is stretching himself too thin lately.

From the frustrated look on Huang Shaotian’s face, there won’t be any forcing their way out.

Eventually, they both give up on the main room and branch out. The only object of note is a table in the center of the largest of the secondary rooms. It probably functioned as an office when the warehouse was in use. On the shabby, dusty desk is a single vial of liquid.

Huang Shaotian brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. And curses.

“What is it?” Yu Wenzhou asked.

“Poison. Really bad poison, ugly poison. Nasty stuff.” Huang Shaotian frowns. “You ever heard of Death’s Kiss?”

Yu Wenzhou takes a step backwards before he can help himself. “Yes.”

“I figured as much. It’s deadly to warlocks.” It’s hard to say whether the amusement in his voice is a threat or merely the type of dark humor common to a race of people whose life expectancy doesn’t often exceed twenty-five. “It isn’t much better for Shadowhunters,” he adds with a laugh, and that settles that question.

The quirk about the wards tugs at his mind. The line about the kiss to end life isn’t difficult to decode. If one of them drinks the poison, the wards will come down.

Yu Wenzhou is suddenly grateful he held back that particular bit of knowledge from Huang Shaotian. He has no intention of sacrificing his bodyguard to save his own life but he can’t say for certain whether that courtesy extends both ways.

He’s still pondering the implications when Huang Shaotian picks up a folded piece that had been placed under the vial. “Looks, there’s a note.” He wrinkles his nose when a plume of dust rises up into his face. “Ugh I hate old creepy buildings almost as much as this old, stupid language.”

Yu Wenzhou peers over his shoulder and is surprised when he can’t read the writing. He’s been around for a millennia, there aren’t many languages that are a mystery to him. This one isn’t unknown to him, but in this case, his knowledge doesn’t help. “That’s a Shadowhunter language.”

Huang Shaotian nods. The crease between his brows deepens as he reads. “Oh wow, this warlock really doesn’t like you,” he says. “Is she your ex or something?”

“Or something.” Yu Wenzhou would prefer not to dwell on their history. “I might have embarrassed her when she made a bid for High Warlock of Guangzhou about fifty years ago and failed miserably.”

“I’m no expert on women but I think she still has a grudge. You should send her flowers or something. Or jewelry, that’s what they do in the dramas I—I mean, my friend—the dramas my friend watches.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the note says that if I force this poison down your throat, the wards will drop and I can walk out of here alive.”

Yu Wenzhou goes from trying not to laugh at his bodyguard’s antics to springing backwards, his magic rushing to his hands.

Any spell powerful enough to fight off a Nephilim will take time to cast. Time he doesn’t have. Ironically, this is exactly what he needs a bodyguard for.

The sad part is that he understands why Huang Shaotian would betray him. From day one, he made it clear this assignment was a punishment from his superiors, and that he’d much rather be killing demons than playing babysitter to some stuffy warlock with slow magic, and how could a warlock even have slow magic anyway? The fact is, he has no real reason to be loyal.

Killed by his own bodyguard. Life has always enjoyed laughing at Yu Wenzhou.

Except Huang Shaotian doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t attack, he doesn’t even draw his sword. His eyes dart between Yu Wenzhou’s faintly glowing hands and his defensive stance. “What are you doing?” His nose wrinkles in a way that could almost be called cute except that he’s a trained killer by birth. “Wait, wait, wait, you don’t think—do you think I’m going to kill you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first who’s turned on me.” It’s both an answer and a warning.

Surprise fades into alertness, like Huang Shaotian is suddenly considering the need to defend himself against Yu Wenzhou. “Did you get your own note? Are you trying to kill me? Most people say it takes at least a week for the talking to make them want to do murder. This is a new record.”

Against all odds, Huang Shaotian laughs, warm and amused, the same way he does when he’s talking to himself and breaking Yu Wenzhou’s concentration. The edge of an angry black rune flashes against his collarbone in the flickering light. Who knows, maybe to a Shadowhunter, a fight to the death is amusing. They’ve always been a strange breed. Yu Wenzhou considers being offended but decides he has bigger things to worry about.

Luckily, the unexpected diversion works to his favor. He’s nearly halfway through his silent casting. Halfway towards being able to defend himself. Each passing second feels like a year but he’s slowly closing the gap.

Between them, the vial of poison sits innocuously on the table.

Something settles in Huang Shaotian’s gaze, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is too soon to tell. Yu Wenzhou braces himself for the worst. His magic may not be ready to use yet, but he trained extensively in mundane martial arts for exactly this type of situation. It’s not enough to defeat an armed Shadowhunters but it doesn’t need to be. It only needs to be enough to keep him alive until his spell is ready.

“You’re a powerful warlock, right? That’s what everyone says. The High Warlock of Guangzhou is scary strong, it’s too bad his magic is so slow.” When Yu Wenzhou doesn’t answer, Huang Shaotian makes a hurry up gesture. “Well, are you good at magic or not?”

“I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

Huang Shaotian’s eyes are bright, like he’s found the flaw in the neatly laid trap they’re in and is excited for the opportunity to burst it wide open. “If the wards came down, could you get us out of here? Both of us?”

Yu Wenzhou looks at him strangely, not sure where this is going. Because the wards can’t come down. The only option is the poison. Whatever Huang Shaotian is seeing is beyond Yu Wenzhou and that makes him uncomfortable.

He answers anyway. Huang Shaotian has earned his honesty, at the very least. “Yes.”

“Okay.” And with that, Huang Shaotian grabs the vial of poison and drinks the entire thing in one large swallow. “Don’t leave me behind, okay,” he mumbles, before staggering to his knees with a crunching sound that makes Yu Wenzhou wince.

He stares in shock. A tiny part of his brain is impressed; it’s been centuries since anyone managed to truly shock him.

The wards trapping them fall. There’s no outward physical difference but Yu Wenzhou can feel it humming against his skin, a pressure value suddenly released.

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian’s voice is barely more than a rasp, the poison already ravaging his body. “A little faster if you don’t mind.” Huang Shaotian sways forward, and it’s enough to break Yu Wenzhou out of his stupor.

He rushes forward and catches him before he can crash face first into the concrete floor. “Huang Shaotian, what did you do?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. I saved us. I did my job, now it’s your turn.” His forehead is drenched in sweat, his normally sharp eyes glazed. There's a faint smile lingering on his lips.

If he was a warlock he’d already be dead. As it was, he doesn’t have much time left.

Yu Wenzhou turns his concentration inwards, letting his eyes fall shut. The incantation to his previous spell is still unfinished and it’s only minor work to take the building power and twist it into a new form. The magic quivers beneath his skin, eager to be used but still too wild to be controlled. He takes a breath and calmly, quietly, coaxes it to do his bidding.

It’s harder than it should be. There’s an unexpected, persistent thread of worry and fear clouding his mind. His eyes keep glancing down to where Huang Shaotian is slumped against his chest. He’s shaking now, tremors swelling into convulsions as the poison spreads. He looks nothing like the fierce, loud Shadowhunter who told Yu Wenzhou off for keeping mission-critical knowledge from him.

He nearly sobs in relief when his magic finally flares to life in his hands. Mustering this much power for two different spells in quick succession has left him exhausted, but there isn’t time for fatigue and so he ignores it. He wraps his arms around Huang Shaotian’s back, pushing as much magic as he dares into him. It’s not an antidote and it won’t save him but it will hopefully keep him alive until Yu Wenzhou can fix this.

By the time he waves his arms in the familiar gesture of a portal, Huang Shaotian is unconscious. Even in sleep, his face is creased, like he’s still in pain.

Yu Wenzhou gathers him into his arms and takes them home.

.

Huang Shaotian has never been hit by a mundane car but if he was, he imagines it would feel like this. And by that he means really crappy. He aches so deep down even his bones hurt, and his head feels slow and fuzzy.

That’s alright, though. Pain means he’s alive.

The last thing he remembers is drinking poison like an idiot—and hasn’t Su Mucheng told him a million times that the biggest threat to his own safety is himself—and then nothing but agony. There’s a vague impression of strong arms and being carried and he really hopes he hallucinated that part because it’s not quite the impression he wanted to make on his first mission of his new assignment with stupidly good looking High Warlock Yu Wenzhou. His hot but stodgy boss aside, he has bigger problems. Like figuring out what happened.

Opening his eyes is a struggle, but it’s one that he wins. Of course he wins, he always wins.

The room around him is thankfully dim, but even the small amount of light makes him wince. Through the haze of his slow brain, recognition filters in. He knows this place. A rush of relief sweeps over him. He’d been pretty sure Yu Wenzhou had saved them but it’s nice to get confirmation he’s not in enemy hands. Tense muscles relax and he lets himself sink into the comfort of the very soft mattress under him.

A soft mattress. This isn’t his room at the institute (not that his room there has an uncomfortable bed, but it’s the firmer kind of mattress he prefers). This here is his room in Yu Wenzhou’s home. He tries not to spend too much time here if he can help it, but he needs to learn Yu Wenzhou’s habits well enough to fight alongside him, well enough to protect him, and that’s easier to do if they’re living under the same roof.

He blinks the haze from his eyes, taking in the weapons rack in the corner, the books on art and history and weapons lining the bookshelf, arranged by color because he likes the horrified expression on peoples’ faces when they realize.

The opposite wall is a bright, cheery blue when the lights are on, but right now it looks like a dark shadow in the poor lighting. He likes the way it stands out against the soft gray of the rest of the room’s walls. The room is decorated with photographs of far off places he’s never seen, and the occasional mounted sword. The night table next to the bed is clean except for the knife he sleeps with and a photograph of him and his friends.

He wonders if they know he nearly died. He can’t hear Su Mucheng chewing anyone out so he thinks maybe they don’t. He suddenly feels very alone in this empty room.

And then the dark lump of blankets at the foot of the bed shifts and he realizes it’s not a lump of blankets at all, but High Warlock Yu Wenzhou, sprawled forward in a chair and sleeping with his head on against Huang Shaotian’s bed.

That can’t be good for his back is, strangely, the first thing that crosses his mind.

He must still be woozy, because Yu Wenzhou pulls himself up with excruciating slowness. A popping sound echoes through the room as he twists towards one side and then the other. Once he’s straightened his glasses, he looks straight at Huang Shaotian and says, “As a matter of fact it’s not, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with magic.”

What the hell is Yu Wenzhou doing sleeping by his bedside, holding vigil like they’re friends or something? Like he’s worried. They barely tolerate each other. Surely Yu Wenzhou has better things to do with his time (and his back) than keep watch over someone who’s basically his employee.

And perhaps more urgently, “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind-reader, too. Have you been listening to my thoughts? You should ignore the ones from 3pm yesterday. And also the ones right before bed and in the shower, I take no responsibility for those, I’m still a young guy, you know. Not all of us are old and boring because we’ve been around for a thousand years.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs, he actually laughs. Huang Shaotian’s been here for nearly a month and he’s never heard him laugh before. It’s a nice laugh. A warm laugh. “No mind reading, Huang Shaotian. You spoke out loud.”

