#none of these shows can hold a candle to whatever the fresh fucking hell is happening in sailor moon

[storybookprincess]

i really don't think sailor moon gets enough credit for how unbelievably convoluted the world building & lore get. folks who only watched it as kids or are casually familiar probably consider it to primarily be a show about cute girls fighting evil in tokyo

and yeah, okay, it is about that, sure, but the cute girls are actually all reincarnations from previous lives in a kingdom on the moon. the moon kingdom had an era of peace known as the silver millennium, when it was ruled by queen serenity, but in the 30th century there is ANOTHER silver millennium & this time it's NEO queen serenity in charge, who is a reincarnation of usagi who is a reincarnation of princess serenity from that original silver millennium. usagi is not the original queen serenity, though, and the second silver millennium happens on earth in the city of crystal tokyo (which is what tokyo will become in the 30th century) rather than within the moon kingdom. but there's also a secret hidden kingdom in the center of the earth called elysion that works in tandem with the moon kingdom to protect the planet, so keep that in mind. and we haven't even factored in the sailor wars that have raged throughout the universe since the dawn of time!!!!!!!

i have no idea what the fuck that paragraph says & i'm the one who wrote it. honestly the casual fans are right -- we are all so much better off considering this the "cute girls fight evil" anime & not liquifying our brains trying to figure out what in the fresh hell is actually going on

[calif0rnia-lovers]

i want you around.

song link incase you didn’t catch the vibe from the title. 

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: None. Just the return of soft Frank doing coupley shit when he’s not even in a “relationship”

Request: You convince to Frank to take a bath with you to help him relax.

Words: 2.3K

��I don’t see what the fuss is all about.”

Frank may not be as wound tight as he is on an average day, but he knows coming over here hopped up on sleep deprivation and mediocre diner food was not the smartest course of action. Even on a rare eight hours of sleep keeping up with you, when you’re in one of your moods, is a challenge. 

In the time he’s known you, Frank has learned you have more than just one. Mood that is. For someone who’s favorite mantra is “I don’t wanna get your hopes up when I’m not the man you’re looking for” Frank is good at remembering the type of things a boyfriend should. 

Strangely enough, he hasn’t quite figured out how to approach this situation. Each attempt he’s taken in the past has failed, miserably. 

His least favorite of your moods is the one you’re in now. This is the one that leaves Frank Castle powerless. It can knock him on his ass quicker than any bullet slung his way.

Frank can take the ‘angry as fucking shit’ mood any day. He can take you laying into him for doing something stupid like showing up to the dinner to meet your friends, for the first time ever, with a fresh black eye and busted lip. He can take the “leave me alone but don’t leave me alone” mood. Comfortable silence is a favorite of Frank’s. On the flip, he can even handle your “my co-worker annoyed the living shit out of me today, so I need you to listen to my rant even if you’re watching the game” mood. He know its best to keep your wine rack stocked with your favorite de-stressor. 

As he thinks about it, trying his best to read the room in your cramped apartment bathroom, Frank realizes his favorite is when you've missed him enough to allow him to latch onto you without protest. 

If he’s being honest, that was the one he was hoping to find you in after a few days apart.

But...he didn’t, and Frank can’t stand the mood you’re in now. 

His fingers comb through his hair, mind racing on a quick solution of getting you out of the “I worry he's giving in again" mood. When he stopped by your apartment this evening, way earlier than his usual 3 a.m. shuffling, Frank wasn’t expecting...this.

The problem with this mood is that you don’t actually say that you’re worried about him. 

Frank can count on his hand the number of times you’ve physically used the word "worried" when speaking about him, at least to his face. 

The "I worry he's giving in again" mood may be his least favorite, but Frank knows he deserves it. He knew you had every right to worry. You were there the last time he let Frank Castle take the back burner while the Punisher went on a rampage. It wasn't pretty.

It also took a lot longer for Frank Castle to return. 

When you’re in this mood, you won't tell Frank what you're thinking. It's not that he won't listen. He will. Frank always listens to you. It's just that his seemingly dormant partner will only let him hear half of what you're saying. 

Instead of long drawn out lectures, your eyes and movements do all the talking. 

But honestly, Frank knew it was bound to happen soon. 

The last time you’d seen him his knuckles were split open, the skin bloody and bruised. A walk in the park compared to the injuries you’ve seen on him before, but you knew the less damage to Frank the worse the result of his actions. 

Frank’s eyes pass over the label on the purple bottle he’s retrieved from the sink, his hand rubbing against the back of his neck.

“...would it kill you to take a night off and relax like a normal person...” Your voice comes back into focus as he glances your way. “....this city is going to kill you, if you let it, Frank.”

“Lucky for you I’m not going down without a fight, sweetheart.” 

The teasing smile on his lips earns Frank a pair of rolling eyes.

“Yeah, well...you should let me do this for you.” You huff as you readjust the knob. “Make up for all the hell you put me through.” 

Frank studies the bottle in his hands before glancing back to you where you sit on the edge of the slowly filling tub.

He softly shakes his head, his chest rising and falling with a huff. 

“Fine,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing as he attempts to make out the label before him. “The things I do for you.” 

You shoot him a wink before dipping your hand in to test the water.

“Lavande de Haute-” His eyes roll as he lifts the bottle. “This crap probably wasn’t even made in France.”

“Whatever. It has lavender which is proven to have aromatherapy benefits such as relaxation.” 

“Uh-huh,” Frank mumbles as he turns the bottle around and begins scanning the back. “Just let me have a beer I’ll relax just fine.”

You stick your hand out, your fingers wagging for his attention.

“Frank, give me the bottle.”

Shrugging off the sink, Frank passes the bottle over, his arms crossing over his chest. 

Turning the bottle upside down, you give it a squeeze smiling as a generous amount of the contents slip into the water. The aroma hits Frank instantly, his now scrunching in distaste at the overpowering scent.

“Nah, I don’t need all that,” he says, the corner of his lips turning up as you glare at him before squeezing in more for good measure adding to the quickly forming bubbles. 

“It’ll be fine,” you wave as you stand. Frank catches your hips the moment you’re upright. He guides your body forward until your hips press against his. The kiss he brushes against your lips drags your fingers through the locks at the nape of his neck. His nose brushes against yours, his brow arching as you lean back to meet his gaze. “I promise your superhuman powers will not dwindle. I might even be able to guarantee your survival because it is one bubble bath. You can make it, I have faith in you, Frank Castle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles as you stand on your toes to place a quick kiss against his cheek. “Let’s get this over with.”

The triumphant smile on your lips pulls a grin to his.

“I love it when you give me what I want.”

Moving to tug his shirt over his head, Frank begins to undress as you sit the bottle back under the sink. He drops it into your outstretched hand.

“What’s next?” He chuckles as he watches you quickly fold the shirt. “Candles?”

“Of course, what am I? An amateur? Come on.”

“I was kidding,” Frank groans as your fingers interlaced with his.

Frank drags his feet as you lead him into the hallway, his hands finding your waist. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he makes it nearly impossible for you to walk. He presses a soft kiss against your neck, his chin resting against your shoulder as you pause outside of the hallway closet.

Opening the door, you take a moment to study the options listing them off as Frank concentrates on leaving kiss against your skin.

“Pink sands…Mahogany Teakwood...Sandalwood...Amber and Vanilla...Eucalyptus and Siberian Pine....”

When he doesn’t respond, you glance over your shoulder at him expectantly.

His deadpan expression cracks just a little before he huffs.

“Let’s try the Pine one.”

“Eucalyptus and Siberian Pine it is.”

Retrieving the candle, you push it into his hands before shutting the closet and turning down the hall.

Frank’s eyes widen as you disappear around the corner.

“There’s more?”

When you don’t respond, he follows you into the kitchen. His shoulder rests against the wall as you stand on your toes.

