Interview Vampire Daily
d e v o n
Misplaced Lens Cap
Noah Kahan
One Nice Bug Per Day
if i look back, i am lost
Not today Justin
Keni
No title available
pixel skylines
YOU ARE THE REASON
Show & Tell
macklin celebrini has autism
Today's Document
roma★
🪼
tannertan36
#extradirty
Game of Thrones Daily
Cosmic Funnies
seen from United States
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@sweetxrelief
You're certainly better looking than the last time I saw you.
"Well things change. I was at a low point in time."
"Well I think I like this look best, you keeping it?"
"It is not a true form but it is one I wear often. You've just only now been graced with it. ...The answer is yes."
♔ :Finding your muse wearing their clothes [oops help my hand slipped]
Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following for my muse to respond to…
It’d been a long fucking day running around for Yakavetta like a chicken with his fucking head cut off. But stumbling into his own apartment, seeing Death wearing nearly every fucking clothing item he owned, was a mixture of emotions. One, confusion, how in the fuck had he gotten in there? Two, angry because he’d have to put all that shit back together and he absolutely hated to do laundry. Three, a bit fucking funny to see such a small man being weighed down by all his clothes. Four, a little impressed due to his persistence.
“Tha fuck d’ya think you’re doin?”
There is no real reason as to why Thanarius has taken to poking around in the Italian's home. Curiosity, more than likely. Something that always seemed to get the better of the creature. Death still understood very little about the world's objects and he has found some questionable looking metal circles connected by a chain in a sock drawer. Of course that was not his concern. Clothing seemed to be of interest and its not before long that he is standing there in lays.
A sheepish smile is given to Rocco when he returns home and asks the question. That is before Death vanishes and the clothing all flops to the ground in a pile. Then he is beside the Italian.
"I was just curious. You wear strange things."
You're certainly better looking than the last time I saw you.
"Well things change. I was at a low point in time."
"Their blood is on my hands."
Sentence Memes [Death/Loss Edition]
"Death…. we really goin’ t’ have this fuckin’ conversation?"
"You have that look again -- like it was your fault this happened. I am simply telling you facts so you will stop looking like a kicked puppy. Their blood is on my hands, not your own."
"It is not your time."
Well. He’s not wrong. Not that Sam can see that. No. He’s far too focused on how he’s failed to find Crowley, to save Dean. He’s too set in his ways, needing punished for what he couldn’t do. To finally do what he was supposed to do years ago.
"The last time we spoke, you agreed that if you took me yourself, you’d make it final. The last time, no one could save me. I know I changed my mind… the circumstances… they were complicated. You’re here. You can take me… I want to go. I want you to reap me.”
Words are spoken as though by the whisper of wind as the being remains utterly still. He is staring -- watching. The Winchesters are always something of a marvel to behold. He often lingers around them just to watch. Dark tendrils shiver and the smoke around him shifts until it is a low fog on the ground beneath feet. Sam speaks but Death remains silent for a long moment. He is calculating. Requests such as these cannot just be done on a whim. There are cogs already working and if one falls away, chaos could erupt. After a moment there is a slow blink and his head tilts slightly.
"It is not your time."
Repeated with finality laced in with the sentence. "I cannot do what you ask. The time has passed and you must wait. There is still much for you to do in life."
I spent a while looking for you! When I first joined tumblr I saw that gif of Norman with the wings springing from his shoulders and I have been looking for it again since then, that image really caught my soul it's just beautiful and I love it! thank you!
WOW! I wish tumblr would have told me this was here. I am so GLAD that you enjoyed it so much. I am sorry it took me forever to get back to you. This muse is very fickle but oh gosh, thank you <3
Grief | Van & Death
Van’s anger suddenly swelled at the creature’s words. “Man that’s some bullshit! Who the fuck are you to say that?” He started forward, stomping towards the figure but slowed the closer he got as he noticed the smoke and the way the atmosphere was heavy around them. He stopped a few feet away from the figure and got a good look at him. The eyes seemed to burn into his skin and see right through him. It made him feel naked. And afraid. Suddenly he was terrified, rooted in place. “Who-” he tried, barely able to breathe. “Who the fuck are you?”