“Oh. You can just forget all that, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says.

It’s annoying to try and see in the dark and so Huang Shaotian leans over and taps the fancy alarm clock he bought himself that also doubles as a light. He bites back a hiss when his body protests the movement. And yeah, he can take a hint; no more moving until he feels a little less like he nearly died. Which he did—nearly die, that is—so that’s probably a good plan on his part.

When his eyes adjust, he blinks just to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

At the foot of the bed, Yu Wenzhou looks the most rumpled Huang Shaotian has ever seen him. His glasses are askew on his face and his clothes from last night’s failed appointment are dirty and wrinkled. Even his hair is astray, sticking up on the side of his face that was laying against the bed.

He looks unkept. And worried.

And that, well…Huang Shaotian’s not sure what to do about that. He can handle an angry Yu Wenzhou and a powerful Yu Wenzhou and even a condescending Yu Wenzhou, but a concerned Yu Wenzhou is new territory for them.

Huang Shaotian deals with it the same way he deals with everything. He runs his mouth. Sue him, it’s a tried and true strategy and he’ll fight anyone who says that his words aren’t as powerful as his seraph blade. Patting the side of his own hair, he says, “Um, High Warlock Yu, your hair is…um, you might want to take a look at that. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously looking like an escapee from an evil hair salon”

Yu Wenzhou lets out a small huff and smiles. “You saved my life, Huang Shaotian, you can use my name.”

Oh fuck, is this going to weird now? Huang Shaotian has just gotten used to the way things are. He talks and his hot boss glares. It’s a good routine and sure, it’s annoying that the guy clearly thinks Huang Shaotian is an idiot, but he;s used to being underestimated at first glance. “Alright. Yeah, I guess I did save your life, Yu Wenzhou. Don’t go getting weird on me, now. I just did my job.” He pauses and tries again “Your hair really is a mess, did you know?”

Yu Wenzhou tilts his head, the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. He doesn’t fix the half of hair that looks like a hedgehog stuck its snout in an electrical socket, and it’s very distracting. “I find it difficult to tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re backtalking. Do you do that on purpose?”

This isn’t the conversation Huang Shaotian expects to be having at—he looks over at his cool alarm clock that can simulate the sunrise and notes the time—nearly four o’clock in the morning. He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “I think you’ve got it wrong, High War—I mean, Yu Wenzhou. I’m an open book, I say exactly what’s on my mind. Anyone will tell you the same.”

“You have a lot of people fooled.”

He’s right, but Huang Shaotian is in too much pain to lower his guard enough to admit it. He grew up in an entire Institute filled with attractive people, it takes more than a nice smile to get him to crack. “What do you want me to say?”

Thankfully, Yu Wenzhou doesn’t press him. He merely nods and asks “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank poison.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs. “You’ll make a full recovery. I had the antidote in my potions stores and we got it to you in time. The residual aches should fade in a day. Let me know if they don’t, or if they get to be too much.”

“You’re not going to dock my pay for using up your pricey potions, are you?”

“I don’t pay you. I pay your Institute.” Yu Wenzhou presses his lips together, eyes scanning over Huang Shaotian as if physically checking him over. His voice is soft when he asks, “Why did you do it? You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

It’s the same question Huang Shaotian has asked himself more than once. Like a coward, he takes the easy way out. “I was thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. I was thinking it was our only way out. And I was right. Don’t try to tell me I’m not because I am.”

“It was my mistake that got us trapped. It was my responsibility to fix it.”

And fuck, if Yu Wenzhou goes on like this, Huang Shaotian might actually start to be attracted to his personality as much as his stupidly good-looking face. “Yeah, it was. But you seem like the kind of guy who learns his lesson pretty quick. So don’t do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Yu Wenzhou frowns, and inwardly, Huang Shaotian groans. He’s too tired for wherever this conversation is going. “You still should have waited for me. You know my magic is slow. What if I wasn’t ready in time and you died?” By the time he’s finished, Yu Wenzhou looks angry. Angry like he was when he thought Huang Shaotian didn’t follow his directions, which is…more than a little strange. It’s not like he wouldn’t get a new bodyguard if Huang Shaotian kicked it.

“As if you’d care. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“Do you really think that little of me? Do you think because I’m a warlock I don’t value the lives of the people around me?”

And shit, shit shit, he’s going to cause a diplomatic incident after his first assignment to the High Warlock. Only he could manage that while barely able to move. Ye Xiu is going to have him cleaning stinky ichor off blades for the rest of his life if he doesn’t fix this. “That’s not what I meant, High Warlock Yu.”

He struggles to sit up and a lance of fire races through his chest. Gasping, he falls back against the pillows, his vision going dark at the edges.

“Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

When his vision clears, Yu Wenzhou is standing at the side of his bed, a hand hovering over Huang Shaotian’s chest.

His bare chest, Huang Shaotian realizes, when he looks down to see his runes on stark display. No point being embarrassed about that now. Besides, it’s not like he has much body modesty left. Showering in the Institute barracks saw to that a long time ago. It’s just that there’s something about Yu Wenzhou’s refined demeanor that makes him feel so much more exposed than he ever has standing bare-ass naked in the same room with a dozen other Shadowhunters.

No point worrying about that now. Yu Wenzhou has seen what he’s seen and it’s a small price to pay for not being dead. He puts on a smile, the one he knows for a fact irritates people. “I already hurt myself, remember.”

“How could I forget.” And that strange, fond tone is back. Huang Shaotian isn’t sure what it means but he kind of likes it. Or maybe it’s the residual effects of the poison rotting his brain.

Yu Wenzhou withdraws his hand back to his side, but not before Huang Shaotian notices the tremor in his fingers. “High Warlock Yu, are you—”

“I told you, no titles.” His voice has a worrying rasp to it that wasn’t there while he was seated.

Huang Shaotian has seen enough. He pats the empty strip of bed beside him. “Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit down before you fall down, Yu Wenzhou.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night, that’s all.” This close, the tight lines around Yu Wenzhou’s mouth are obvious. As are the tremors which have reached his shoulders, He looks like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

The sight of him sleeping slumped over Huang Shaotian’s bed replays itself in his memory and he wonders whether part of the reason he stayed was because he was too drained of magic and strength to leave. He suddenly gets the feeling it took much more power to keep him from kicking the bucket than Yu Wenzhou has let slip.

Luckily, he’s spent enough time in the medical wing of the Institute to know how to get his way with stubborn Shadowhunters. He’s betting it works on warlocks, too. “If you fall down, I’m not scraping your sorry ass up off the floor, you got that? Or do you want me to injure myself worse after you spent all this time and magic on me?”

It works like a charm. With a faint nod, Yu Wenzhou sits. The bed dips with his weight. Immediately, some of the color comes back to his face.

Huang Shaotian thinks about all the teachers who lectured him about how Downworlders are different, are inferior. He looks at Yu Wenzhou who, despite his own exhaustion, rushed to his side when Huang Shaotian was in pain, and thinks those old lessons might be more than a little bullshit. If he’s learned anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that he’d drink poison for Yu Wenzhou again.

He thinks that might be a bit much to say right now. “You can stay here the night, I don’t mind,” is what he says instead. “Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a sickbed.”

Yu Wenzhou gives him a tired smile but doesn’t commit either way.

They sit like that, nearly close enough to touch, until he hears Yu Wenzhou’s breathing calm down into something approaching normal. “Hey, about what you said before. About how I should have waited for you to be ready before downing a poison shooter like a fraternity stud in a dive bar?”

Yu Wenzhou nods. “I don’t recall phrasing it like that, but yes.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t need to wait. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You started casting the moment I read that note because you thought I was going to kill you. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you were so wrong all night, Yu Wenzhou. And by the way, but I won’t be offended this time that you thought I’m that type of person but if you do it again I’ll be very sad. But what I mean is that I drank the poison when I did because I knew you were almost ready with your magic.”

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitches and he can practically see him wondering if Huang Shaotian purposefully read the note aloud to facilitate his plan.

“I didn’t plan it like that,” he answers the unasked question. “But once you went on the defensive, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re very good at that.” Yu Wenzhou says. In the next breath, he lists to one side, barely catching himself from tumbling head first into the night table.

Huang Shaotian’s hand is already reaching out to steady him, but his help isn’t needed and he lets it drop back to his side. He keeps a closer eye on Yu Wenzhou, just in case.. “I’m not just good, I’m the best.”

Yu Wenzhou’s normally sharp gaze is dulled but his words are as sharp as usual. “Your first week here, you said you noticed holes in the protections on my home.”

“I did but you didn’t want to hear them. You said, ‘Huang Shaotian, you’re here to guard me not to poke holes in wards.’”

Yu Wenzhou nods his head. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” He scoots forward so that he can lie down. It’s strangely intimate but Huang Shaotian doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “If I were to ask you what you noticed? Would you tell me?”

Huang Shaotian can feel his own exhaustion dragging him under, but still he answers. “Will you listen this time?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Okay yeah, we’ll do that,” Huang Shaotian mumbles, and lets himself lapse into tired silence. Beside him, Yu Wenzhou’s watches over him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He doesn’t realize at the time that Yu Wenzhou isn’t just answering that specific question. He’s making a promise.

Over the next several days, once they’re both recovered, Yu Wenzhou listens to his assessment of the ward placements. It’s only the beginning.

Because he doesn’t just listen to him when they’re working, he does it all the time.

Yu Wenzhou listens to him chatter about his seraph blades while he cleans them. He listens when Huang Shaotian complains about how bitter Yu Wenzhou’s coffee is on mornings when he’s so groggy he drinks from the wrong mug. He listens to him sing while he does the dishes, even when Yu Wenzhou argues it could be done faster with magic. He listens to him yell at the television when they’re watching trashy dramas.

He listens to everything. And he never stops.

[swampgh0stt]

Back in 2017, I started an AU with @stardustrobin​. The plot went in a “What if the Circle succeeded” sort of direction, that now had Downworlders on the run & the Clave had been completely taken over by Valentine & his circle. 

Alec was brought up in this sort of life & new nothing different. He was also raised around Sebastian (Jonathan Morgenstern) & I fancied the idea of them both being parabatai. Alec meets Magnus on a hunt one day, & that started a drastic shift in his life. 

We never finished the AU, but we are getting back around to it now! I liked my writing from back then, & decided to post this. Probably won’t ever expand on it, but I do miss this style & hope to get it back.