“The night is not perfect without.” Rifling through the cabinet, you turn to reveal two wine glasses. “A glass of wine.”

“I’d prefer something a little stronger than that, sweetheart,” he admits as you study the wine rack on your left. “What about that single malt from last time-”

“I thought you were doing this for me.”

You lift the bottle of Pinot Noir. Frank’s eyes roll, but the smile on his lips says it all.

“Trust the process, Frank.”

Frank begins to “trust the process” by focusing on lighting the candle while you cut off the water.

Sitting the candle aside, Frank lets his eyes pass over the ridiculous amount of bubbles on the surface of the steaming water.

“All we need are the rose petals,” you smile as you take in your masterpiece.

Frank chuckles, but the smile on your face makes him wonder if you’re serious.

“Okay, that’s taking it-”

“Kidding,” you smile as your hand finds his waistband. “Now. Get outta these pants, and get your butt in the tub.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Frank concentrates on undressing as you riffle through the contents under your sink. Leaving his clothes in a pile, he steps into the tub before lowering himself into the steaming water.

A sigh of approval escapes his lips as the heat engulfs him.

Even if he doesn’t admit it. The mixture of the heat and the scents swirling in the air force his muscles to relax.

You concentrate on uncorking the wine as he sinks deeper into the water. He rests against the back of the tub, his arms coming up to rest on the sides.

“Your wine,” you smile as you pause by the tub.

Frank accepts the glass, indulging you with a sip. His brow arches as he lets the flavor sink in. Taking another sip, he gives you a nod of approval before nodding towards the sink.

“Find what you were looking for?” He asks as you fill your own glass.

“I did, actually.” The mischievous grin that spread across your face causes Frank to shake his head with a chuckle.

“At this point, I’m fully trusting the process.”

“Good,” you smile as you retrieve a jar from the sink.

Taking a seat on the edge of the tub, you hold up the jar for Frank to read.

“Wild Berry & Honey Yogurt Recovery Mask.”

“Yeah, well maybe you should stop using your face as a punching bag.”

“Trust me, I try and avoid it,” Frank chuckles as you concentrating on applying the mask to his face.

“I’ll put one on too if it’ll make you feel better,” you tease as your fingers brush along the bridge of his nose.

“You could get in here with me,” he speaks quietly, his eyes remaining closed as you apply the remainder of the face mask. “That’ll make me feel better than any of this stuff.” 

“Not yet,” you smile as he releases a huff. “Give me 10 minutes, and I’ll take this off for you.”

Frank settles in.

You’re pretty sure he nearly nods off with each passing minute. If you’d told earlier, Frank wouldn’t have believed that this would work, but the blue loofah you drag along his chest and shoulders lock him in a bubble of comfort. By the time you've removed the excess mask from his skin, Frank's glass is empty and he has a satisfied smile on his face.

“You gonna join me, sweetheart?”

"Depends...if you remember this is your time to relax."

Frank's brow furrow as you remain seated.

"The second you start trying to feel me up I'm getting out." You warn.

"That's the best way to relax," he chuckles as you begin to undress.

"I'm serious, Frank-"

"Yeah, yeah," Frank mumbles, his teasing coming out muffled as he leans over press a kiss against your thigh. A pout sets in as he watches you climb in the tub before moving to rest against the opposite end. Before you can get settled, the water threateningly sloshes as Frank sits up his hands grabbing yours.

"Come here," he adds a "please" when you resist.

You groan as he tightens his grip around your hands, gently pulling you forward. Giggles mask the sound of the sloshing water as Frank’s grip easily lifts you onto his lap. His hand finds the small of your back, his eyes watching as you take a sip of your wine. He leans forward bringing his mouth to your shoulder.

"There," he sighs as your arm wraps around his shoulders. Burrowing his face against the warmth of your skin, he smiles as your fingers toy with his hair. "Much better."

"Glad I could be of service."

Your giggles fill the air as your weight shifts forward. Frank drags your body with him as he rests back against the tub.

"You know,” he starts. He pauses as you take another sip of wine, your brow arching in anticipation. “This...Lavande de Haute stuff ain’t that bad.”

"I hate to say I told you so," you giggle as you set your glass aside. "But-"

"We both know you're the brains of this operation," he mumbles, placing a kiss against your lips.

You lean forward chasing his lips as he pulls away. Stealing a final kiss you allow your lips to press against the bridge of his nose. His eyes drift shut, his body relaxing beneath yours. Your lips travel along the bridge of his nose, passing beneath his eyes. He hums a groan of approval as your kisses move to his cheeks. You repeat the process before allowing your lips to press against the corner of his mouth.

"See what happens when you trust the process?"

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as his hand reaches up to catch the back of your neck. Nodding, he smiles softly as he guides your lips to his.

Your body relaxes against his as you grant him access to the one thing he's been wanting since his arrival. His grip remains firm. One hand pressed against the nape of your neck, his other massaging the curve of your hip. He kisses you softly, his tongue teasing yours until your fingers are knotted in his hair.

"Anything else left in this process?" Frank mumbles against your lips. "Because I'm ready to get you to bed."

[anthonyed]

Hi! If you’re still doing prompts, can you do 49. “Who hurt you?” Or 53. “Who cares about what they think?” + stevebucky?

Anon, I wanted to do both, but I only managed one this time :/ Maybe the second one would be a fluffier Part 2 to this piece in the future. If that happens, I'd rb this with the link (From this list: “Who hurt you?”)

-//-

There’s a boy in his class he’d never seen before. 

Stick-like with dishwater hair and a beak for a nose. He walks around like he’s got the entire world on his bony shoulders; head down, eyes on the floor and he makes sure he’s one with the wall all the time.

Bucky knows it’s not his business, but he knows what a fist to the face tastes like on the tongue, so he makes it his, anyway.

Two weeks into the term, he catches the boy out of the school gate and asks, “Are you new here?”

The boy startles and looks up and - My god! Bucky thinks. 

He’s got the prettiest pair of blue for his eyes and if Bucky had been thirteen, crushing on a boy for the first time, he would have freaked out. 

As it is, he’s 17 and been out for a year now. So he shakes the awe out of his fluttering lashes and puts on his best smile. “Hello, I’m Bucky Barnes,” he says. Hands held out for an offer to shake.

But the boy looks at him then his hand and he looks up again and he mutters, “Keep away from me.”

Bucky has faced rejection a billion times, he’s not a stranger to being shunned because of his sexual preference, but hell. This wasn’t even a come on. He was just introducing himself. And the response he got to that just pisses him off - beautiful boy or not.

“Shit dude, who hurt you,” he scowls. “Here I am offering friendship cause you look like you could use one and - you know what. Fuck you, man. You wanna be alone? Hell if I care.” 

Should have stayed in his lane. Should not have made this boy his business. Should have known he was just like the rest of them jerks.

Except he looks like he’d sucked on a sour candy upon hearing Bucky’s words and he stutters out a soft sorry. “I thought you - you were gonna jump me.”

“Well, I wasn’t, all right,” Bucky sighs, raking his fingers through his hair and it’s kind of awkward. 

But he walks home that day with the boy’s name fresh on his lips and his hand still warm from a shake.

-

Steve Rogers is turning 18 in three months against all odds. Ma seems to tear up more and more leading his birthday and he cannot blame her for that. She’s emotional, and if he wasn’t so hopeless himself, perhaps he’d feel the same.

Living with Cystic Fibrosis sent him to deathbed more than once. He’d greeted the reaper, kissed its hand but every time they thought this was it; he was pulled back to earth once again.

He doesn’t hate life, he just thinks he’s been fated to death since the day he was born.

So he keeps to himself; doesn’t make any connections he cannot afford to sever and kisses Sarah Rogers goodnight before bed like it’s their last goodbye.