The shout comes and the stalk forward but the creature does not move and only stares. He is ready to slink away if yelled at again but the changes is swift. The boy has suddenly stopped and now all Death can feel radiating from him is fear. He has now cleared his mind enough to notice the inhuman aspects of the creature before him. Tendrils shift towards the ground slightly as he blinks at the young man. "Death." he simply states with no qualms as to why he shouldn't tell him. "It is na' bullshit. I see all when their times 'ave come -- it was not yer fault."
living dead // marina and the diamonds
everyday i feel the same stuck and i can never change sucked into a black balloon spat into an empty room
The words pouring from those lips come to an unceremonious halt when, suddenly, there he is. Exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him — which had been far too long. Everett’s memories as a god, once vivid in colours and accuracy, are now faded. Blurred like looking through lenses not your own — shapes and people moving out of focus and at a speed he cannot keep in time with.
But Death? Death has always stayed so vivid in his head. Even in his puny mortal mind, he could remember every detail.
The breath is stolen from lungs at the abrupt sight of him and for a moment Everett believes he is only imagining him again. The tendrils of smoke twine around his own wisps of mist, though less visible now that he has stopped moving and they seep back into his body again.
He can’t talk — can’t form a single sound despite the amount of noise he was making mere seconds ago. Silver eyes pale even further and pupils widen, face blanching of all pink hues as he just... stares.
When that phantom of a touch is felt against his jaw, his breath is gifted back to him again and it comes out in a heavy exhale. Fire and ice race through his veins and a feeling he knows all too well stirs him, takes his attention away from Death to glance down at his own body.
And suddenly the colour is back on his cheeks like wildfire and he’s backing away. He’s actually walking away from the creature he’s begged for so long to make an appearance, awkwardly and quite frantically tugging down on the hem of his baggy t-shirt.
The creature remains motionless save for the fingers that ghost along the skin that burns wildly under his cold touch. He stares unblinking at the once god with fixed attention that refuses to waiver. Even as Everett's own gaze shifts away once breath washes across Death's face. He breathes it in despite not needing it -- he wants it. To capture and hold it within his lungs.
He wants to speak but cannot find words. Nothing would be good enough. An apology would mean nothing, a waste of words that don't matter because he's done something that cannot be forgiven. The being grasps this concept in full but he cannot take back those actions. He has regrets, though little is the list -- this particular situation he has put the two in is most certainly at almost the top.
Cheeks burn a violent color, noted by the creature as he continues to stare. When the immortal pulls away, Death's features remain blank. He doesn't understand. Not at first as he watches Everett shift and move. Then he understands the atmosphere around them and his tendril slink closer to his own form, shaking and moving in a strange fashion. The other -- Death is the reason, he cause that reaction.
He tries not to be pleased with himself, but he truly cannot help it. He always did like Everett after all.
"—Take them like you took me!" And it goes on— as it always does. The same words in a different order every time.
"Tear them away from their families! From their friends! You do that, not me! Not me!” Crimson is kicked up under those feet as he storms around the room, chooses a different wall to scream at, staining his own jeans and the floor they drag along.
There’s a momentary pause, and it’s mostly because Everett has run out of steam. It takes less and less time for him to wear himself down these days, but now and then he’ll find the effort to scream for hours. Other times he won’t scream at all. Won’t make a sound.
Hands are gripping at the fabric of the too-big shirt covering his chest, clenched into tight fists and it starts again. The same words, but louder, a chanting of ‘not me! This was you! All you!' and 'you can’t even show yourself!' filling the otherwise lonely, empty air.
His rage is understandable. There are things that Death has taken some time now to grasp and emotions are some of them. Very few still confuse him but several he has come to adapt even for himself. While anger is not something he experiences often -- he still recognizes it very well. Eyes blink and he listens to the shouts. Everett is livid though he has every right to be. Death took him away -- just like the being does with everyone else. Everett is moving here and there while all the creature can do is follow in stride. Of course he keeps just a short distance but it hardly even matters. The other could go straight through him without even knowing. Which he has done many times before. Something about now is different. Death stands before Everett, face to face, so close they could touch. And then -- there he was. Exposed in full with dark smokes of wisps whirling around them. His eyes are right on Everett, unneeded breath washing over that face he has come to know very well. He doesn't say anything but he wants to make it better, doesn't know how. Maybe with touch. Its something he as never done before, never touched the skin of Everett, but he has always thought about it. A boney finger stretches out to brush gentle against a heated jaw -- one attempt at anything to make it better.
"You’re the only one who still wants me around."