Their lips crushed together in a desperate sort of passion with teeth and biting and all the roughness that accompanied the lusting excitement his blonde haired partner was feeling. Alec’s back hit the wall harshly when shoved, then he’s crowded again and his blue eyes close as more screams filled the air around them. His hand raised to push away, but his partner took him by the wrist and pinned it against the wall until he was sated and broke away on his own. Dazed, perhaps a little high from the coppery taste of blood in his mouth (which Alec was 100% sure that it was his own blood), he shook his head in an attempt to ground himself. Blue eyes shift blearily to their guest who was strewn about on the floor before them, burning away thanks to the silver powder that his parabatai had doused the wolf in. Jonathan sneered, black eyes hardly reflecting any emotion upon their observance.

Alec was all but used to those judging eyes and their cold reflections of cruelty. He had always been that way, the eldest Lightwood child lamented, but that was just how it was. He hardly had any authority to demand an emotional response from his parabatai, especially in the case of a filthy downworlder. Still, in moments like these, Alec found himself turning his eyes away as he leaned back against the wall again. His gaze tilted upward, shoulders sagging as the werewolf screamed again after another introduction to silver powder is made.

Sometimes he really wondered: is this even right?

That’s just the way things are had never been a comforting explanation, but it was one that was swallowed down in all it’s bitter and crass acceptance. There were rumors of what life was before reformation, but Alec was only a toddler back then. From the way the new council spoke, the Clave that was had been easily corrupted and trodden-over by the influence and sympathy of downworlders. As the story went, their leader- Valentine Morgenstern- had a better vision for the nephilim, one that would uplift them from their darkened times of bowing before the wills of those inferior creatures that ran amok without consequence.

Alec’s parents were close to Valentine, and- in turn- he was close to Valentine’s son, Jonathan. They had grown up together, become close– but Jonathan always had a way with Alec, some dominance over him that pulled him along like a well trained pup. Being in such close proximity to Valentine and his family did not come without concomitance- like the superiority to be felt over all things deemed less than in their training.

Once upon a time, it was said that Valentine had a beautiful wife too– but she was whisked away by his parabatai-now-turned-werewolf before the man in charge started his glorious revolution. Alec had only ever heard comments in passing about Jocelyn Fairchild, like how she still interacts and sympathizes with downworlders and acts in hopes of tearing down the power and glory that is the current Clave.

Alec had never thought much of it until his dear little sister, Isabelle, turned tail and ran for whatever resistance that Lucian and Jocelyn had formed. Still, he loved his sister more than anything else in this world (even more than Jonathan, he sometimes thought) and burned down anything and everything that the Clave could have possibly used to track her. When they came through for investigation, Alec insisted that Izzy herself had done the damages; she was a smart girl after all, she would make herself disappear entirely with how serious she was to running away.

She had insisted on Alec coming along with her, tried her best to persuade her older brother, but he always came back around to Jonathan no matter how hard he tried to leave. Izzy knew why, and disapproved with good reason; the Morgenstern boy was not the best influence or company to keep around. But for every bruise and bite and injury that Alec received, he was still too far gone (or so he believed) to give up his life here.

This was who he was, he had insisted despite the awful way his stomach knotted and twisted.

“Are we done here?” He asked in flat-planed boredom as he turned his head away from the gruesome scene.

It was about a minute longer before his parabatai responded. “Yeah,” he huffed, and he too shared the sudden disinterest in their victim, ending the werewolf’s misery at long last. “Too bad,” Jonathan genuinely sounded disappointed as he swung the blade in his hand idly. Black eyes shifted to his uncomfortable partner, and his lips twisted back in amusement. His mud-stupid parabatai was never so good in these situations.

A gentle hand rested on Alec’s hip, enticing him to look back but ultimately failing. When he did not receive the reaction he wanted, Jonathan grabbed for Alec’s wrist and dug his fingers in harshly until the Lightwood boy glared back with a questioning expression. “I was hoping he had some insight on where your sister had gone,” Jonathan finished as he released Alec’s wrist.

“You know Izzy doesn’t want to be found. She’s had the same training we’ve had-”

“-you’ve had, Alec. Not me.”

“…I’ve had. She’s not coming back anytime soon.”

“I suppose..” The blade was sheathed with a flippant sigh before the blonde boy turned on his heels and shrugged. “We tried..!” He adds in a faux sort of exasperation, unable to really keep the satisfaction of the kill from his voice. “Come on. We still have that gathering nearby to investigate.”

That was right… They weren’t even supposed to be bothering with this werewolf, it was just an unfortunate victim of circumstances, having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alec rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the wall, stalking after Jonathan in a resigned state as his gaze dropped to the ground like usual.

Rumor had it that there was some collection of downworlders meeting up nearby, for whatever reason the Clave didn’t care to investigate. Their orders were simple: Find them, kill them, come home. That was all.

“How many are inside?” Jonathan Morgenstern’s voice brought the Wayland boy out of his fixated gaze as they approached. The darker blonde haired boy perked up, blue eyes blinking away the daze as they settled on the Morgenstern and Lightwood boys. He had expected them here sooner, say before the wards were thrown up. There was no feasible way of sneaking in without alerting the disgusting creatures inside now. They certainly had their tricks, after all.

“Not like it really matters,” the Wayland boy scoffed as he gestured to the building in question. “Wards are up cause you took too long.”

Their fair-haired leader leaned in as he felt that attitude was a challenge to his authority. He cupped the other Jonathan’s chin with a harsh grip, tilting his head up so blue eyes stared into black. “Excuse me…” he starts in an even tone that hardly reflected the raging storm of emotion beneath. “What?”

Alec took a step forward in an attempt to dilute the tension, if only a little. “It’s not like we could’ve gotten in without them knowing anyway. They would’ve smelled us first,” he pointed out, trying to act as the voice of reason. Jonathan Wayland had also been a childhood friend, but not as close as Alec’s parabatai. Something happened between Alec’s dad and Michael Wayland, something that really put a strain on their relationship. Despite their fathers being parabatai, Alec was hardly given the chance to really bond with the Wayland boy all that much.

Sometimes he wondered what had made their relationship so… estranged.

Nonetheless, he finds himself just a little protective over Jonathan Wayland, if only because someone has to be. Alec wouldn’t argue that his parabatai could be a little… extreme when it wasn’t necessary. In fact, he would vouch that his parabatai took great delight in his extremities.

He had a taste for cruelty that Alec simply didn’t share, but found himself falling into whenever possible.

Morgenstern released Wayland with a scoff, standing to his full height and rolling his shoulders back before that same hand rested on Alec’s arm with false reassurances and a promise of gentleness that would never see fruition. “You’re right, parabatai. I just didn’t like his attitude.” He pats Alec’s shoulder lightly, then steps away to survey the area. “Well.. We know what to do: Break in and kill as many as we can. It’s too late to surprise them now.”

“We wouldn’t have surprised them before-” Wayland tried to remind him, only to be silenced by Morgenstern’s hand shooting up in silent command. The Wayland boy took a step back with a disgruntled noise, falling into place beside Alec for comfort. “Running in without knowing who is in there would be suicide. I saw Magnus Bane with them.”

Fair-haired Jonathan waved his hand to brush off this little statement. “I don’t care about that mulato. Morale will lessen when they see his head on my wall.” He was determined, and Alec knew there would be no talking him out of this now that his mind was set. “Let’s go.”

[deafchild2000]

Team Free Will 2.O

Remember back when earlier in Supernatural, Team Free Will was formed and everyone had their own ideas about who would be in the running for a Supernatural: Next Gen.? And remember how we almost got Wayward Daughters, but that got rejected in favor for Legacies?

Well, in honor of the very last season of SPN, I decided to do my own AU spin on who would be the perfect trio of Team Free Will!

First off...Jesse Turner the(Human/Demon hybrid)

Jesse Turner is the Antichrist, who was discovered by the Winchesters after unknowingly using his powers by believing little superstitions. However, upon meeting his parents (his mother while possessed by his demonic parent) and disowning them via refocusing his demonic parent, Jesse used his powers to transport himself far away and was never heard from again.

As picture above shows the obvious: Jesse is an adult now. Having practically a decade to control and hone his powers, powers that were believed to level Heaven itself, the threat that God himself poses could easily be enough reason put himself back in the game!

Secondly... Ben Braeden (Human)

From cheeks, forehead, smile and similar taste of music, it's no surprise that there's still Supernatural fans who continue to believe that Ben really is Dean's son!

Back in 3x02, The Kids Are Alright, the Winchesters came into Ben and his mother, Lisa, lives just in time as children in the suburban area they lived in were being taken and replaced by monsters that feed off their parents. Dean briefly returned to live with them at the end of season 5 after Sam went in the Cage and created a domestic life with them until Sam's return. But because of the threat Dean's Hunting has brought them, he had his guardian angel, Castiel, wipe their memories of him to protect them.

Now, here's where wordplay comes in: There was no mention of any supernatural that were being brain wipes. So, it's actually easy to believe that once Dean left, Ben and his mother were getting attacked by other monsters trying to settle a score with Dean. But add in the lapse of memories and the sudden knowledge of Hunting being used to protect themselves, it wouldn't be so hard to believe Ben ended up joining the Hunter lifestyle to get answers.

And who's to say Ben doesn't get injured/hurt, which causes him to remember Dean.

Whether or not he's angry with him is up to debate, Ben Braeden won't stop until he get answers from the man himself...and find out if he really is a Winchester after all!

(And ideally, if Dean is his father, like Claire Novak, he is the next gen. vessel of Michael.)

And last but not least...Emma Winchester (Corrupted Amazon/human(?) hybrid)

For those who forgotten her: Back in 7x13, Dean unknowingly slept with an Amazon named Lydia Martin and together, they conceived and had a daughter named Emma. However, in a span of 3 days, she was taken and brainwashed to become a full member of her tribe, initiated if she could kill her birth father...which in attempting to do resulted in Sam Winchester killing her.

Now, while many fans respectfully believe Emma died and went to Purgatory, which would've made the possibility of her and Dean meeting HIGH, other fans believe she might be someplace else. See: Emma is part of a race of Amazonian female warriors born from Harmonia, the Greek goddess of Strife and Concord. Other sources believe Ares, Greek god of War, was her father and gifted them to her while another source claims Harmonia was a nymph who caught Ares' eyes and had the Amazons as a result.

This ties in to the idea since deities from different cultures exists, and Emma was a creature of a different mythology and not Eve, her afterlife might actually be in the Greek Underworld. Perhaps in the Asphodel Meadows, a place were souls who did not commit crimes nor do anything great when they were alive, were sent.

Emma, herself, is arguable an innocent. She never killed. While she was sent to kill Dean, her discomfort amongst the Amazons and their ways was most obvious during the scenes growing up (in a span of 3 days). Thus leading certain fans to believe she could have been redeemed, and even traveled with the brothers as a result.

In general, Emma coming back would be more than just closure and/or being part of Team Free Will 2.O would be an interesting act. The potential storyline of season 15 being to either help Dean reconcile with losing her (and especially if it were to be discovered that Chuck purposely took wrote her off because he knew Dean would lament over her at somepoint) and meet a stalemate with Sam (who may or may not have time to realize he was rash in killing her.) And because she's Greek and not of any Christian mythology, it leaves her a loophole in any of Chuck's plans, like how Castiel's supposedly non-extinct place in his story helps him intervene.