But he’s turning 18 in three months and maybe that gives him some hope because he accidentally lets a boy in too deep into his heart.

-

When Bucky first finds out about Steve’s… condition, it’s been three weeks into their friendship, and they’re in a coffee shop sharing a bagel sandwich after their last class for the day.

He’d said something funny and Steve had broken into peals of laughter, grabbing his chest and wheezing from uncontainable joy and for a moment, it was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen. 

And then it was the worst.

He saw Steve collapse right in front of him and ten other people; saw someone call for an ambulance, one of the staff yelled at Bucky about something but he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t compute anything at all.

He froze where he stood; watching Steve die before him.

The paramedics arrived, someone pointed at him, one of the paramedics asked him if he was a friend; he said, yes.

She asked, “Can you tell me what happened?” 

He stuttered, “No. I - He. He’s my friend. But I don’t know what just happened to him. Is he - Is he going to be okay?”

She’d looked at him, first disappointed then sad. She said, “Your friend’s going to be okay. If you want, you can ride along with us.” 

She probably thought Bucky was a bad friend, but she never said that. She showed him the band around Steve’s wrist - which he’d never seen Steve took off, much less asked what it meant; just assumed it was important and left it at that - and told him what it means.

She flipped Steve’s wallet open, pulled out a card and gave it Bucky. “You’re lucky we know him,” she said. 

“Stevie’s a good boy. But he’s very shy, and he’s always kept to himself so, it’s very nice to know he’s been going around making friends.”

Two hours later, he’s still sitting in the waiting room with his hands clasped in front of him, watching two ants carry a bread crumb across the tile between his feet. 

Someone sits next to him; a nurse under her unzipped hoodie she’s got on and when he looks up, she smiles at him.

“I heard you’re Steve’s friend.”

Bucky’s been so tensed for a long time that he chokes on his spit when he opens his mouth. She waits patiently for his cough to subside. Once he can, Bucky rubs his hands over his pants and says, “Sorry. Yeah. I - I’m his friend.” Then he panics, “They said he’s all right and told me to wait here. Is he - Is everything -,”

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” She interrupts him, “Or drink maybe?”

He looks at her then; really looks at her, and he shakes his head. Something about her is too familiar so when she says, “Come,” he went with her.

She brings him to the canteen and buys him a sandwich and bottled water. “Eat,” she says. “If you’re gonna stick around, then you’ll need the energy.”

And that’s how Bucky met Sarah Rogers.

-

Steve is tired most of the time, but when he isn’t, he’s the brightest ball of sunshine. 

His joy made Bucky bloom like Cherry Blossom in Spring. Every single smile and laughter; if Bucky could collect them all in a cup and drink, he would. But even then, he doesn’t think he’d get enough of it.

He loves him.

First as a friend, then as a boy who’d like to possess Steve; keep him to himself; all that smile and happiness, just for Bucky and only Bucky and he would never let anyone take his Stevie from him.

But then, something happens.

He gets invited to Steve’s little birthday party, and he claps as Steve blows out the candles. Hoots the loudest, laughs with Steve’s mom and then at one point, he’s sitting by her side pulling tissues for her to wipe her tears.

The room down the hallway got its door locked with Steve inside it. 

“Sorry,” Mrs Rogers sniffles. It’s the fifth time she’d said it and Bucky has had enough. 

“Seriously,” he tells her. “Stop worrying about it, Mrs Rogers.”

She laughs while a tear runs down her cheek at the same time. “Oh, God,” she sobs. “You shouldn’t be seeing this - Nobody, should be seeing this.”

Bucky keeps his mouth shut and hands over another ply. 

Later that night, lying in his bed in the dark, Bucky thinks about what had happened. About Mrs Rogers kiss to Steve’s forehead, and her harmless words; “You’re growing into a handsome man, darling. Someday, somewhere, you’re gonna break someone’s heart.”

She wasn’t wrong. Hell, Bucky sat there thinking: he’s already breaking mine, Mrs Roger.

But that wasn’t what Steve thought. Whatever he did, it made him very angry. “Stop putting your hopes in me,” he snapped.

His poor ma, stunned, asked, “What?”

“Your hopes, ma,” Steve hissed. “You know none of that would happen. I won’t make it out of school -,”

And right then was when Bucky saw a mother break her own heart. 

Her hand came in a flash, connecting sharp against Steve’s face; the loud slap echoed and the second she realised what she had done, Sarah Rogers cupped her mouth with that same hand - shaking -, her eyes wide in horror and her heart -

Hours later, Bucky could still hear it shatter into a million pieces. He realises too, they never did cut the cake tonight.

-

The next day, he doesn’t see Steve in school. He calls his phone, and calls Mrs Rogers when he doesn’t pick up. Her line goes dead too. 

She texts later. Saying Steve’s in the hospital again. 

Is he going to be okay? - Bucky writes her.

Ten minutes later, his phone flashes with; I don’t know.

-

He’s not okay. 

They’ve got tubes stuffed down his windpipe, bags of fluids going into his veins and he’s looking bloated in the face.

The doctors keep hushing to Mrs Rogers. They tell her things Bucky doesn't understand; big words, complicated medical stuff and Bucky’s not so smart in the brain. He gets by with B in science at the very best. So he fills the chair by Stevie’s side and holds his hand instead.

When Bucky’s ma was around, she used to take him and his sister to Sunday church. She bought for them a bible each and knitted covers out of wool; one blue, one pink for Bucky and his sister, respectively.

After she passed, Bucky gave up faith and his belief. He’s stopped praying at all.

But right now, with the sound of Stevie’s heart echoing in beeps around them, he holds his hand and whispers what he remembers.

-

“He needs a new set of lungs,” Mrs Rogers says. 

Seeing her in the hospital without her uniform on is very jarring. Bucky stares at her fingers curled around a paper cup holding coffee like they held all the answers. 

They told themselves that the chairs in Steve’s room got too hard for their spine, so they’re  in the canteen for better cushioning. 

Truth is, they couldn’t take the silence in there anymore. So they’re out here drowning their sorrow in the most crowded place in the hospital.

“You know, I’m very glad that he met you.” 

Bucky looks up from her hand and meets her watery smile. She sniffles, “He knew he didn’t have a long time. So he walked alone. Never made any friends. I have the suspicion that he hates saying goodbye.”

Bucky’s throat aches so he swallows it down. Sarah Rogers lays her hand over Bucky’s and squeezes. 

“Thank you,” she tells him. “For choosing my son.”

He knows then that she sees right through him. 

“I love him,” he tells her truthfully; his heart too swollen with Steve to hide no longer. 

She gives him another watery smile and pats his hand two short times, “I know.”

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and says, “I never told him that.”

-

If; Bucky thinks.

If he could go back in time, he’d like to go back to the first day he met Steve and ask, “Would you go out on a date with me,” instead of offering friendship. 

Or the first time he walked Steve out of the discharge suit so he could catch his frail hand, then his blue eyes and say, “Be my boyfriend Steve Rogers.”

Maybe a week before Steve’s birthday, when they were sitting in the park, with the late summer breeze caressing their skin and Steve had held his lips pressed the entire time.

They’d only known each other for two-and-a-half months then, but Bucky felt like he’d known Steve his entire lifetime. And he could tell that Steve was upset that evening.

He’d gotten off the phone with his mum that afternoon and back then Bucky didn’t know, but now, he could guess it was probably Mrs Rogers mentioning throwing him a birthday party. 

If Bucky could go back to that evening, he wouldn’t just stop at making jokes for Steve to laugh at. He would take his hand in his and press his mouth to Steve’s cheek. He’d like to tell him, “You’re beautiful” and that, “You take my breath away, Stevie.”

He’d like to tell him in detail just how deeply he was in love with Steve. With the sound of birds chirping overhead and water lapping in the lake, he would like to have kissed the sorrow out of Steve’s lips. 

