#death as a personified character

[hetaliahistorynerd]

recently read masters of death by olivie blake and now I'm hyperfixating on a book that has no fandom

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

‘daenerys will sacrifice herself at the end’ is something i am sick of seeing

this young female character has been set up by george as a very very progressive ruler who is hellbent on on making lasting societal change

a young female ruler who has the power to make this change, a young female ruler who truly cares about her cause

and yet people want her story to end with her death? how would this ending be thematically consistent? how would this ending benefit the common people in any way?

the people spouting this nonsense always prattle on about how the targaryens being in power at the end of the story is just a continuation of the old power structure

as if asoiaf is some black and white story where the old power structure either resumes or there’s going to be some sort of peaceful democracy after the targaryens are gone

like be so ffr

george has always been upfront that he’s interested in the choices of individuals and how his characters choices can shape the world they live in. so why would he throw away this young female ruler who’s currently smashing the slave trade that has been around for thousands of years in order to go for this bland message that her death will mark the end of the previous power structure?

when i put it that way i am astonished by how stupid it sounds

so, if you actually want societal change in westeros and essos then you better pray every single night that daenerys doesn’t die :)

[kadalsaurus]

grim reaper

[piedpencil]

More Thanatos 🖤💀

[thevalleygh0ul]

Rise of the Guardians OC

Dee (aka Death)

Character Information Below the Cut

He was the first creation of Manny’s, though not the first Guardian. He has longed for the human experience, as he’s watched it pass for as long as he has been alive. Manny chose him and Sandy to be the first two Guardians after he had created Sand Man.

Everyone believes in him, since there is no inevitability of him. Some are simply unaware of him, such as children too young to know of death, and so do not perceive him any differently than a stranger or an imaginary friend.

Adults tend to ignore his existence on purpose, willfully ignorant and/or unconsciously blocking him out. He honestly prefers it when others do not wish to see him. It’s when people want to see him that it hurts. Knowing others want to be free of their burdens or pain so badly they call out for him is heartbreaking. He wants them to understand the parts of living that are full of joy, the parts that are worth it, the parts he wishes he could have.

Dee is the Guardian of Life. Though a vague sounding title, it means he’s there to make sure kids can appreciate what they have when they have it. To understand not everything is always good, but there is always light at the other end of a dark and scary tunnel.

[boundinparchment]

Soul on Fire

“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.” —Oscar Wilde The Doctor finds himself in the company of Death; inevitably, he, too will succumb to Death's embrace. Abstract, Reader is Death Personified. Inspired by this prompt and then it spiraled into what's in this fic. CW/TW: Major character death.On AO3 here (unlocked for now, subject to change).

He came to you cloaked in furs too fine, eyes aglow and a smile on his face, wide and eager.  This one smelled not unlike the machines of old, of iron and coal and blood.  So few dared to walk the path of the forgotten lands beneath the desert but you would never forget the scent of Irmin's kingdom.

For Death never forgot.

"Speak, trespasser.  One does not come to my humble abode simply for tea," you prompted, stretching out a hand, fingers thin and bony, ashen skin taunt across the joints.

"To be transparent, I am no friend of the Divine.  I see no reason nor benefit to bowing one's head to the firmament and pretending the stars cannot be realigned, if not entirely shattered.  In due time, I will see to humanity's perfection, pushing aside a need for Gods, for Archons, and for Celestia's interference."

This stranger spoke with his hands as much as he did his words and reminded you of a showman attempting to engage the audience.  He was brash and bold as much as he was respectful; few were so forthcoming with their goals without a single sliver of fear. 

For a moment, you remembered the Dragons of old and a familiar shudder of raw power jolted through you.  Majestic creatures, pure in energy, once ruled these lands.  Although the Primordial One saw to it that they, too, succumbed to you, the fact that you remembered at all was not a gift but a warning.

The Tsaritsa, too, remembered.  She was different now, of course; your presence tended to yield that result.

But when your eyeless gaze looked upon the young man, teal hair wild and eyes red as the coals in your fire, you found his words to be true.

He carried the sigil of Her Majesty upon his cloak and you sensed the bitter crispness of a Cryo Vision.  Although he spoke with the recklessness of those cursed for their transgressions, he was more akin to a what you imagined humans considered to a breath of fresh air.

"And yet you have brought yourself to my doorstep," you replied.

"An unfortunate turn of events.  I was woefully unprepared for the wasteland when I began my exploratory journey through the tundra.  One such as yourself is used to that though, I imagine."

"You are only my second guest of the day.  There will be more."

He was not yet done, this one, and he clung to life the way spiders held onto their webs and the way dogs retained their loyalty.  Not desperation but certainty in every motion, every understanding of the woven fabrics of the world.

He was not finished with his work and he was not afraid.

"I'll surpass you, too," the stranger said.  "Even if this body dies, I have another.  And another beyond that one.  You will never know me."

You smiled, teeth sharp and glistening as you gave a low, breathy chuckle.  Slowly, you closed the distance and pressed a chilled hand to his cheek.  His skin began to turn brittle but you pulled away before your power could truly take hold and color returned to his face.  Crimson eyes watched you with the same caution as a wounded animal, never trusting, always alert.

"I know you, Zandik of Sumeru.  I knew you when you were a child, beaten within an inch of my grasp.  You spit in my face then just as you do now," you crooned.  "Your will is unsurpassed.  Defying even Death Itself."

A beat.

"It is power you seek, this close to the edge.  None ever let themselves willingly reach this point unless they want something.  You have never been foolish enough to accidentally find yourself in my presence."

The one known as Zandik clicked his tongue and glared in return.