Besides, her own character arc would still relate to the Amazons as with Harmonia (goddess of basically conflict and peace) as the creator of her species, and the current Amazons doing noting but causing conflict, and finishing out how and why her species had fallen from grace that Harmonia would let something like this go on... Emma might need the Winchester blood in her veins to work that out!

(Sorry if Emma's part is lenghty compared to the boys, but seriously! There are so many ways Emma's story could have went and the fact that it was glossed over...Yeah, there's something God!Chuck-like about that scenario!)

And though that includes that ideal trip for Team Free Will 2.O, I'd like to add one more member that helps them:

* Jack Kline (Nephilim)

Let's admit it: Compared to those listed above, he is a character fans sympathize with and/or bash. A young child in a grown man's body, for all his adorableness and genuine feelings, he's perfect for Team Free Will.

Jack was conceived by his human mother, Kelly Kline, and his Angelic father, Lucifer. Though her pregnancy was anything but ordinary, she realized quickly that upon her son's birth was her death and told him in the womb to grow up quickly to protect himself.

And he did that...literally.

Having and losing his grace, realizing the world had it's good, bad, and mostly gray moments, and loving the Winchesters and Castiel as his family before his death by his grandfather, Chuck/God, he had the makings of a great character.

Obviously, one of his greater issues would be rising from Lucifer's shadow and doing his best to prove he's nothing like him. Hence why, like his Uncle/"Dad", Castiel, he would be the Guardian Angel to Team Free Will 2.O.

He'll make mistakes, be tempted by anything with his heart in the right place, but like his chosen "parents", Jack will do everything to protect the next generation and hopefully avoid any apocalypses in the process.

Which leads Team Free Will 2.0 consisting of the Antichrist, an Amazonian warrior, a Hunter, and a Nephilim (two more or less clashing while the other two are siblings!)

And it doesn't hurt to add good ole' Uncle Sam Winchester be the Veteran Hunter/Witch, along with his wife, Elileen, who help the group with hunts while actually getting them to sit down at a dinner table once a week! Meanwhile, Dean and Castiel are married and living in a lakehouse in Kansas, seeing their "kids" (Ben, Emma, and Jack) whenever they can!

[stusbunker]

The Stuff of Souls

For Better or Worst: Chapter Twelve

Featuring: Sam x Emery Simmons-Winchester (OFC)

Other Characters: Castiel, Naomi, Dumah, Jack, Bandit (OC)

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2797

Summary: Cas goes home. Sam walks into the meat of the deal.

Warnings: Show level violence, death of a child, grief, guilt.

Special thanks to MJ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ for looking this over, I hope where it ended up is up to your standards, m’lady.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

               There was no guard, no alarm, not a soul or angel in sight, and yet Castiel worried over a potential ambush as he approached the quiet playground. The portal seemed warm, dust metaphorically hovering in the air from recent use. He had no idea if it would accept his presence or continue to deny him access to a place, he once considered his only home. With a signature grimace, Castiel stepped into the sandbox and looked heavenward. It was two minutes of eternity before he felt it, a deep resonance in every atom of his being and suddenly he was transported into a stark white office.

               “Hello, Castiel,” Naomi’s rich voice greeted, though she had just rushed to meet him, she seemed unaffected by his sudden appearance.

               “Naomi,” Cas leaned in, eyes squinting in suspicion.

               “What can I help you with?” She offered, eyes tight and face a forced mask of indifference.

               “I think you know wh---” Cas stopped short as Dumah rushed into the room, dark hair trailing behind her as she raised her voice to her superior.

               “What is he doing here?! You can’t be seriously letting him try to talk you into something,” Dumah spoke as if Castiel were a stray animal, nosing for scraps.

               “Dumah, Castiel just arrived. As you so rudely interrupted us, I have no idea why he is here. Perhaps, first, you would like to explain why you have left your post?” Naomi reprimanded without much force behind her words, an unimpressed teacher.

               Dumah gaped, eyes darting between Castiel and Naomi as she tried to temper the defiance that was threatening her better judgement. “I assume he’s come with his usual unreasonable demands.”

               Castiel finally spoke up for himself, “there is nothing unreasonable about trying to free Sam and Dean from this web of deception you have all constructed for them.”

               Dumah paused, waiting to see just what Castiel had unearthed; she had anticipated him coming to free Lucifer’s spawn, not to avenge the Winchesters. If she wasn’t careful, Naomi would learn of her meddling with Sam’s memories, among other things. Naomi quickly dismissed Dumah with a chilling glare and nod of the head, sending her back the way she came. Back to her duties.

               “The Winchesters, Castiel, have made their deals and now they must lie in them,” Naomi sat back in her desk chair, inspecting Castiel as if measuring his usefulness versus the price he’d earn if sold off. “I can’t expect you to understand the lengths we have had to go to ensure they are each protected from any outside interference. Heaven and Earth depend on the security of this mission, Castiel. This Michael that they have dragged into our world is not the same archangel they locked into Lucifer’s Cage. You know this.”

               Castiel listened, softening to the raw certainty and hinted desperation she must have been working under. “But why take Sam too, Naomi? He is needed doing what he was raised to do.”

               “Sam Winchester would not let his brother go, even if Dean asked him to. Their lives are just one long struggle to keep the other safe. At times, against the greater good. He had to be neutralized, until the issue with Michael could be properly handled,” Naomi reasoned calmly.

               “And what then?” Castiel countered, stepping between the two guest seats to lean over Naomi’s desk.

               “When Dean’s freed from the influence of the foreign archangel, if the rest of their deals remain intact; then they go back to their lives,” Naomi offered, the improbability of the hypothetical obvious.

               “Why does it feel like you don’t expect that outcome?” Castiel tilted his head, eyes boring into Naomi’s faux calm expression.

               “Because it is the Winchesters, Castiel. Nothing goes smoothly when they are involved, voluntarily or not. But we had to step in, given the extremes Michael had gone to--- among other things. I’m just glad we could secure Dean before he lost control again,” Naomi’s tone shifted, vigilance melted in self-congratulations.

               “I want to see Dean--- or Sam,” Cas tried to recover. “I want to make sure they are safe, that they know just what is happening. Tell them what they are missing.”

               “You mean like Jack contacting Lucifer in the Empty?” Naomi countered, standing, eyes unable to contain her rage any longer.

               Cas fell back onto his heels, frozen with shock. “What are you talking about?”

               “How did he do it, Castiel? There has never been a way in, besides, Death. Suddenly, the Nephilim child in your charge can reach that realm without his grace. What exactly have you all been doing in that Bunker in the Winchesters’ absence?” Naomi’s voice carried.

               “What exactly happened? Is Jack alright?” Cas pressed on.

               “Even with our dwindling resources we had to ensure that he couldn’t make that breach again,” Naomi decreed. “Now, if you hadn’t been chasing after Sam and Dean, maybe you could have stopped him from trying to tear apart the barriers between Earth and the black hole of existence.”

               “What do you mean, Naomi, what did you do?” Castiel hesitated at the silent fury on Naomi’s face, cautiously he raised his hands slightly as if in surrender. “I had no idea he would try such a thing.”

               “Your ignorance doesn’t change that it happened. Your negligence, your history, it all just proves that you can’t be trusted. Even now, when we need every angel’s help, I couldn’t go to you. Because you no longer serve Heaven. And as much as you think your loyalty to those hunters is worth it, you still manage to let them down. So, Castiel, now, it seems, you only serve yourself,” Naomi lamented, voice low with disgust.

               Cas turned his face away as he absorbed her vitriol, eyes closed until a shuffling behind him stole his attention from his guilt. Dumah lead Jack into the office in spellworked cuffs with defiant arrogance. She missed none of Naomi’s stifled surprise, even when Castiel brushed passed her like a petulant teenager. The angels of heaven held a mental stalemate as Cas checked on Jack.

               “I’m sorry, I don’t know how it happened,” Jack’s eyes held such shame, as gullible as he was guilty.

               “It’s alright, Jack,” Castiel attempted to placate him, hyper aware of their audience.

               Jack’s face sprang up, confusion lacing through his stare as he tried to find what Castiel wanted. To figure out what Castiel knew, where he had been.

               “You’ve been gone a lot,” he led.

               “Yes, we’ve all tried to keep busy without Sam and Dean,” Castiel clipped, eyes darting between the other angels.

               Dumah sniggered, facing Naomi as she accused them all, “indeed. You all have been VERY busy.”

               “I don’t think this is necessary. Dumah, take Jack back to his cell, until this matter is resolved---" Naomi walked around the desk, attempting to escort them out, until Cas stopped her, face to face.

               “You have him in prison?! For what? Lucifer sought Jack through dimensions, why would the Empty be any different? He has committed no crime.” Castiel pointed to his adopted son with the vehemence of a defense attorney.

               “So?” Naomi challenged. “He is a target. If Lucifer can reach him, what else can his presence inspire? We need to keep Jack safe, Castiel. We need to keep everyone safe.”

               “Yeah, good luck with that,” Dumah muttered, twisting Jack’s wrists harder than necessary.

               Naomi stared into Cas’s eyes. “Enough, Dumah.”

               Surprisingly, Dumah listened. She walked Jack back to the exit.

               “Wait!” Cas attempted to get around Naomi, but she held him back from reaching Jack.

    “Cas, you have to find Dean. He’s down the narrow hallway, after the fork! Find Dean! He’s not safe--” Jack’s pleas cut off as Castiel fell unconscious.

^*^*^

               The melody was bright yet stunted as the notes floated down the stairs. Sam had come home to find that Emery’s summer motivation had migrated down her project list to deep cleaning. How a house with two responsible adults needed that kind of overhaul less than a year from moving in, he didn’t know. But he was grateful she was keeping busy.

               Sam hadn’t found a proper mute to the nervous energy he felt, though work kept him occupied during the week. They hadn’t heard from Cas since he left mid-meal over the weekend. Sam was in a kind of limbo; it was both easy in its routine and stifling in its lack of direction. He listened hard as he climbed the steps, a falsetto pelting along with the music. A very different kind of genre than those he had grown up with had Emery singing and dancing as she organized clothing into piles across the bed top.

               “And when the groove is dead and gone…You know that looooove survives…So we can roooooccck forevvver onnnn,” Emery belted out, eyes closed, shoulders and hips swaying. Sam huffed a short laugh, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her let the bridge build. It wasn’t until she inhaled deeply, that he saw her breath shake in her chest, two subtle tracks of moisture brushed from her face as she turned to grab a drawer full of sweaters. He stepped into the room, instinct driving him to ensure she was alright, even if he didn’t want to know why she was crying. If he was to blame.