But time travel is a fairy dream, and as it is for Bucky; he’s just another boy who’d missed his chance.

So he takes what he could get; he hoards minutes he could get with Stevie and treasures them dearly. Especially those without Sarah Rogers hovering by.

He tells him what he thinks; the weather, the new pair of shoes his nurse is wearing today, the little boy with a broken nose that reminded him of Steve and a helluva lot of ‘I wish’-es. 

He tells him: “You taught me how to love selflessly.” Tells him: “I would have given anything to have you beside me, but now I just want you to stop hurting.”

[robrae-headquarters]

Deals with Demons (Damirae)

The ritual was almost complete. Thank the gods, Damian thought to himself as he painted another line on the stone floor. This summoning circle had taken him damn near all day and lots of blood. Fresh blood at that. It was obnoxious to have to kill each raven by hand, even more so to make sure most of the blood got in the obsidian bowl. Damian silently cursed this ritual for being so fucking specific. He had half a mind to do a different one, and he would’ve if he hadn't been so desperate. 

But Damian needed someone strong. Someone undeniably powerful. And he needed them now. 

Once the last symbol was painted Damian wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He proceeded to tidy the room a little as well as clean himself up. If he was about to meet a higher up demon he might as well look presentable. Especially considering the favor he was about to ask. 

Oh fuck, this is an awful idea, Damians thoughts rushed through his head as the last candle was lit. All he had to do was place a ravens’ feather into the circle and wait. He hesitated. Is this really what he wanted? The sting of his back made his choice, and the feather dropped. 

                                                       * * *

Purple light filled the room, followed by black smoke. Damian couldn’t see what had appeared just yet, but he stepped back for good measure. It seemed the more smoke he inhaled, the clearer his thoughts became on how he wanted to go about this ordeal. He was ready to give away whatever was needed to get this done. Anything. When he looked back up, she was there. 

She didn’t look all that grand at first. The shape within the circle mostly looked like a young adult, but slowly he realized she was above time itself. Her stature was medium sized and her whole body was shrouded in a purple and black cloak. The color seemed to shift with the light. What caught his attention most was her eyes, all four of them. They gleamed red beneath the hood. Damian gulped. He knew that was no going back now. 

Slowly he stepped forward, his eyes staying on hers. He knew he was safe as long as the circle stayed as it was, and only he could break it. She didn’t move a muscle. Damian knew it was time.

“Gem of Darkness, I called you here for your services.” Damian spoke steadily, careful not to show any weakness. 

“They always do.” Her voice spoke back to him, smooth as velvet. She almost sounded bored, but the gleam of her eyes told him otherwise. “Tell me, Mister Wayne, what can I do for you?”

His body jerked in surprise. How did she know his name? None of the components of the spell where his nor was anything connected to him. Maybe he’d underestimated the power of this demon. Maybe he was fucked. 

“I want grandfather.. I want him gone.” He struggled to say his wish. It was a hard thing to admit, almost a wrong thing. 

“Is that all?” She spoke it like killing Ra’s al Ghul was a simple feat she could do with her eyes closed. 

“No,” Damian admitted. As if killing his grandfather wasn’t enough, he wanted more. “Take me somewhere else.”

“Where?” The demon replied immediately, not missing a beat. 

“Anywhere. Anywhere but here.” 

“Anywhere is a pretty vague place. I could take you to the pits of hell. Or straight to the Joker. Maybe you want to see good old daddy bat?” A small giggle left her mouth at the last one. His pain was funny to her. A small fist formed at his side, anger flushing his emotions. “Now now, son of legends, do not be so quick to anger. I do not wish to upset you. I only wish you to think about where you want to go carefully.” 

“What game are you playing? It’s unlike a demon to offer helpful tips and tricks about making deals with them.” His anger rose. He hated being toyed with. Absolutely despised it.

Suddenly the room got a lot darker. Black tendrils began to appear from under her as her form rose up. The red of her eyes grew deeper and more sinister. 

“Do you really wish to disrespect my hospitality? After all you ask for? I could smite you right here young Wayne. This circle means nothing to me.” To prove her point the demoness reached out a few of her black tendrils, flicking them at his feet. The seemed to be both oily and solid at the same time. He knew this wasn’t a fight he could win. He didn’t even know if anyone could win against her. Damian dropped to one knee. 

“You are correct, Gem of Darkness. I ask for your forgiveness for my rashness.” The tendrils paused before moving away from him and back into the circle. Damian let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I shall retract one of my requests and only ask that Ra’s al Ghul is taken care of.” He looked down and waited for a response. His brain was already starting a plan of where he would go after this and how he would get himself there, seeing as he no longer had a free ride. 

The demoness was silent for some time. Damian couldn’t decide if that meant she would do his task or if she was debating how to kill him. He hoped for the former. 

“Do you have anything to offer me in return?” Her voice was steady and emotionless. He looked to see her form was back to its original state, except she was levitating in a meditation position. The question surprised him. The subject of payment had slipped his mind since she’d gotten here. Fuck fuck fuck, Damian thought, I am such a dumbass. I am so dead. He stayed silent, not knowing what he could offer that would be worth her time.

Her eyes drooped slightly, as if she was frowning. “Having to come up with my own payment is no fun. There’s no enjoyment if I don’t get to hear you grapple with things to satisfy me. Foolish mortals..” It almost sounded like she was having a small rant to herself. Somehow Damian found this a bit adorable. 

“My payment request is not a small one, mortal. Nor is it one you have to except. I do love a good barter. Anything can be valuable.” She paused a moment, and her eyes flickered black. When she next spoke, her voice was more urgent. “We do not have much time. The Ghul and the Bat both seek your whereabouts and I can only hide us in this state for so long.” Urgency surged through his blood. Whatever she said, he’d agree to. Anything at all. 

“In exchange for the death of Ra’s al Ghul, Damian Wayne must bind himself to me for one year.” A white demonic smile could be seen under her hood. The air in the room grew more intense. 

“Bind? I don’t understand.” His tone was even and she could not detect any fear in his voice. She enjoyed that fact very much. 

“To bind oneself to a demon is to become almost their servant, for lack of a better word. You’ll be with me at all times. Where I go, you go. I may also ask you to do tasks from time to time, or help with my deals and endeavors. In exchange, you inherit some demon powers and some immortality to better help you serve me.” Damian thought it was possible there was some trick to this. But disposing of his grandfather and getting to go wherever? This deal sounded pretty damn good to him.

“Done. I agree to your terms.” Damian didn’t even hesitate to say the words. The time for hesitation was over. “How do I seal the deal?” 

The Gem lifted the hood from her head. She was stunning and Damian couldn’t look away. Her four eyes had melted away to two beautiful amethyst ones that stared at him with curiosity and a hint of lust. Her hair was a purple color. It sat at her shoulders, framing her face in just the right way to show off the angle of her chin. In the center of her forehead was a jewel. It complimented her skin well, which appeared to have a red tint to it in contrast to its paleness. She was exquisite to him, and she knew it. 

“This deal must be sealed with a kiss.” A smirk formed on her lips and gods did he want to kiss them. In the back of his mind he was wondering where this sudden lust had come from, but that didn’t matter right now. Kissing her was the most important thing right now. 

Damian rose from his knee and walked to the edge of the circle, unsure if he should continue forward. The Gem didn’t move an inch, so he decided he must make the journey there. Soon, his feet were within inches of hers, and so were their faces. His heart started pounding.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. Her voice sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted more. 

“Yes.” He replied softly. His eyes flashed to her as she leaned in, placing her lips on his.

                                                    * * *

It hurt. Oh gods it fucking hurt. Every inch of him ached and he felt like his body was on fire. Maybe he died. Maybe it was all just a trick and she’d killed him. 

