#gravegotten

[cainevesson]

New Orleans. A beautiful patch of earth that Cain frequents lately due to a self-given mission of wiping out a certain clan of vampires. Today, in between all the strategy forging, he decided to walk down its streets just for the sake of taking in its sights. He's been here before, years ago. When relapse into the curse he no longer bears now led him here to chase down some targets. But amongst numerous people filling the sidewalks, although it's not too crowded, he slows down upon sensing a different presence. Death, but not.

The strangeness knits his brows together until his gaze lands on a young lady, thin and tall, carrying an air he's been too familiar with for centuries. Does he stare? He wouldn't know. It's with the ringing of a nearby shop's door bell that a pang rips through his chest; shrill like an accusation the noise echos in his head. Memories flash back. Cain saw her before. That same bell sounded when he...

His face blanks, guilt weighs in his stomach with a suddenness that almost makes him to fall onto his knees. Because that woman, for all he can tell, was never a target and yet— Of course he resists the pull. His mind waging war against itself on whether to approach her or not. Does she see him? Does she recognize her murderer?

STARTER CALL // @gravegotten OBJECT OR THEME OF CHOICE: bell

[nichtsehen]

"STOP PUTTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER!" PROMPTS | accepting

"you're not even slick." | @gravegotten

"I don't need to be slick." Teeth snapped the dental floss gifted by the house, and Bern worked on knotting the improvised stitches. "Worst case, I get a twelve hour reanimation nap and a free trip to Maine. Everyone wins."

It wasn't a coincidence that the alarming insurgence of if I die, I die, came on the heels of a terminal diagnosis for their battered angel. Castiel's borrowed grace was burning out, and he was burning out with it. So, his guardian's missions had gotten more and more risky. More dangerous. There was no secret what the tiny glowing blue bottles that lined the inside of their coat were for—it was medicine for the Seraph. To keep him going a little longer. Problem was, you couldn't buy it at Walgreens, it had to be taken from a vessel. Bern had spent weeks tracking down angels, and using their warped syringes to siphon bits of grace. Not all of it, never all of it, but enough.

Their last quarry had put up a hell of a fight, and Bern was lucky to have escaped alive.

"Your house must like me, this is the good fucking floss." Final knot tugged into place signaled a job well done. "I could sew an arm back on with this shit."

[niratias]

Smash or pass (I have never been able to resist how funny these are so Throwing this one to Mox and Steve)

Mox squints. Picks at a cuticle. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

"...Yeah, okay. Smash. Once. Then we'll see from there. I don't know about all of this." Smart of one very mortal gangster to have some doubts. The doubts won't win. Hs dick will.

Steve looks like he just got told he won the lottery.

"Wait, me? She asked for ME?" He shakes his head no, then stops, shakes it yes. "Uh. Okay. Sure! She looks like one of those freaky goth chicks. Am I going to die in a basement?"

smash or pass: chaos edition

[griimkiid]

great. this was just perfect. exactly what was desired actually.

a begrudged sigh escaped the small boy's frame, eyes adjusting to the dark space. cautious hands extended outward, searching for the limits of this confined area. it wasn't very big. were he of taller stature, this would feel like a tomb.

this was his fault really. a stretching of abilities that were clearly out of reach. perhaps this served as a facsimile to training a muscle. perhaps next time would be more...successful. one could only hope. that would be a thought held for later. the current issue of confinement needed to be addressed.

finding what seemed to be the thinnest part of this unknown structure, he began to knock. were this a foreseeable outcome, this trip would have been taken during the day. his only hope was that this was a well travelled part of the city. if not, then he might be here a while.

@gravegotten

[fracturedlayers]

𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . | accepting

o8﹕ sender  shows  up  at  receiver’s  home  late  at  night . | @gravegotten

Bobby was still up. Slept less and less every year, even more so after taking a bullet to the dome. It grazed him, sure, but deep enough that he'd spent a hell of a stint in the hospital. Recovered fine physically, but he'd left those sterile walls to find his world turned inside out. Dean trapped in Purgatory, Bern dead. Sam offered his apologies and RAN. Bobby loved that boy, but he was still livid that he LIED. Purgatory coughed up Dean a year later, and coughed up Bern a year after that. Not dead, but trapped, because Sam didn't want anyone in his shrinking family to crack open that wretched doorway again.