               “Hey?” Sam flinched as Emery jumped out of her skin with a short shriek. “Sorry, I just got home and—,” Sam trailed off, Emery folded in on herself, one hand over her stomach and the other over her mouth.

               The scare pushed her over the tightrope she had been walking. “What the fuck?!”

               She groaned in frustration, letting the grief and shock and rage burn through her throat until it heaved Sam onto his heels. The haunting background vocals rose up and filled the space between them, trumpets and rhythm chiming in celebration as Emery rolled her shoulders against the anger of being disturbed, of being found in such a state, as it landed in her stomach, heavy and sour.

               The song transitioned into something slower while Sam stood quietly, mouth pinched, hands on his hips as Emery frantically tried to get back to her chores, to ignore the elephant in the room.

               He cleared his throat, “Emery? You alright?”

               She exhaled and dropped the garments in her hands, shoving them away from her as if their placement would help distance her from her thoughts or agitation. She wiped her hand down her face, attempting to steel herself. It didn’t work; she swallowed thickly and glanced back up at Sam from the tops of her eyes. “Why did you call me a hunter? Do I feel like--- somebody bad, I mean, violent to you?”

               Taken aback, Sam blinked, shaking his head as he tried to keep his face neutral. “The scars?” It was his turn to swallow. “The scars on your arm look an awful like werewolf claws, but they’re small. I just jumped to conclusions I guess.”

               She rubbed the arm in question and nodded, biting her lips as she accepted his thought process. “Right. Well, you’ve got a hell of an eye, Sam Winchester. You certainly know your wounds.”

               Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, “you want to tell me about them?”

               “Not really--- but you showed me yours.” Emery dropped down on the bedside perpendicular to Sam, piles of clothing and rationalized secrecy between them. “It’s only fair I come clean.

               Well, shit, um,” Emery stammered, clamping her eyes shut to focus her thoughts away from Sam’s guarded yet attentive face. “I had a son, Georgie. He would have been thirteen this past April.”

               “Emery, wow, I’m sorry--- when did it happen?” Sam’s deep voice brought her back to the present.

            She met his eyes just to look beyond his face, unwilling to accept his empathy. “Just before Christmas. He’d been acting weird, but I figured it was hormones, middle school and all that. He was a good kid, you know. Quiet, kept himself busy, and so, so handsome. He was stunning, every old lady would just stop and tease him, no matter where we were.”

                Sam smiled sadly, letting her hold her memories and share them in her own time.

               “I should have seen something was going on, but he had grown up with me knowing everything and he had gotten really good at controlling himself around me. Nobody likes a nagging mom. Well, ‘a psychic mom is the worst kinda mom.’---- He told me that when he was six and I knew his stomach ache was from sneaking ice cream sandwiches all night and not just a bug.” Emery huffed and shrugged.

               “Turns out I was just the worst kind of mom anyhow,” Emery’s voice cracked. “He wasn’t big yet, barely up to my nose, but what was going through him made him strong. Bandit knew it first, started growling the second he came home the day before. Georgie locked him in my room, scared something was wrong with him. Not even knowing something was wrong with himself.” 

               “How’d he get bit?” Sam asked, following to where her story was leading.

               Emery shook her head, mouth open from loss of answers. “I guessed he had gotten into it with some kids at school or something, because it was the first night of winter break when he turned. I still had boxes of decorations and the china to get out. Didn’t realize he hadn’t come out to say goodnight. It was midnight when I went in to shut off his light and he was there and on me.” She rubbed her upper arm, as if the scratches had reopened by the sheer mention of their origin. 

               Sam inhaled, knowing how this story ended. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” Hand reaching over the piles and distances between them, he tried to soothe her. To save her from saying it out loud. 

               “It’s not okay, Sam. It’s not going to be okay until I get him out of that place, where I sent him. You’re a hunter. You know where monsters go.” Emery linked her crossed hands, burying them between her knees.              

               He retracted his hand, brushing it through his hair instead. “His soul. That’s your deal?” 

               Emery shifted, face contorted as she measured if she should reveal it all. “If we stick it out until your brother is separated from the angel, Naomi will restore his humanity and bring him to heaven.”

               Sam sighed and stood up, not sure what to do with the sham she had been sold. “Sounds like something Naomi would say. But, I gotta ask, what aren’t you telling me? Because I know you’re not a psychic, Emery. Otherwise things would be very different—” Sam stopped short.  ‘Between us’, left unsaid.

               “I was psychic. And somehow, when Georgie—when I realized what I’d done--- I broke through to them, somehow---,” Emery hadn’t meant to but suddenly she was standing, unsteady, and lost between guilt and regret. 

“It wasn’t just angels, Sam. The dark ones came too, but they didn’t end me. No one would. Instead Naomi offered me the deal. I give up my powers and Georgie could move on. How could I say no? It was everything--- so much more than what I deserved.”

              Sam felt guilty; intruding on her past life, a tragedy so intimate and one that had nothing to do with him. Many things came flooding back to him now that he knew what had led her to him: her devoutness, her seemingly naïve trust in their deals, the way she tried to never say anything bad about another person, and the many masks she wore to get through each day. He felt blindsided with compassion for her situation beside the looming threat of popping that bubble. The knowledge that he would, again, be the one to shatter her chance at redemption, at hope.

               “Emery, you’ve got to listen to me. I don’t know exactly everything you’ve been through, but you cannot trust Naomi with this. Purgatory--- that’s no man’s land. Not angels’ or demons’ turf. Angels can’t go there on their own. Especially not to save a soul.”

               “Why are you being like this? Can’t you just understand why I’m doing this? Why does everything have to wind back to Heaven being the bad guys, Sam?!” Emery cried, frustrated at Sam’s motivation.

               Sam closed his eyes, knowing how insensitive he sounded. Straightening up he looked Emery dead in the eyes. “Because, Cas is the only angel that we’ve known to get into Purgatory. And it takes a lot more power than Heaven has left to even open a door. Naomi can’t save your son. I doubt she ever could. But I know somebody who might be able to.”

^*^*^

Read On: The Battery Unleashed

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @skullgirl808!

I saw you liked soulmate aus, and I hope you enjoy my take on it! Merry Christmas <3

Read on AO3

*****

in bloom

It is a universally accepted truth that all humans have soulmates.

They can be platonic, romantic, or even antagonistic; some have marks, or words, or initials on their skin; they can be present from birth or appear when two fated souls meet – or worse, when they part. Whatever the circumstance, all humans have them, though whether you meet is purely up to chance.

In the Shadow World, however, it’s… less so.

It’s not impossible for half-human hybrids to have soulmates – they are, after all, half-human. The fae, as angel and demon, don’t, nor does it bother them in the slightest. Nephilim have a higher rate than most species, owing to their angel blood, but it’s still not guaranteed, hence the parabatai bond – much like their very creation, why let nature run its course when you can force it into shape?

With werewolves and vampires, former humans, it’s slightly more traumatic. Vampires always lose their bond whether formed or not, given they have, in fact, died – however, if a connection has already formed, it’s possible for it to be restored in the first 24 hours after resurrection with a powerful enough warlock.

Magnus has attended more re-bonding rituals than he can count, at this point. But sue him; he’s powerful, and a romantic.

Werewolves have a sixty percent chance of losing theirs due to the demonic infection & mutation; those cannot be restored. Those who are lucky and keep them are strongly warned not to flaunt this.

And warlocks? Their chance of having a potential bond is one-in-a-thousand. For the children of Princes of Hell, it’s an impossibility.

Magnus had been fascinated by the concept of soulmates as a child. His mother had Javanese edelweiss adorning one of her hips, running up and over into the small of her back – it had been buds, she explained, until it had blossomed upon meeting a young and handsome foreigner at a Jayakartan market stall.

His father was harsh on him sometimes, always pushing him to do and be better, but Magnus was glad that he loved his mama, that they were soulmates, even if sometimes it felt like his papa didn’t seem to be that invested in Magnus’s own life.

Even much, much later in life, the idea that they had been soulmates that had defied the odds at the time by crossing half the world to meet, and that Magnus’s very existence had caused their partnerships’ tragic end, was one that hounded him in his darker moments.

Asmodeus, posing as a father who loved him, was the one to tell him he would never have a soulmate and why. Magnus, who had still been barely 10 at the time, had been brought to tears by the loss of something he’d wanted so desperately – prompting Asmodeus to become truly angry at him for the first time.

Magnus, who also wanted desperately to not make his father angry at him again, never mentioned soulmates, instead pouring his energy into fulfilling his fathers’ wishes.

But that never stopped him wishing, or lamenting on alcohol-filled evenings, alone in wherever he was currently calling home.

He did come to learn that any relationships he pursued, no matter what type, were in no way inferior for his lack of a soulmate – he was, after all, not alone in this. He made friends, made rivals, took lovers and paramours and taught himself to live in the moment.

He couldn’t help, however, the fear whenever a romantic relationship began to develop deeper than surface-level attraction, the constant fear that his partner would leave him for their own soulmate one day. It was a different fear than the one that others would leave him for who he was, or what he’d done – both of those he could cover up, could change himself for the benefit of his partner and hope that that would make him actually become better. This was something he couldn’t change.

Camille, in wreaking her havoc on his heart, at least stopped him feeling that way – simply because he refused to allow himself to feel anything.

But oh, how he felt anyway.

Alexander had been a revelation. Four hundred years and he was continually surprised by him; a Shadowhunter in his early-mid-twenties redefining values Magnus’d held since he was barely a century old; a man who’s very core was burning bright with passion and justice that his people and culture had tried desperately to smother.

Being with Alexander… it hadn’t fixed Magnus, hadn’t solved all his traumas and anxieties, but for every new one it dredged up it seemed to soothe two. Magnus was meant to love – and here was this impossible man who loved him straight back. And yet.

The soulmate question.

Magnus had seen a mark on the left side of Alec’s ribs, the first time they’d made love. It fit in with the rest of his runes, stark black, but it didn’t look like any rune he’d seen before. It was almost like a lowercase a, but with an embellished tail, and a circle over the top.

He would have asked then, but Alec pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Beautiful,” Alec murmured. “I’ll tell you every day until you believe it.”

“It might – ah – it might take a while,” Magnus whispered back.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

And the strange rune slipped his mind, to be replaced with only Alec for a night.

Then things sort of went to hell, and it wasn’t until after they’d confessed their love that Magnus spotted the strange rune again as Alec was dressing for work. Alec was rushing around, in no small part to them having spent the morning entangled in the duvet and each other; Magnus found he couldn’t summon a single ounce of regret as he sipped his tea.

But, curiosity built and eventually got the better of Magnus.

“Alexander,” he called out as Alec began to step through the portal Magnus had made. Alec hummed through his mouthful of toast, looking back, but Magnus waved him off.

“I’ll text you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to distract Alec in a portal and have him end up in Siberia, or something.

Alexander, that rune on your side

By your heart

What does it mean? I’ve never seen it before.