His theory was disproved when a hand touched his forehead. His eyes shot open and he blinked to clear his vision. In front of him was the demoness, looking just as human and just as beautiful as when he kissed her. 

He appeared to be in a study. The carpet was a dark purple and the wallpaper matched. There were windows and bookshelves covering the walls, with two big plush chairs in the center of the room. One of which he was seated in. A coffee table between them held some pastries and tea. 

“I was worried you were not going to survive the transfer, but you are a strong one.” She smiled at that, as if she were pleased with him. Slowly the aching started to leave. He started to feel better. Stronger. Powerful, even. 

“Is he..” Damian trailed off. He didn’t feel like he needed to ask but something compelled him to.

“A deal is a deal. You wished him gone and gone he is.” Two sugar cubes were dropped into her tea. Then a small drizzle of cream. Sadness nudged his heart but he was quick to forget it. His grandfather wouldn’t terrorize him anymore. 

“How did you manage to kill him? Lots of people have tried and failed.” Damian began to reach for his own tea as well. Tea sounded marvelous to him right now. 

“I have my ways.” She sipped her tea, glancing out the window.

“Where did you leave his body?” Damian inquired, curious as to who would learn Ra’s al Ghul’s fate first. He hoped it wouldn’t be his mother. 

“I thought it would be a nice present for the bat. Sort of a ‘I stole your son so as a consolation prize I’ve brought you a dead enemy.’ I love giving gifts.” She sighed softly to herself, kicking her legs over the arm of her chair. 

Damian was positive that his father would not appreciate the gift. Not that Damian cared, he honestly thought it was a bit funny. A smirk gathered on his face. Her met her eyes as she studied him from across the room. There was something about her that was pulling him in. He wanted to get to know her. Wanted to hear her stories. Maybe even… No, he couldn’t go that far. She grinned, as if reading his thoughts. 

“You are an interesting one, Damian Wayne.” She downed the rest of her tea and got up, conjuring some black magic in her hand. Her second pair of eyes appeared, glowing red. “Where shall we adventure first?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take me somewhere I didn’t even know existed, Gem of Darkness.” Her face soured slightly at the name, and he felt as if he’d done something wrong without knowing. Quickly the smirk returned and she held out her hand.

“As you wish, little bat.” A black portal appeared before them both. “And please, call me Raven.”

                                                    * * *

I hope you all enjoyed this piece of writing! Part two maybe? 👀 - Abbu 

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a week: Chapter 12 🌲

Words:  1972; Warnings: none, unless you want a warning for drinking alcohol, then you have it; Summary: Andrew and Flo have a lovely dinner together.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Monday, 9:30pm

When she opened the door, it took a second for him to focus properly on her features, everything a little blurry with panic, but when he finally did, Andrew almost choked on the breath he was holding. His eyes softened instantly at her, weak beyond explanation, wanting nothing more than to back her against the wall and make her moan for him. She looked like Flo, his Flo, but there was something even more irresistible about her now. The fullness of her lips, the way the satin fabric draped over her body and hugged her, her straight straw hair falling down her back so stark against her pale skin, the way she held herself. He felt his lip trembling, her sharp green eyes begging for his to meet them and when he did, he sighed audibly, then clutched his heart in a dramatic fashion as if he was aching over how good she looked.

“Bloody hell, love…” he moaned, “made me heart stop. Might actually be dead right now.”

“Woodland creatures don’t die, Andy” she laughed instantly, relieved that he had spoken first, his dramatics making her cheeks flush despite the makeup. But it wasn’t just that. She wanted him so badly that it was embarrassing. His hair was slightly more tamed, those luscious curls making him look like a tall cupid, his beard looked more neat now, his lips teasing her with their ever wild smirk. His whole body was tense.

“I mean it” he drawled, “You look, oh fuck, Flo… I, em, I don’t have any words.”

“When you think of some, let me know…” she grinned, stepping close to him to close the door behind her. With her this close to him again, his fingers twitched with a need to grab and hold her hips, to show her just how incredible she really did look.

“I’ll do my best…” he croaked, scratching his neck with his index finger to keep his hands occupied. He licked his lip slowly, not even sure of how long he could keep doing this to himself, her closeness agonizing, the aroma of her perfume hitting him so hard he almost lost his balance.

Flo was drinking him in too, wanting to press her hands and dig her nails into his chest, losing herself in the idea of having him at last, but then the door clicked behind her and they both flinched, broken out of their daze.

“We should go eat…” she said slowly, a fact rather than suggestion.

“Yes, y-yes” he nodded, knowing she was right, taking a step or two back from her so that he could offer his arm, “Let’s go then” she laughed quietly, but took it without second guessing, his little pat on her hand making her stomach flip.

Monday, 9:40pm

For the entire duration of their journey from the second floor to the restaurant, Flo and Andy were quiet, observing each other whenever the other wasn’t looking. But as they entered the restaurant, they were flooded with various scents from the kitchen, which momentarily replaced the hunger they had for each other.

“I am so hungry” Flo groaned, breaking the silence, squeezing Andrew’s arm whenever a waiter carried something delicious-looking past them, the steam rising from the dish wafting in their direction.

“You’re always hungry, love” he chuckled, as they headed further in.

The lady who greeted them was a middle-aged woman with a beaming smile and her blonde hair in a perm. She had a voice that sounded genuinely cheerful, not at all forced, and she looked up as they stopped before her.

“Hello, lovely couple” she sang, “You’re both looking wonderful tonight, do you have a booking?”

“Oh, we’re not a-” Flo began.

“Yes, we’re, em, only friends” Andrew nodded, cutting her off to reassure her that he knew. Flo turned and looked at him for longer than she should’ve, a thankful smile plastered on her face. She knew he was just trying to remind her that he was aware of his place and the gravity of their situation, but there was also something ridiculous about him referring to them as ‘only friends’ out loud.

“Oh, do forgive me” the woman responded and they both turned sharply back to her. “You just look so wonderful together.”

“We’re under my name” he coughed immediately, trying to diffuse the tension, “Byrne.”

She marched them to their table, their arms still linked, Flo swaying against his side comfortably. Their table was a quiet one by the window, with a perfect view of the city by night and in the distance they could both just about make out the hill they’d been sat on earlier that day. Andrew had requested this table specifically, wanting to compare the gorgeousness of the night skyline next to her, knowing that no view would ever compare - not that Flo had to know that. There was a candle lit in the centre, a pristine table cloth underneath it and more cutlery on one table than Flo had ever seen in her life. Andrew insisted on pulling out Flo’s chair himself and she thanked him for it with her eyes, completely melted by how soft he was in that moment.

“Jack will be over shortly with the menus, but can I get you both something to drink first?”

“A Malibu, please…” Flo and Andrew stated at the same time, sharing a knowing smile.

“Very well.”

Neither of them noticed the woman leave. Andrew was busy watching her fuss with her dress. Flo observed his hands smoothing over the white table cloth.

“I like your dress” he announced after a breathless moment.

“Thank you. I like your…” Flo looked up and searched for a word to sum it all up, how incredibly attracted she was to him right now. Then he tilted his head in expectation and she almost lost all her control over the way his neck stretched, “Uhm - I like your… face.”

“Thanks” a little giggle left his mouth.

Monday, 9:45pm

The waiter, Jack, arrived promptly, bringing with him two menus and their drinks. He was a similar age to the pair of them and had an air of youth in his kind eyes, a bronzed skin tone and his hair was styled perfectly. He was broad, with arms fighting against the fabric of his shirt and when he handed Flo her menu, he did a double take, obviously noticing her in a more than professional manner. Flo barely saw the lustful way Jack was looking at her but Andrew did, already willing to fight him for her attention. He coughed, then began speaking with lines from a rehearsed script.

