#notthedyingtype

[choserage]

" past lives are dangerous places to revisit. " - alex @ ana

@notthedyingtype | inbox.

             the irony of the statement's not lost on her, though the taste in her mouth the words bring is far from pleasant. she's had many past lives. the perks of being immortal, yet it doesn't feel like one. more like a curse when the memories have a tendency to resurface at inconvenient times.           her revisits are never intentional. it doesn't take much to take those walks down memory lane, the path well-worn. familiar and filled with more than just regret and suppressed fury. all of it locked away so she can pretend they're forgotten.                  nostalgia isn't a friend.

      "that's why i don't. i've learned that if you bury your past self in a shallow grave, it doesn't require much digging."             she'll be the first to admit she's guilty of holding that shovel a little too tightly, searching for lost pieces among the wreckage. no one ever believes there's nothing there worth finding; only hollow bones remained.

[dcadxshot]

@notthedyingtype. AFTEN & BIGBY.

❝ you're deep in thought. ❞

[liftedrelics]

@notthedyingtype sent: 💋  ─  be caught standing under the mistletoe - jasper @ max

The bar was decked out with Christmas decorations that people were able to scrounge up before the fall out, and ones they made themselves. It was beautiful and festive, and there was even mistle toe hanging in the center of the room. She hadn't expected to be caught up in a moment like this with him, but she wasn't entirely against it either.

Head tilts back, eyes locking on the little green leaves and the red ribbon wrapped around the center. "You bring me over here on purpose?" She questions, dropping her head back down to meet his gaze now and instead of waiting for his response, she leans in and plants her lips against his.

[liftedrelics]

@notthedyingtype sent: 🎅🏻  ─  be each other’s secret santa - tim @ raylan

Present is wrapped and in hand. He's standing in the elevator, pushing his cream colored stetson upward with a single knuckle, back resting against the elevator wall. He's wondering if he's put too little effort into the gift, having not been bothered enough to purchase real festive wrapping paper and having wrapped it in newspaper and thin rope strings instead. He'll like it, it's the thought that counts right?

At least that's what everyone else says during the holiday's when they don't like something about the gift they recieved. The Marshal steps off the elevator and makes his way into the office, headed straight for Tim's desk. He doesn't exactly know how the whole Secret Santa thing plays out, if he has to wait to give Tim his gift or not so he just plops the thing on his desk in front of him with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

[liftedrelics]

@notthedyingtype sent: 🔥  ─  have an indoor picnic by the fireplace and/or christmas tree - mercy @ jax

The fire is crackling and the wind can be heard howling outside the windows of an old, run down cabin. He's gathered any belongings he could find left behind in the house creating a comfortable nest of blankets in the middle of the floor in front of the fire place. There was cooked rabbit, a few different kinds of nuts like almonds and cashews from different vending machines and stores they had ransacked on their travels. Even a few pieces of chocolate he was able to find and keep safe in his pack until tonight.

Christmas used to be a stressful occasion for him. With a mother who was never there, he'd had to care for his brother and make sure he had the Christmas he deserved every year. Somehow finding solace and comfort on Christmas Eve in the apocalypse was easier than that. He smiles, sliding a small plate of cooked rabbit and nuts over to her. "Merry Christmas."

[choserage]

happy born day friend

@notthedyingtype re: birthday wishes

thank you friend!!

[liftedrelics]

@notthedyingtype sent: there's a bra on the ceiling fan. - jasper @ max

She's a little groggy. Completely drained, her entire body was heavy and she was still riding the high of a euphoric night spent with ....him. Her eyes are slow to open, head turning upward to face the ceiling and locks on to the bra hanging from the fan above. Light laughter errupts in response and her brows shoot up suggestively when turning to look over at him.

"Better than losing it under the bed I guess...."

[anthologicals]

sender discovers receiver trying to take care of their own wound very badly

trembling  hands  tape  a  strip  of  torn  fabric  over  the  gash  to  attempt to steady  the  skin,  only  to  fumble  the  needle-  thread  knotted  clumsily  betwixt  fingers  that  are  slick  with  dirt  and  streams  of  blood down his shoulder.  his  movements  begin  more  hurried  just  to  get  the  shit  over  and  done,  one  hand  pinning  the  jagged  flesh  while  the  other  forces  the  needle  through,  string  pulling  tight  in  uneven,  shallow  looped  stitches. he's so tired and frustrated, he doesn't even notice when @notthedyingtype comes over.

❝  mother  FUCKER!  ❞