It’s my soulmate mark, it just looks like a rune

Oh,ok

You okay?

Yes, darling. Just curious

okay. I love you

Magnus knew he’d fallen for Alec far too quickly; his defences crumbling in the face of earnest smiles and bright long-lashed eyes and honest words. He could hardly help it – Alec had been a lot of things Magnus had hoped for without any kind of pretence on either of their parts. They simply worked, and Alexander loved him back, and it… it may not even be enough.

Because Alec had a soulmate out there, and it wasn’t Magnus. It could never be Magnus.

He put a brave face on; attended all his meetings and saw clients without betraying the cloud eating away at his heart and mind, until the evening found him without distractions, nursing a glass of whisky in his own loft.

“Hey, Magnus?” Alec called out, pushing open the front door with his recently given key. Magnus didn’t respond, too lost in thought, until Alec came around the back of his armchair, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Magnus startled.

“Alexander! You’re early,” he exclaimed, standing far too quickly in order to kiss Alec on the cheek.

“It’s 9pm,” Alec said, accepting the kiss with a frown.

“It is? Oh, too late to go out for food then, we’ll have to order in. Or I’ll cook! You must be famished.” Magnus waved his hand nonchalantly, heading towards the kitchen without breaking his speech or indeed, making any eye contact.

“I came over to see if you were alright. You haven’t responded to any messages today and even if you’re busy, it’s not like you. Are you… you know… okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear. Now, drink first? Or dinner first? I alw-“

“Magnus.”

Alec’s firm, yet pleading tone cut deeper than Magnus had expected it to, and he halted in his tracks, shoulders dropping as though their strings had been cut. He exhaled slowly, turning around to face Alec, stood tall in the centre of the room.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Alec said, quietly.

“If you promise to hear me out?” Alec nodded. “It’s about… it’s to do with soulmates. I don’t – can’t – have a soulmate. While it is possible for warlocks, my lineage is… it means it is physically impossible. And you have one anyway. Alexander, if you… if you found your soulmate, and if they were… if your connection with him was of a romantic nature, I would never hold it against you, and I want you to know that, okay? You deserve that connection, and I- I-”

Magnus had noticed but hadn’t fully comprehended Alec moving towards him during his speech until he was stood barely a foot away, his eyes soft in a way that reminded him of when Magnus’s glamour had first dropped around him. Alec reached out for the glass still in Magnus’s clutches, gently setting it aside and replacing it with his own hand.

“Magnus,” he said, voice gentle. “I promise you, it’s okay, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I will not be the thing that stands between you and that potential, Alexander. I won’t do that to you.”

“No, you’re not listening. You won’t be because my soulmate is platonic, and it’s Izzy. Izzy is my soulmate, Magnus. That’s one of the reasons why Jace and I became parabatai, because then the three of us were linked through me. Look-“ Alec used the hand not holding Magnus’s and began unbuttoning his shirt clumsily.

“It’s getting remarkably easier to get you naked,” Magnus murmured, making jokes despite being still somewhat dazed. Trapped within his own insecurities, he hadn’t really dwelled on Alec having a platonic soulmate, his mind too eager to rip itself apart and bring him down.

Alec grinned at him, shrugging off one shoulder of the shirt. “You see? It’s a lowercase a, and a lowercase i. That’s what it means.”

“Ah. I fear I have made myself a bit of a fool.”

“No,” Alec shook his head, before leaning in to press a kiss to Magnus’s lips. “You’ve just been through more than most, than I can even begin to understand. But, Magnus – you know what this means for us?”

Magnus quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It means the universe doesn’t decide for us our fate. It means that while the universe has decided that Izzy and I choose each other, and protect each other - I get to decide, with all my, my heart, and my soul? I chose you. I’m choosing you, Magnus. And it means that you can choose me too, if you want.”

A tear escaped Magnus’s eye, his glamour slipping away with it. Alec raised a hand and wiped it away, and Magnus smiled for the first time since he’d learnt of the soulmark’s existence. His other hand, the one not still holding Alec’s, pressed over the bare skin above Alec’s heart, his palm spreading and feeling its steady beat.

“I love you,” Alec whispered.

“I love you too,” Magnus whispered back, and leaned into Alec.

As they held each other in the opening to Magnus’s kitchen, the only light from the outside city, Magnus revelled in what it was like to feel chosen by someone for no reason other than because they wanted to choose him.

If he was being totally honest, Magnus thought it felt a little like Javanese edelweiss, finally in bloom.

[shadowsofashes]

Ooooookaaaaay

So... I'm behind @batim-nephilims-lament and @theocarinist . Aaaaaaaand... I have a playlist for a hypothetical rework of and the original version of The Ocarinist AU (the hypothetical rework is gonna be a post story worry not). And one goes from Pollyanna from Mother covered by Insaneintherain to Forever Yours by Greyscale. The other goes from Lonely Rolling Star from Katamari to... Forever Yours by Greyscale because it fits the mood. I gave myself emotional whiplash on Spotify because I have no in between song.

[creativeashproductions]

Former Masterlist (No Longer in Use) 🪦

*This was prior to writing for Julie and the Phantoms. None of these works or fandoms are in use. Please do not request for any more parts.

!!!This is before I revamped my blog 💀!!!

Nephilim  (Teen Wolf and Riverdale)

--Supernatural Imagines/Oneshots--

Sam Winchester

Liberator

Begin Again (Prompt)

When Hate Turns to Love (Prompt)

Jared Padalecki

Last Name

Dean Winchester

Knives and Other Blades

Revival

Lily’s Hey Jude Lullaby

Green Eyed Surprise (Prompt)

Jensen Ackles

Travelin’ Soldier Series (Discontinued):

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Support System

Father Figure (Prompt)

No Pairing// Strong Independent Character

Crimson

The Hawk

Bye Bye

--Stranger Things Imagines/Oneshots--

Steve Harrington

Time of Arrival

Painted with Pain

Competition

Lycanthrope Part Two

Hospital Visit

A World Apart

Uniform Romance Series (Complete):

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Mysterious Disappearance Series (Discontinued):

Part One

–Marvel Imagines/Oneshots–

Originally posted by derangedbastard69

Crossover

Innocent Series:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Avengers

Heat of the Moment Series (Discontinued):

Part One

Part Two

Steve Rogers/Captain America

Never Grow Up

Betrayal (AU)

Bed Side Arguments (Prompt)

Nail Polish Dilemma (Prompt)

Endless Search (Soulmate Fic)

Chris Evans

Affair Series (Discontinued):

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Parallel

Hall of Fame

Whiskey Lullaby

Bubble Bath

Secret (Smut)

Jealousy (smut)

Anguish

Lucky I Love You

Hate The Way I Love You (Prompt)

Rendezvous (Prompt)

Strange Love (Prompt)

Gym Time (Prompt)

40s Heat (40s!Bucky Barnes Prompt)

Birthday Gift (Prompt)

Scott Lang

Destruction (Prompt)

Bereavement Series:

Part One

Part Two

Sebastian Stan

Little Do You Know

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Lance Tucker

The Bet

–Riverdale Imagines/Oneshots–

Originally posted by tattooed-freckles

McCall Pack, Meet Riverdale (Teen Wolf and Riverdale Crossover) Series (Discontinued)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Opposite Direction (Teen Wolf, Riverdale and Marvel Crossover) Series (Discontinued)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Jughead Jones

Bare (Smut)

Unknown Territory

Incredulity (Smut)

Aid

Dearest (Smut)

Ghost (Smut)

After Party (Prompt)

Family Hunt Part Two

Fate

Hyde Park

The Break

Archie Andrews

New Beginnings

Undelivered

Matchbox

Lamentable

Cheryl Blossom

Solicitous

One Dance Club

Affectionate

Having Questions

Veronica Lodge

Sanctuary

Innocent Favour

Jason Blossom

The Pencil

Excruciating

The Bloodhound Series

Part one

Teen Wolf Imagines

Originally posted by kingjoffrrey

Stiles Stilinski

White Knight

Angel Of Death

The Dance

Fretful

Search for Mastery

On My Mind (Prompt)

Louisville Slugger (Prompt)

Flustered (Prompt)

Trainee

Recover

Disingenuous

Kindred

Sweetest Devotion Series (Discontinued):

Part One

Part Two

Scott McCall

Blessing in Disguise

Connection

Nolan Holloway

Ghostface Wannabe

Derek Hale

Solace

Games and Pain (Prompt)

Elysian

The Council

Liam  Dunbar

I’ll Fight (Prompt)

The Kiss (Prompt)

Theo Raeken

A Promise to Hold (Prompt)

Dylan O’Brien

Little League

Youtubers/Actors Imagines/Oneshots

–The Dolan Twins Imagines/Oneshots–

Ethan Dolan

Awestruck  

Let Go

Detonate // Dolan Twins and Teen Wolf Crossover

Accidental Union

Birdie

Falling for Danger

Skating into Love

Grayson Dolan

Divulge

The Surname

Logan Paul Imagines/Oneshots

Surprise Gift

Bradley Cooper Imagines/Oneshots

Private Island

[konigindernachtsblog]

L’Enfer.

I/ « Géographie » et « Anthropologie ».

A)  « Géographie »

On dit de l’Enfer qu’il est le royaume fondé par le sang et les larmes de l’ange déchu Lucifer, qui est origine de toute vie le peuplant. D’une larme et d’une goutte de sang de Lucifer dans le néant, naquit, ainsi l’une des plus vieilles nations. Ce monde est le berceau d’une grande diversité d’espèce de la même race et en engendreront même plus, notamment les sorcières, par le pacte avec le diable. Sorcières qui elle-même, engendreront plus tard la race avec qui les démons seront longtemps en conflit, les nécromanciens.

Son territoire est immense et divisé en plusieurs étages, dont trois sont réservés à héberger les très nombreuses âmes qui sont destinées à y souffrir pour l’éternité. Tout le monde ne peut d’ailleurs pas fouler le sol du royaume démoniaque. Pour cela, il n’y a que deux solutions. Être une créature démoniaque ou de façon plus générale, un immortel, tout d’abord, ou bien être mort.

Le premier étage, The Valley of Death, est une contrée désertique qui s’étend à perte de vue. Les âmes qu’héberge ce territoire sont « immatérielles » et peuvent être comparée à des feux follets. Le seul bruit qu’on y entend est le vent permanent, si fort qu’il peut endommager la peau, y provoquant des coupures conséquentes. Le sol y est très sec et craquelé. Le paysage est si égal et identique qu’il y est quasiment impossible de s’orienter et qu’on peut rapidement devenir fou.