“Good evening, my name is Jack and I’ll be serving you tonight. I’ll give you a bit of time to look over the menus and will be back in a little while to take your order. Please, let me know if there’s anything I can get you.” They both thanked him and with a subtle glare of warning from Andrew, then a polite smile from Flo, he shuffled away again.

“What are you, em, thinking?” Andrew asked almost immediately, his eyes wide with lust over the top of the leather bound menu.

“Oh, I can never decide” Flo sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear as she gnawed at her bottom lip, “I’ve got eyes bigger than my stomach.”

“Oh me too” Andrew replied, taking a sip from his Malibu and enjoying the relief of alcohol to soothe his building frustration, “But, when it comes to sugar I really can’t resist.”

“You’re a dessert person?” She asked, flicking her brows up. There was something so enjoyable about earning from each other, gathering new facts to store away for future reference.

“Oh, yes!” He exclaimed, licking his lips in excitement, “You are what you eat.”

“Hm?”

“Because… I’m incredibly sweet?”

Flo knotted her eyebrows together as she laughed, tipping her head back slightly then found her drink to take a sip, delighted by the taste.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Well, em, you didn’t disagree with me tho.”

Monday, 9:50pm

Jack returned to take their orders and Andrew found it even harder not to react at the way he gawked at Flo when she spoke. He was clearly nervous even talking to her, failing to get his first question out properly.

“What can I give - uh get you to start?”

“Soup, please….” Flo replied cheerily, her head still in the menu, looking up and blinking at the man, waiting for his next question.

“Yeah, me too. Whatever the lady’s having.”

“And then I’ll have the pasta, please. That penne sounds lovely!” Flo closed her menu, patted it with her hand then took another sip from her drink.

“And for you, sir?”

“For me.. em, steak, please, Jack. Medium-rare” Andrew handed his menu back and then Jack, was gone again.

Andrew looked at Flo, glass in hand stamped with her lipstick stain, staring out at the city with wide eyes. The light shone back at her and illuminated her face, the glow of her cheekbones making her seem ethereal and delicate.

“I think the waiter likes you… quite much…” Andrew laughed nervously. Flo shrugged dismissively, too focused on trying to make out shapes in the sky to respond, “He was staring at you, Flo” he continued, the outrageous jealousy lining his stomach failing to settle “…staring at you.”

“Okay, Andrew” she sighed, turning back to him, her features soft and calm. She had an air of being unfazed by it and Andrew’s insecurity told him he made a fool of himself by overreacting. He swallowed, his mouth dry and tried to keep himself from slamming his hand on the table by taking a huge gulp of his glass. He couldn’t help but be fixated on the fact that he couldn’t do anything about other guys looking at her. The truth of it killed him, but she simply wasn’t his to fight over.

Monday, 10:05pm

By the time their first course arrived, both Flo and Andy were ready for more drinks. Flo requested a large glass of moet and Andrew settled for something stronger, their smoothest whiskey. The soup was a pale green-yellow colour, styled with cream and a handful of croutons, topped with a flower as decoration. There was a selection of rolls and butter too and the scent of fresh bread made Flo roll her eyes in pleasure.

“Flowery food, em, well flowers are too pretty to be eaten” Andrew grumbled, picking the flower off between his finger and thumb and wiping it on his side plate.

“What’s wrong with flowers?” Flo chuckled, amused by how childish his actions were.

“I like flowers, but not as food”

“What flavor is it?” She asked, realizing she hadn’t even checked, lifting her soup spoon to her mouth hopefully.

“I have no idea, you’ve chosen it and I just copied you.”

“It tastes like broccoli” she nodded, licking her lips. Andrew took his own mouthful and nodded back in agreement. Flo watched him lick his lips as he brought his roll to them, chewing it with passion, “Have you ever bought flowers?” She asked in the next quiet moment, returning to the previous conversation out of curiosity.

“For a girl?”

“No for your mates…” she joked.

“Yes, I have. I have even handpicked few myself” he mumbled, eating between words. There was another pause. Flo ate, Andrew ate.

“Would you buy me flowers, Andrew?” She asked, a feeble attempt at flirting but one he picked up on straight away. Flo noticed how sheer his shirt was under the light above them, fixated on his chest rising and falling rapidly. He finished the droplets of his Malibu, raked a hand through his hair then replied.

“Naw, I’d grow them for you in my garden.”

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 6 - Shadow

Part 3

Meg, or what Sam thought was Meg, passed in front of the car so he ducked down and waited for her to pass before getting out and following her down a couple of dark alleyways. He wished he didn’t feel so creepy, but such was the job. Every step he took confirmed the suspicions that had slowly been creeping up on him since he’d seen her at that bar.

After a few blocks, Meg passed on old theater and entered a graffiti covered door to what looked like an abandoned warehouse. He allowed the door to shut, waiting a few seconds before he followed after, doing everything he could to remain as quiet as possible. 

When he got inside, he found himself wondering what this place had actually been before it got condemned. Rusty metal surrounded him and the coppery scent of blood filled his nose. Who knew what the fuck had happened in here since it was abandoned? In order to keep out of her line of sight, he found an elevator shaft, at least that’s what it looked like, and cemented his footing, climbing up the rickety metal toward his destination. Each step sounded like a drum to his ears and he cursed himself for being so loud. If she was calling one of those things, he could be dead in an instant.

He kept climbing until he felt like his fingers were going to fall off, but he found renewed vigor when he saw a room with a table in the center - a black magic altar he’d seen many times before. Around the table stood mannequins and rusted bars and barrels full of scrap metal that all left Sam with an immense sense of unease. With rapt attention, he watched her lift a silver goblet and recite an incantation. “I don’t think you should come,” she said. “The brothers, their sister. They’re here. I didn’t know and-“ She got cut off, but Sam couldn’t hear by who. A few seconds later, she assured whatever she was speaking to that she would remain where she was and do as she was asked. “Yes, Sir. Yes, I’ll be there. Waiting for you.”

That couldn’t be the daeva right? Something or someone else had to be giving her instructions and she was using the daeva as a weapon? Whatever was on the other side of that goblet was another wrench in their already unsteady plan.

After ending her conversation, she placed the goblet back on the table and blew out the candles, watching as the wisps of smoke disappeared into the air before leaving.

With the slamming of the door, Sam climbed through a gap in the rusted bars and underneath a hunk of chains to snake his way into the room. The blood and bones and goblet were all there, but this time the symbol accompanied it, the blood still fresh and wet to the touch. “What the hell?”

                                                            ------

Sam bounded back into the motel room in a huff, the door slamming against the wall so loudly it startled Dean and Bobbie mid-conversation. The two elder siblings ran outside, not realizing it was Sam at first. “Dude, I gotta talk to you.” Her brothers said simultaneously. Bobbie had no idea what was going on. Dean hadn’t gotten that far yet.

“Sam, what’d you find?” Bobbie asked. Both of her brothers were in a frenzy – more than usual, so something was out of the ordinary, even amongst the supernatural. 

Meg was calling the daeva. “I knew it,” she spat. “I’ve had a bad feeling about her since we met her.”

“Sam’s got a thing for the bad girl, who would’ve known?” Dean teased, hissing as Bobbie smacked him on the back of the head. “What was that for?”

“Not the time, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes, pacing the floors from the window to the bed as Bobbie and Dean walked around in other directions, all so full of nervous energy that it was either pace around the room or go out guns a blazing and shoot something. “What about the silver bowl?” Dean asked. “What was that about?”

“It was like a witch with a crystal ball. She was talking to someone or something through it.”

“The daeva?” Bobbie stopped in her tracks, muscles tight as her mind moved faster than her body could comprehend.

Sam shook his head. “No. They’re brutal, no holds barred. Whatever she was talking to was someone giving orders, someone she cared about or looked up to. There was a reverence in her voice. And whoever it is will be at that warehouse.”