The hunter's head snapped toward the entrance, a hand reaching for a shotgun until he saw the familiar tall and red-haired silhouette of Lucy. His heart jumped into his throat for a second, because someone walking in with a glaring absence at their side usually meant one thing. Problem is, Bern can't die. And the look on her face didn't spell grief. Bobby heaved a hell of a sigh, scrubbed a hand down his face, and gestured toward the stash of liquor on the opposite wall. "... Can't promise I got anything to your liking, but help yourself. You actually travel, or did you just pull that magic door shit?"

Much like Lucy's home, Bobby's was a mirror. Once a gorgeous farmhouse, most of the fixtures original. What hints of wallpaper one could see had once been cheerful and feminine, a loving compromise with his wife, painstakingly put up to make her happy. Clearing a space to observe it now would reveal the print faded and dulled. Like her memory. In her absence, obsessive paranoia had closed in, like a fog descending into a low-lying town. Shelves that had once held trinkets were stuffed with books of lore. Every flat service was drafted and ready to fight the silent war that followed her death. Knowledge, guns, knives. The armoire that once contained recipe books and photographs was now an apothecary of spell components and their descriptions. Bit by bit, the house had become Karen's bones. An exposed rib cage filled with everything Bobby could have used to save her.

"How bad is it?" He poured himself a glass of whiskey, and gestured toward the couch for Lucy to sit. "Haven't seen Bern in weeks. I can't convince that kid t' come home."

[sluaghter]

@gravegotten asked: ❛ you’re safe with me. ❜ 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (accepting)

The bell rings seven o’clock. At this time, desk jockies have begun clogging the city’s arteries. The morning news is winding down with a feel-good story of a girl scout. This woman has dog tail curls of Ariel hair and barely fills the narrow space between the pews. Past the window, brightened with baby powder sprays of vitamin D, is a cemetery.

He looms at the lectern.

“And what will you save me from,” he asks her. He’s folded the arms of his glasses. “The rain. Loneliness. What I keep inside myself.” His mouth bends, a trick of the eye. “Am I weak and needy. Will you deliver me from the hand of the wicked.”

[createdestroyrepeat]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒 for Lucy, Gabe and Sam

Lucy - Smash in the beginning and smash now, but she'd have more fun and be more respectful in present day, with the caveat that Lucy would be side-eyed by every single person they know for it. This wouldn't stop her. (The middle period is a smash also but they were both too busy dying and experiencing The Horrors)

Sam - Smash, obviously. There's no way it wouldn't be a good time, and Sam falls into the necessary 'smart and knowledgeable about ancient being-related consequences' buckets so she wouldn't even feel weird about it. She does have Sam draw up a prenup as a bit and Sam probably gets a monthly allowance out of it, even though they only hookup the once. (Second option - incredibly funny fwb potential where they keep rescheduling their hookups and never once actually have sex)

Gabe - Hear me out; she rocked his world one time in a past life and doesn't remember it but any time they see each other she flirts in a way that accidentally & convincingly implies that not only does she remember but that she's angling for round 2. If that life ever gets brought up she says very sincerely that it must be one of those lives whose memories were lost. Smash with a side of moral conundrum

[nichtschaden]

Supernatural verse starters | accepting

liked for a starter | @gravegotten

It was by chance. By complete chance. Blink, and he would have missed it. It had been weeks ago, but he couldn't get the face out of his head. Out of his mind. It lived there with its own private zipcode, and he hadn't had time to do anything about it. There was a plane to catch, and all Fritz could do was turn his head and watch two people enter a home from the window of a car.

Weeks later, and there he was, at the front door of that house. Mouth dry as he made himself knock. He had to know. He had to put it to bed. If he was wrong, it was a second vacation in a place that threatened to steam his German skin right off. The stranger Lucy opened the door to was taller than her by several inches. Ice blue eyes behind aviator frames. Pale skin and black hair. "Hi. Sorry to bother you," his words carried a light German accent, and it was a genuine fight not to try to look past her into the home, "but I'm looking for someone, and I think she was here last month. About this tall," he held his hand more than a foot below his, "skinny, brown hair mostly shaved, fair-skinned. I think she was in jeans and a red plaid shirt. I-I don't know what her name is, but it's important that I find her."