Le deuxième étage est un peu à part, puisqu’il s’agit aussi d’un étage d’Yggdrasil. Il abrite Helheim, l’Enfer du Panthéon nordique. Les températures ne sont pas vivables, même pour les êtres divins, tant il y fait froid. Le sol est fait de pierres et de terre gelée, très souvent recouvert d’une grosse épaisseur de neige et de glace. La plupart des cours d’eau y sont gelés, sauf la grande rivière au courant torrentiel, Gjöll. Il neige en permanence et la nuit y est éternelle. Seule la lune et les étoiles éclairent un ciel sombre, parfois tout de même tapissé d’aurores boréales. Les âmes qui y passent leur éternité sont des cadavres ambulants qui ont perdu les yeux et le don de paroles. Elles ne se font comprendre que de Hel, par l’esprit. Elles prient la déesse pour sa miséricorde et sa douceur.

Le troisième étage héberge deux lieux majeurs. Tout d’abord, la cité où vivent les démons. Cette ville héberge une dizaine de millions d’individus environs et est divisée en plusieurs « districts » régis par les familles les plus influentes de la société démoniaque. Cet endroit y est très anachronique, les démons le refaçonnant au gré de leurs inspirations. Avant le règne de la « Midnight Queen », la nuit y était permanente. Le ciel et la lune étaient rouges et surtout, les hurlements des Terres de Sang étaient très distincts. A présent, la cité dispose d’un cycle jour/nuit et les hurlements sont étouffés, si bien que seule la vie de la cité se fait entendre.

Le District le plus conservateur est le District Victorien, administré par la famille Brennan, famille prestigieuse abritant de nombreux vétérans de guerre reconnus pour leur bravoure et leur fidélité à la couronne et leur foi envers leur seigneur. Le District dispose de larges avenues. La modernité y est quasiment absente. On s’y est longtemps déplacé à pieds ou en fiacre, mais depuis la deuxième guerre contre le Paradis, le district est aussi relié aux autres par un métro, voulant éviter de dénaturer l’architecture avec un tramway. Ce District héberge une grande quantité de temple érigés à la gloire de Lucifer, renommé Satan et aux démons majeurs de l’Apocalypse comme Leviathan ou Belzebuth. On y trouve aussi des temples pour Lilith, Belphegor ou Behemoth. Généralement, ce sont des temples aux allures d’églises gothiques mais dont la forme est croix inversée sur les plans. On y trouve toujours un autel, au milieu d’un grand pentagramme inversé, où l’on fait toutes sortes d’offrandes, notamment du sang ou des sacrifices humains, on allume des bougies. On y trouve régulièrement des représentations sur les vitraux ou en statues de celui qu’on appelle « Lucifer, le déchu. », seule représentation d’un ange dans le Royaume. L’architecture des immeubles et maisons est victorienne, les façades toujours assez sombres. Les grilles en fer forgé sont très travaillées, certaines familles y insèrent souvent leurs armoiries, en plus de les graver sur la façade de leur manoir, souvent décorés de fresques racontant des passages glorieux de démons majeurs ou, dans des représentations plus décoratives, simplement de pentagrammes et de versets de textes sacrés. Les jardins du District Victorien ont pour couleurs principales le rouge, le violet terne, le noir, avec notamment des roses, des Dahlia, des hortensias, mais aussi quelques plantes grimpantes aux balcons. On y trouve régulièrement des fontaines d’inspirations romantiques, représentant Lucifer ou des Nephilims, plus rarement des gargouilles, que l’on réserve surtout aux temples. Ce District, comme l’Industriel, est longé par le « Mur des Lamentations », qui le sépare des « Terres de Sang ».

Le District Victorien abrite une immense bibliothèque sacrée où on y conserve tout le savoir accumulés des démons au fil du temps, retranscrits dans de gros grimoires. Toutes les éditions originales s’y trouvent. Les métiers d’art et du livre sont ainsi très représentés dans cette partie de l’Enfer, où y trouve des cabinets de copistes, d’illustrateurs, d’enlumineurs. C’est ici que l’on trouve l’artisanat le plus luxueux aussi, que ce soit pour le cuir (notamment pour les plus belles couvertures de grimoires), le mobilier ou la décoration. Nous y trouvons aussi les plus belles stations de métro dont l’architecture gothique est aisément reconnaissable par les arches que l’on y retrouve. Elles sont souvent décorées de dorures et les murs et les plafonds ont été décorés par des artistes pour représenter de grandes scènes. Les stations de métro sont ici, éclairées par des lustres luxueux à bougies et les métros qui y circulent, ressemblent aux premiers trains connus de l’humanité. A l’intérieur de ces derniers aussi, nous y trouvons des dorures, des sièges en cuir de qualité et des éclairages charmants à la bougie. Le District Victorien s’illustre aussi par son théâtre classique, ses opéras profanes et ses récitals baroques grandioses.

La mode, dans ce District, pour les femmes, se composent de robes longues, souvent de couleur noir, qui est emblématique du Royaume et de sa royauté ou rouge, pour la symbolique du sang qui est, en Enfer, sacré. Les matières les plus appréciées sont la dentelle, la soie, le velours et les tissus assez lourds en général. On y apprécie les corsets, les pierres précieuses comme le rubis ou le grenat, l’onyx mais aussi les perles. Les hommes sont généralement en costume à col montant, les couleurs sont très rares, en tout et pour tout un peu de blanc ou de rouge, l’originalité se faisant généralement sur des motifs discrets, des fils d’or ou d’argent, les boutons de manchettes.

Le District dit « Industriel » est lui, le plus moderne et le plus peuplé. Ce dernier est administré par la famille Silverstein, qui comporte le plus grand nombre de vétérans des deux guerres, dont nombres sont encore en vie. Plongé dans le District Industriel, c’est plongé dans une ville européenne de la première partie du vingtième siècle. Les quartiers chics font tantôt penser sans problèmes à Paris et ses immeubles Haussmanniens, tantôt au quartier historique d’Hambourg, traversé par le fleuve de l’Enfer et dont le nombre important de ponts fait aisément penser à Stockholm. Le District est lui-même divisé par culture ou époque différente, selon les endroits. Tantôt, on peut y trouver un pub irlandais, tantôt, un bar des années vingt, mais aussi des bars undergrounds comme on en trouve à Londres ou aux Etats-Unis. Les rues sont traversées par le tramway, mais que l’on appelle plus couramment « Straßenbahn », mot germanique, plus proche du langage démoniaque et surtout, langue humaine de la famille Silverstein. Les souterrains accueillent aussi le métro, qui ressemblent aux grandes gares américaines comme la gare centrale et qui grouillent de gens. On y trouve aussi de grands espaces verts à l’image de jardins plus modernes où les couleurs sont davantage le bleu dans toutes ses nuances, le blanc et le noir.

Ce District accueille grand nombre de divertissements comme le cinéma (abrégé « Kino » dans la même logique que le tramway), le music-hall, des salles de concerts, du théâtre, de nombreux bars, de soirées dansantes, de casinos. On y trouve des voitures jusqu’aux modèles d’après deuxième guerre mondiale. Ainsi, on y trouve une grande variété dans la culture dites plus « populaire », bien différente de celle que l’on peut trouver au District Victorien. Cependant, il y a tout intérêt de se tenir à carreau dans ce District où l’on peut distinguer de très nombreux « manteaux bleus », l’organisation criminelle de l’Enfer, dirigée par Adrian Silverstein, sous peine de se retrouver ligoté et entraîné dans le fond du fleuve par des poids, quand ils ne poussent pas la cruauté à dériver jusqu’aux terres de sang où leur sol si acide qu’il dissout la peau. Ainsi, ces derniers y font la loi, la leur, à la place des forces de l’ordre de la couronne. Cela fait longtemps que la population s’y est habituée et qu’ils font partie du paysage, si bien que les plus anciens les appellent « our boys ».

L’un des endroits les plus emblématiques du District Industriel, dans la partie populaire de ce dernier, est le grand bar de Lotte Silverstein, le « Morgenstern ». Au décor des années vingt, il est le bar le plus rentable du District, où on y vient boire, danser, écouter la patronne chanter et jouer aux cartes. La partie populaire du District abrite un grand nombre d’usines qui fournissent l’ensemble de ce dernier en électricité et en appareils en tout genre, du gramophone, à la radio et à la voiture. L’architecture de cette partie du District ressemblent davantage à la ville anglaise de Birmingham ou aux quartiers pauvres du vieux Berlin.

Le culte n’y est pas véritablement représenté, ou du moins, il est bien plus discret. On y retrouve bien des symboles comme les pentagrammes et les croix inversées sur quelques bâtiments, surtout les officiels, mais ce n’est pas aussi frappant qu’au District Victorien. C’est aussi au District Industriel que l’on gère la plupart des « services publics » comme la distribution du courrier, l’administration et les archives, les tribunaux pour les faits mineurs, comme les « incivilités ».

Dans ce District, la mode est bien plus diversifiée que dans le Victorien, puisqu’elle réunit la mode des années 1900, jusqu’aux années 2000 environs. Ainsi, on peut tout aussi bien y croiser des hommes en costume trois pièces élégant, comme d’autres en jean et blouson en cuir. De même pour les femmes, que l’on peut trouver tantôt en jupe longue et chemiser, les mains gantées, comme en pantalon et tee-shirt.

Il existe un District plus méconnu, que l’on appelle « la Terre Sacrée ». Surtout résidentiel, il abrite ce que l’on appelle « les légionnaires ». Ce sont les démons les plus hauts de la société et qui forment la garde rapprochée de la régente Dahlia et de la reine, mais aussi l’élite de l’armée du royaume. A l’ouest du District Victorien, il abrite aussi la Cour Martiale et la grande prison pour les criminels, coupables de trahisons à la couronne ou de blasphème. C’est dans ce District que les démons voulant servir leur royaume en tant que protecteur, viennent se former, pour devenir des mercenaires officiels de la couronne. Ainsi, ces jeunes gens sont souvent des exécuteurs de « traîtres », de menaces à la couronne, notamment les extrémistes, qui souhaitent le retour de Satan et l’extermination des anges et/ou des nécromanciens. Ce District est séparé du District Victorien par le grand cimetière qui abritent tous les morts du royaume depuis sa naissance et « La Vallée de Cristal » où reposent les anges rebelles sacrifiés par Hazazel dans la cité démoniaque, sous une épaisse couche de cristal.

A l’écart de tout cela, se trouve le Palais Royal, la demeure de la reine. C’est un petit château sombre dont l’architecture fait penser aux temples du District Victorien. Seuls quelques privilégiés peuvent en franchir le seuil. Il est gardé par des légionnaires et des mercenaires et abrite un personnel totalement asservi. Dissimulé à la vue de toute, derrière le château, on trouve le Jardin d’Eden et l’un des objets de culte de l’Enfer, l’Arbre de la Connaissance, sanctuaire sacré pour les démons que seule la famille royale et la famille Nightmare (réduite à une poignée de membres), ont le privilège de voir. Avant, ce lieu abritait aussi le manoir de la famille Nightmare, mais depuis le couronnement de la « Midnight Queen », il n’en reste qu’une grande dalle qui bouche l’entrée des souterrains du manoir rasé, qui seraient en réalité la prison de Joyce Nightmare, l’ancienne dame de fer.