Just as Bobbie was about to ask Dean what he was planning on telling her before, a look of recognition flashed across his eyes. He bolted across the room to the files he’d somehow gotten from the police officer he drank under the table earlier in the week. “Shit.”

“What?” She and Sam asked simultaneously.

He’d pulled a favor with her – what that meant Bobbie didn’t want to think about. “We missed a connection between the first two victims.”

Sam and Bobbie sat across from him, pulling the files toward them. Bobbie did a double-take between the files and her brother before he spoke. “Where was the first victim from?”

Scanning his files, she saw two words that made her stomach sink: Lawrence, Kansas.

Meredith was adopted and she’d been born in Lawrence too. “What the hell does this mean? Could they have something to do with Mom?”

“Possibly,” Sam sighed, his eyes fixed far off in the distance. He wasn’t allowing the information to penetrate, but not in the same way Bobbie was. She could feel an overwhelming sense of dread, but Sam…he had a hint of hope about him – like this could all be over soon. She only wished she could have his hope. “Meg could’ve been talking to the demon that killed Mom…”

Bobbie placed her head in her hands and swallowed the urge to scream. Granted, she wanted to find the thing that killed their mother, but getting close had always seemed impossible. “But how do the daevas fit in?”

“No clue,” Dean said confidently. “But I say we go trash the alter, grab Meg and get the information we need out of her.”

“We can’t. She can’t be tipped off. Especially if she has the power of these daevas on her side.”

When Dean found the information originally, Bobbie had delved deeper. Sam was right. Going after these things all gung ho was a mistake that would get them all killed, even if her overwhelming desire at the moment was to shoot something. If the daevas or Meg had any knowledge of what killed their mother, she wanted it writhing and bleeding and screaming for relief under her fingertips, but she wouldn’t be able to make that dream come true if Meg was tipped off and fled. And if her brothers were hurt in the crossfire it wasn’t worth it. “We need to know what’s showing up to met her.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Dean paced the room yet again. “If this is actually connected to Mom, we shouldn’t do this alone.”

Bobbie knew what he meant, but she had zero interest in talking to their father – not with how he’d left things recently, or ever really. “You call.”

Without another word, she left the room, tears stinging at her eyes as she tried to focus. Sam followed close behind. They needed to start raiding the trunk of the car. None of them really had an idea of what they were up against.

                                                            ------

Upstairs, Dean dialed John’s phone number again, unsurprised when it went straight to voicemail. “Dad, I’m in Chicago with Bobbie and Sam. The thing we’re up against…” he hesitated, not believing that they could possibly be this close. “We think it might have something to do with Mom. 1435 West Erie. There’s a warehouse there. Please…if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.”

As he hung up the phone, he wondered what would happen if he did get the message, his mind wandering to what Bobbie would do when she saw him again. She was so full of rage and while he was mad, he didn’t understand the depth of Bobbie’s anger for him.

When his brother and sister returned, Dean shook the uncertainties from his mind, astounded at the sheer amount of weapons they’d brought up. “Got enough? Overcompensating maybe?” Trademark deflection by Dean.

“We have no idea what we’re going up against,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “We should be ready for anything.” He didn’t want this life, but he had great intuition for it. “We have holy water, any weapon we could think of that might even do damage if not kill, exorcism rituals from nearly six different religions. If we don’t know what to expect, we should expect everything.”

All three of them delved into the horde of weapons, cleaning out barrels and ensuring that none of them were stuck. Safeties needed to be off. They needed everything taken care of beforehand. In the midst of it all, there would be no time.

Silence passed between them, the streets outside buzzing with people but bathed in a serene moonlight – like them, world alight with uncertainties and possibilities yet surrounded by the blissfully ignorant. “Big night,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “Nervous?”

Dean avoided looking at either of them but emphatically denied being nervous in the slightest. “You?”

“No.” Sam’s voice went an octave higher than it would normally. He was full of shit. They both were.

When they glanced her way, she spoke her truth. “Of course, I am. And you’re both fucking idiots if you’re not. I raised you better than that.” She wasn’t about to debate with them now – make them admit that they were in fact nervous – they had too much on their plates right now. If they lived through this though, Bobbie planned on having a good talk with them both. Strength wasn’t the absence of fear, it was resistance in the face of it. They were afraid, but neither wanted to admit it out loud.

“What if we found this thing tonight?” Sam asked, a smile crawling across his face.

Dean clicked back the barrel of the gun he was holding and switched it out for another. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“But seriously, imagine it,” he breathed. “We would find this thing tonight and it’d be over. I could go back to school and start living a normal life again.”

Normalcy was all Bobbie wanted for him, but she wasn’t so naïve to believe it could be true. “I’d sleep for a month.”

“That too. Then I’d go back to school.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably where he stood. She had Dean wanted the best for Sam, but more than any of them, Dean really held onto the good memories, the times where they felt like family, and he wanted that again. When he hunted with his siblings, he was in his element. “You wanna go back to school?”

“Yea, of course. What’ll you do when this is over?”

“It’s never gonna be over,” Dean replied. “There’ll always be something to hunt.” Sam turned toward Bobbie to try and get her to knock some sense into him but all she could do was shrug. Knowing what they knew, she couldn’t sit back in good conscience while people got hurt; it didn’t matter if she deserved normalcy just as much as her brothers.

Sam couldn’t understand. Maybe his brother and sister were just older so everything felt more ingrained, but he wanted to be normal again. He’d had it and it was glorious. “But there has to be something you want for yourself-“

“Yea, what I want is for you to leave after this is all over.”

“What’s your problem?”

A tear sprang to the corner of Bobbie’s eyes as she continued to fiddle with the guns. They only had each other. Why did they always have to fight? “Why do think we drag you around everywhere?” Dean asked, his knuckles turning white against the grip he had on the dresser. “Why do you think Bobbie and I came to get you at Stanford?”

“Because Dad was missing. Because you wanted help finding the thing that killed Mom.”

“Yea, but it was more than that.”

Bobbie prayed that Dean would actually tell Sam the truth. It probably wouldn’t change anything because if there’s anything a Winchester was it was stubborn, but keeping it all in was bound to make him explode sooner rather than later. “Me, you, Bobbie, Dad…we’ve been through crap, but we’ve had good moments. We could have those again. We could be a family again.”

Bobbie cursed their father for his vendetta. If he’d just let it go, they could’ve had a family – the normal life that Sam wanted, the family moments that Dean deserved. The idea of what could’ve been had it not been for John made her blood boil and she cursed the world that she still loved him.

“We are. But we can’t be what we were before.”

“We could be,” Dean said dejectedly, swallowing against the knot forming in his throat.

Sam’s memories were much more tainted. “I don’t want them to be the same. I’m not gonna live this life forever. Once this is over, you’re gonna have to let me go.”

Dean would fight it. Bobbie would do as he asked, but that didn’t mean she’d like it.

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[occupyvenus]

Deus Ex Machina to the rescue!!!

!!!This post will contain some spoilers from the leaked episode 6 AT THE VERY END. I will put those under a cut and warn you before I get to them You can safely read until that point as long as you are caught up on 7x05!!!

As a book-reader ooc-disease and not giving a shit about the setting and rules established in asoiaf upsets me. But I can kinda live with that, it’s an adaptation and has to be changed for mass-appeal. I’m not happy about it all, don’t get me wrong, but I can simply take the show as a simplified fanfiction-version of the book series. 

But what really pisses me off as a mere show-watcher(!) is that Douchebag&Dipshit have been creating fake tension by ex machina-ing the shit out of the series since season 6. It’s bad writing in any show or movie, but it’s especially appaling here, because that’s exactly what the show is NOT SUPPOSED TO BE. This is connected to them not working with the source material anymore, but it mostly shows how bad story-writers they themselves are. 

For those of you who don’t know what “deus ex machina” means, here are some lines from wikipedia: 

The term has evolved to mean a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the inspired and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Its function can be to resolve an otherwise irresolvable plot situation, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or act as a comedic device. 

It is generally deemed undesirable in writing and often implies a lack of creativity on the part of the author. The reasons for this are that it does not pay due regard to the story's internal logic (although it is sometimes deliberately used to do this) and is often so unlikely that it challenges suspension of disbelief, allowing the author to conclude the story with an unlikely, though perhaps more palatable, ending. 

To put it in simpler terms: It’s when some random bullshit happens to get our protagonists out of a tricky situation. It’s strongly connected to the term “plot-armour”.

It’s a plot device tv-watchers and moviegoers are so used to that we are expecting it every time our protagonists are in danger. “He’s the main character. He can’t die.” *Some bullshit happens* “See? Of course he didn’t die.”

We all expected some deus ex machina to swoop in and save Ned from the executioner's block, Robb and Cat at the Red Wedding and Jon when he was stabbed by his brothers. But it didn’t come. That’s what made these events so shocking and surprising. Because they went against our expectations, acquired after consummating hours of mainstream-media, completely. That’s what made GoT famous and shocking and fresh. Everyone was in danger, everyone could die, because grrm and GoT DON’T DO DEUS EX MACHINAS. If you can’t find a solution that has been carefully set up, there probably is none and our characters are fucked. Not only are Dickhead&Dumbass ruining the characters and the world-building, they are ruining the core narrative concept of what made this show so successful. Turning it into a 0815, predictable, action, fantasy TV-show. 

Having one every now and then is fine, but if it happens too often ... you stop giving a shit about what happens on screen. Because why should you be scared for a character if he gets out of every situation somehow anyway? It’s bad writing if you resolve most conflicts with it. Mostly because it happens because the author wanted it to happen, not because it makes the most sense within the story. You might not be aware of it, but your brain is. 

All of this wouldn’t bother me if this was about anything else, but again: THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT GOT IS NOT MEANT TO BE. THE SERIES IS FAMOUS FOR NOT BEING LIKE THAT. 

I’ve been scratching my head to think of a real, obvious deus ex machina moment prior to season 5 or 6. If you can name one please let me know. The thing coming closest to it might have been the wildfire-trick in the battle of blackwater, but it doesn’t really fit the bill because Aerys and the pigshit were properly established before it was used. Stannis attacking the Wildling camp might come pretty close, but we knew that Stannis received the letter from the Night’s Watch and we knew that Melisandre cares about the all the stuff happening beyond the wall. 

There are a few events that have some characteristics, but I can’t come up with a single instance really worthy of that title from previous seasons, but a handful from season 6 and season 7. That’s not good

Here are a couple of Deus ex machinas from season 6 & 7 I can come up with from scratch (7x06 under the cut): 

Brienne saving Sansa and Theon from the Bolton men.

Brienne missing Sansa’s candle in the broken tower is like the opposite of a deus ex machina. Some random bullshit happens in the perfect moment for our heros to miss something important. 

Benjen - the ex machina - Stark saving Meera and Bran. 

The Knights of the Vale ride in to ex machina the shit out of the battle of the bastards. 

Lady Crane can stitch up a bunch of really deep stab-wounds once Arya reaches her. You know Arya should be dead, right? 

Sam healing Jorah by following the instructions in a fucking book. 

Both Bronn and Jaime getting away from the Field of Fire unscared because they jumped in a fucking river. 

I’m sure there are more, but those are the ones that come to mind right away.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!! SPOILERS FOR 7x06 AHEAD !!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You wanna know why everyone but Thoros got out of that stupid wight hunt alive? Why the only human characters dying by the hands of the Dead were nameless side-characters no one gives a shit about? Because this fucking episode was littered with ex machinas of variable sizes and proportions and the GoT-characters have apparently achieved plot armour by now. Thoros himself isn’t even an important side-character. He’s not on the same level as Tormund or the Hound. Fuck, all beloved characters made it out of this shit alive. What the fuck. What am I even watching anymore. 

Thoros gets bitten by giant undead ice bear??? He dead. But wait, what’s this? Beric to the rescue !!!! He did die later, so this might not count, but I’ll keep it in because it perfectly portrays how all the fight scenes this episode went down.

Tormund almost gets killed by Wights. I was pretty sure that’s it for a second, they’re going to drag him underwater, I was already writing his eulogy in my head but ... what’s that? Hound to the rescue!!!!

The D flying in to save them all on her dragons. Just when all seemed lost, after the army of the dead was hold off for the perfect amount of time. Dragons to the rescue!!!!

Jorah almost falls down from the dragon? Somebody (forgot who... the hound again?) to the rescue !!!!

Benjen literally only shows up to ex machina Jon out of that situation. Them meeting had no other purpose, didn’t further the plot in anyway, didn’t achieve anything at all, but to create some cheap cheap tension, resolved within a heartbeat by another fucking ex-machina. They wrote him into that scene for the only purpose of being a fucking deus ex machina. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was *this* close to crying when he showed up, what have they done to this show? What Jon got separated from the group, he has to get by on his own beyond the wall? Don’t worry, EX MACHINA UNCLE BENJEN TO THE RESCUE!!!! Jon could have just get on that fucking dragon with anyone else, wouldn’t have made any difference. 

While we’re at it: Them finding a single, lonely white walker talking a handful of wights for a walk in the park was ex-machina-ish as well. How will the catch a wight? Oh look, a manageable amount has split from the massive army for whatever reason. And when Jon kills the WW all but one drop dead. When they only need one. How convenient. How very fucking convenient. 

If this was still the Game of Thrones we grew to love in the first seasons, most of these characters would be dead. Tormund would be dead, the Hound would be dead, Gendry would be dead. Hell, I was hoping that the Hound would die and Beric would give him the last kiss to bring him back to life or some other shit like that. Giving their “why are you still alive you asshole?” conversation from episode 1 some depth. But no, all main-ish characters have plot-armour now, tell me why I should give a shit about any of this anymore? 

It’s pretty obvious what their thought process was... Well, someone has to die. First the Wights can pick off all nameless dudes, you know so the audience knows this is serious business .... but someone with a name ...Not Jon, obviously. Not Jorah either, we just brought him back and he still has that Samwell Tarly, the-D-burned-the-father-and-brother-of-the-man-who-saved-his-life issue to sort out, he also has *whatever role* to play in the future.... Tormund? No, people love Tormund. He’s funny. But make it look like he’s going to die because of the “tension”. Gendry? We just brought him back and *some bullshit still has to happen with him*... Leaves us with The Hound, Beric and Thoros. mmmhhhh��

They picked Thoros, because they knew that the audience cares about him the least. That’s why HE had to go. It’s shitty writing and it’s only one of the reasons ( the fucking stupid plot itself, the fucking stupid starkbowl and the fucking stupid targcest ... though I still have hope that the later two are bait-and-twist’s) why this episode sucked balls. It was a nonsensical, badly written piece of shit hour of television. I can’t even tell you how disappointed I am in the show right now.

Seriously this episode followed the most simple action-movie-climax pattern there is: Main character and a bunch of main-ish characters go on a dangerous mission. All extras die. Least interesting main-ish side character dies for a tear inducing scene. Rest of the characters all get super close to dying at one point, but get safed in the last second. puuuhhhh that was close. They get into a hopeless situation they could never get out of by themselves or in any other conceivable way. A really powerful semi-ally, whose trustworthiness or availability was unclear until now, flies in (literally this time) to save them in the last minute, just when all seems lost. Earning their trust and coming on board with their cause in the process. Hero wants to sacrifice himself, but gets out alive because of some bullshit. Shows up at the very end, when everyone else thought he was dead and were about to leave. They ultimately accomplish their goal. End with a “romantic” - ugh - scene. 

Cut. 

Bullshit.