Enfin, le dernier étage de l’Enfer, les « Blood’s Land ». Frontière parfaite entre le Néant et l’Enfer et aussi étage le plus redouté du royaume démoniaque. Ici, la nuit et la lune rouge sont toujours éternelles et les cris des âmes torturées, permanents. Le sol de cet étage est gorgé de sang acide, qui dissout les tissus de peau. Ce sang est celui versé par les Légionnaires bibliques lors de la création de leur corps armé et de leur formation par Satan lui-même, qui leur fera affronter des monstres encore plus titanesques que Leviathan. Ici sont emprisonnées les âmes des plus lourdement condamnés par les juges du Purgatoire mais aussi les nécromanciens qui passent leur rite : Ceux qui le réussissent s’en échappent, ceux qui échouent y souffrent jusqu’à mourir sous la torture. On vit dans les « Blood’s Land » les pires sévices, si bien que se faire enfermer en cellule est un soulagement. Il n’existe plus de repère temporel et comme dans la « Valley Of Death », la folie s’empare assez vite des esprits, même les plus forts. Les Blood’s Land, autrefois gardé par Shinra, une ange damnée et maîtresse de Satan, sont surveillés par les exécuteurs les plus cruels de la couronne, depuis sa mort lors d’une insurrection contre le seigneur.

B)  « Anthropologie »

Les démons sont une race unique, certes, mais d’une diversité admirable. Les espèces de démons sont multiples et leurs pouvoirs, tout aussi diversifiés. Voici les principales :

 - Les Bibliques : Créatures que l’on retrouve dans les textes religieux, notamment ceux relatant de l’Apocalypse, comme Leviathan, ou ceux représentant les péchés capitaux, comme Mammon ou Belphegor.

- Les Originaux : Ils n’ont pas de formes autres que celle qui les fait ressembler traits pour traits aux humains. Ils disposent de pouvoirs puissants et sont souvent membres de la haute société. La Régente, la Reine, les Brennan, les Fromm ou bien Adrian Silverstein, en sont des exemples.

- Les Nephilims : Ces démons peuvent avoir apparence humaine pour se mêler à la population sur terre, mais leur véritable forme est transitive. Leur but est de tromper les humains sur leur foi en Dieu. Ainsi, leur première forme est celle d’un ange aux ailes blanches. Mais aussitôt piégé, l’humain voit les ailes de ce dernier noircir, tout comme l’entièreté de ses yeux, ses veines ressortent et noircissent. Ses avants bras deviennent entièrement noir. Là, alors, l’humain se fait tordre le coup sans qu’il n’ait le temps de se sauver.

- Les Gargouilles : Démons pouvant se changer en créature ailée, à la peau qualifiée d’inviolable, qu’importe les attaques.

- Les Goules : Démons peuplant généralement les terres de sang, ils torturent les âmes pour l’éternité et dévorent les nécromanciens ayant raté leur rite. Ils disposent de griffes et de dents acérés qui déchiquettent la peau. Très primaire et barbare, cette espèce a tendance à éventrer ses victimes en les dévorant.

- Les Goules ailées : Démons mineurs qui s’occupent de kidnapper les humains et de les terroriser, dans le but de les sacrifier.

- Les Créatures Fantastiques : Exemples -> Dragons, Raiju, Basilics, Animaux titanesques.

- Les Succubes et Incubes : Enfants de Lilith, vivent du désir des hommes ou femmes en se nourrissant de leur semence, ils les tuent pendant les rapports sexuels.

II/ Religion, culte, croyance.

Le peuple démoniaque voue un culte à Satan, qu’ils appellent aussi « Lucifer, le déchu » ou « The Keeper of The Truth ». Il est pour eux, le martyr du Paradis, le créateur de toutes les choses qui les entourent, leur Père. Il sait tout, il est doué d’omniscience et d’omnipotence, il est démiurge, comme Dieu, au Paradis. D’autres démons que Satan a engendré peuvent prétendre à un culte comme Lilith, la reine des succubes, adorée des succubes et incubes, ses enfants. Mais aussi Leviathan, la bête légendaire de l’Apocalypse, Belzébuth et Behemoth entre autres, que l’on qualifie de « princes.ses des Enfers ».

Les symboles les plus récurrents dans le culte satanique sont :

 - Le pentagramme : Utilisé dans de nombreux rites, il est utilisé dans l’architecture des temples pour placer l’autel sacré. Il marque toutes les âmes asservies du palais de la reine et est présent dans ses armoiries et tous les papiers officiels de l’Enfer. Les sorcières, ayant vendue leur âme à Satan, les tracent notamment pour invoquer des démons et pratiquer leur art le plus occulte.

- La croix inversée : Symbolise l’opposition au Paradis et à la religion du christianisme notamment. Retrouvée sur tous les grands massacres perpétrés par les démons dans les lieux sacrés de la religion, tous les meurtres de religieux qui l’ont souvent taillée sur leur peau quand on les retrouve. On marquait ainsi les anges damnés, ceux qui se sont abrité en Enfer pendant la première guerre, qui devenaient alors des damnés, à l’image de Shinra, l’ancienne gardienne des Blood’s Land.

- Le sang : Symbole de vie. Le sang de Lucifer est l’origine de toute chose en Enfer. Ainsi, les démons commettent de nombreux sacrifices dans l’année pour célébrer leur seigneur et créateur et ainsi le remercier. C’est aussi un purificateur que les démons les plus pratiquants boivent, ils se baignent aussi dedans. Le sang, chez les démons, détient tout ce qui fait un être, si bien que dans les rituels de vérité, on prélève et boit le sang de celui dont on veut connaître un secret ou retrouver les souvenirs.

III/ Calendrier Satanique

 7 Janvier : BIRTH OF HELL DAY, les démons se réunissent dans les temples pour effectuer des sacrifices humains et animaux pour offrir leur sang à leur seigneur, Satan, pour le remercier de leur avoir donner vie.

17 Janvier : LILITH’S DAY. Les démons célèbrent la sexualité débridée et plus généralement, le péché de Luxure.

20-27 Janvier : GREAT SACRIFICE. Pendant une semaine, les démons font de nombreux rituels à base de sacrifices et de viols sur la population humaine. Les disparitions d’enfants et de jeunes femmes, notamment, explosent à cette période.

29 Janvier : BIRTH OF THE FIRST SATAN’S WITCH.

2 Février : SATANIC SABBATH. Sacrifice de sang animal ou humain à Satan. Souvent accompagné de transes si fortes, que cela débouche régulièrement à des scènes sexuelles dans les bains de sang.

25 Février : LEVIATHAN’S DAY. Sacrifices humains d’envergure à Leviathan. Des villages rasés entiers dans le monde, pour ce jour.

1er Mars : THE PRINCES DAY. Bains de sang et prières pour les « princes de l’Enfer ».

20 Mars : KELEN’S DAY. Cet événement, fait pour fêter la fertilité dans la société démoniaque, provoque généralement un pic de natalité.

3 Avril : CHRIST’S DEATH DAY. Les démons sacrifient généralement un homme dans chaque temple pour fêter la mort du fils de Dieu.

Veille de Pâques : Bains de sangs et sacrifices.

1er Mai : SATAN’S DAY. Les démons font de grands bûchers pour des sacrifices en cendres pour Satan.

21 Juin : BELIAL’S DAY. Jour d’impunité totale où sur terre, les démons commettent tous les crimes d’habitude à peu près réguler par les accords avec le Paradis.

1er Juillet : QUEEN’S DAY. Grand jour de purification par le sang par la reine qui prononce un discours en tant que « Protector of Faith ». Les enfants nés quelques jours avant ont le privilège d’être « baptisés » par la reine. Les démons, ce jour-là, prennent de longs bains de sang.

1er Août : GREAT SABBATH. Sacrifices animaux et humains à Satan, accompagné ensuite d’une grande messe au Great Temple du District Victorien, à laquelle la reine participe.

3 Août : LILITH REBIRTH DAY. Evénement qui provoque un autre pique de natalité, les succubes et incubes fêtent la renaissance de leur reine à la fin de la deuxième guerre.

28-31 Octobre : Sacrifices humains chaque jour pour la gloire de Satan.

31 Octobre :

- SAMHAIN : Pour les sorcières et nécromanciens.

- MIDNIGHT QUEEN DAY : Anniversaire de la reine.

4 Novembre : LUST DAY. Les démons honorent tous leurs congénères liés à la sexualité, des plus hauts comme Lilith ou Kelen, comme les plus communs comme les succubes et incubes.

 24 Décembre : DEMONS FEST. Le peuple démoniaque fait une grande messe et des sacrifices à Satan pour la prospérité de leur royaume. Ils s’offrent des présents et allument les bougies de leurs autels personnels.

[batim-nephilims-lament]

Page 1:

Finally got page one and the prologue done. Yep. This is the entirety of the prologue. For chronological knowledge here, because this is a bit of a time mess without having time travel (without too much spoilers, this particular AU takes place in a larger span of time than just 32 or so when Henry left the Stufio to 52 or so when he comes back like in game canon). If Tumblr bungles the upload and the panels are out of order, don’t worry. I put a caption on each panel with the number of which it is to make all lives easier. From here out, on a work standpoint for me and a quality standpoint for you.... all panels are going to take one page of my sketchbook. I don’t have a working drawing tablet, so this is what I can give you. I also don’t have a scanner for my laptop. That said. Holy frick guys. We’re getting started.

[batim-nephilims-lament]

[batim-nephilims-lament]

Found my pencils!

I'm working on the new title page. I still condone exactly 0% of Joey's actions in the reworking!

[shadowsofashes]

NO BRAIN WE'RE DONE

NO MORE AUS UNTIL I WORK OUT THE OTHER TWO. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A CHARACTER INSERT ON CHRONO TRIGGER THAT ADDS A FRICK TON OF LORE AND SHENANIGANS. NOT UNTIL NEPHILIM'S LAMENT AND THE OCARINIST AU ARE DONE

[batim-nephilims-lament]

Morning reblog cuz I posted at ass o clock

Page 1:

Finally got page one and the prologue done. Yep. This is the entirety of the prologue. For chronological knowledge here, because this is a bit of a time mess without having time travel (without too much spoilers, this particular AU takes place in a larger span of time than just 32 or so when Henry left the Stufio to 52 or so when he comes back like in game canon). If Tumblr bungles the upload and the panels are out of order, don’t worry. I put a caption on each panel with the number of which it is to make all lives easier. From here out, on a work standpoint for me and a quality standpoint for you.... all panels are going to take one page of my sketchbook. I don’t have a working drawing tablet, so this is what I can give you. I also don’t have a scanner for my laptop. That said. Holy frick guys. We’re getting started.