"If I am to surpass all limitations in this world, and pave the way for humanity to follow suit, I must first overcome you," he said. "And I've all but confirmed my theory with practical experiments.  In exchange for my longevity, allow me to suggest an offer.  You will always accompany my work—every experiment carries some risk, after all, so inevitably we will meet again—why not take the lives of my patients as compensation?"

Similar bargains existed in the past.  Others tried to stay your hand.  Keep you sated as to not be overwhelmed by the hunger for life that dominated.  The longer the life, the more ravenous you grew as you ushered them along onto the next steps beyond the firmament. 

Today continued to grow more interesting by the second.

"You would be my patron saint?  You, a heretic in name and action?  Why should I let you act in my name if you only intend to usurp even your beloved Tsaritsa?"

"If I succeed in the end, the world will have no need of you.  I can afford a long game, dear Death.  Can you?"

"We shall see which of us succumbs to the other first, Doctor."

He laughed, hearty and full for one so close to your embrace, and briefly, you recalled the sensation of warmth of sunlight.

Centuries came and went under your watchful gaze.  The Doctor did, in truth, come up with an almost foolproof way to avoid you and sustain himself far longer than anyone ever had.  He long since gave up his soul in favor of knowledge and therefore he only needed his mind, his consciousness, and he perfected the means by which to splice and transfer and graft himself.

You would be lying if you said you did not grow curious over the time spent in his company.  Extending his existence meant furthering his work, and while he intended for humanity to surpass the divine and prove the gods to be obsolete, you wondered just how many he might throw at your feet in pursuit of his goals.

Never once in almost five centuries did you grow hungry, feel your hold on the world wane.  He kept you satisfied in fair compensation and you went about your existence as the God of Death; Wangsheng kept you busy when the Doctor did not.

Until one day, he sought more.

He long since hid his eyes from all, for it was impossible to look upon him and not recognize that he knew too much.  Other Harbingers took to this habit, a marking of their status and the burden they carried about the truth of the world.  The Tsaritsa only explained it as a kindness, that they must look upon all with a heavy gaze as it was; they need not pass along that burden to those who could not shoulder it.

A fair point, you conceded, and a sentiment you respected.

Zandik looked at you, sallow skin and bloodshot eyes, anger hot and smoldering.  His earring was shattered and you had felt a tremble of energy loss through the leylines.

The one known as Omega had pulled the plug on his master plan.

And now here you were, hollow gaze drilling into him, centuries of energy rolling off in waves.

"I cannot stop now," he said. "The world has too much to lose.  I will not be beaten by my own creation."

Your saint, your Harbinger (although you dared never to consider him to truly be your Harbinger, for the Tsaritsa never liked to share), buried his fingers in his hair and pulled until his knuckles turned white and tears stung his eyes.  This was closer to the Zandik you recalled, the one bloody and beaten and scared of all he was leaving behind.

Regret did not suit him.

You reached and pulled at the distant spaces of the void that encompassed and enrobed you, that presented itself as cloth and covered whatever form you took in his presence; from the depths, you pulled a golden fruit, as ripe and pure as the day you plucked and preserved it from the reaches of the lost kingdom. 

Within it, you could sense the abyssal corruption that even you could not keep at bay, eating at the fruit from the inside out.

"However many seeds you consume," you offered, "is the number of months I can provide you with power beyond Teyvat."

Zandik, too, was hardly a fool.  He cut the fruit in half, eyed the corruption, where the flesh and seeds of the fruit began to sour and rot.  Lifting a half to his face, the jeweled seeds glistening, he asked, "And when my time is up?"

You grinned, fangs piercing your own lips in your eagerness.

"When your time is finished, I will come for you, darling Zandik.  And my kiss will be the sweetest of all."

Even now, he was beautiful.  It was not the corruption that did him in, but a Star from Another World.  Golden, glowing, gorgeous.  The likes of which you had not seen since the Cataclysm. 

His breathing was ragged, wheezing.  The angle at which his chest was crushed indicated several punctures in his lungs.  Never an easy to way to go.  Bruises and contusions and sharp angles and slices did little to masquerade the elemental energy that lingered. 

Parts of his flesh darkened, consumed by the Abyss' hold.  It spread outward from his chest and crawled up his neck, down his arms.  Black veins stretched across once unmarred cheeks and you were certain that his dominant hand was no longer a hand at all, if the darkness could retain its shape.

Beaten with his own element, in the end.

"Pestered by a god," he gasps.  "Even in the end."

"As if I would ever let you go," you replied.

You lowered yourself to your knees and cupped Zandik's face as you pressed icy lips to his still-warm ones.  He tasted of blood, of iron and rot, and for a moment, you swore you felt a hand brush what would have been your cheek.  When you pulled away, his flesh was already dried out and brittle.  All that talk of machines and he never once thought to exchange his origin point for a mechanical home after all.

He left you in a sweeping gust of ashes, as all life did, with only a story to tell.

And Death never forgot.

[a-whisper-in-the-closet]

Not my usual content but:

LOOK AT HIM!!! LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL MAN!!! I am love with them.

Thank you so much to @znailien for making this guy come to life on paper, I really am in your debt. It's beautiful and I love it, you really do deserve so much and more for making him real in this way. ^^

[words-are-fireproof]

Sweet, Summer Child - Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: Death, aka Dieter Bravo, falls in love with a mortal woman. It isn't easy for the two of you, but he's enamored with you, and he's willing to go the distance...well, kind of. It's complicated.

Rating: M to be safe.

Content: supernatural stuff ish, fluff, Dieter comes with his own warning, mentions of death and death related imagery in later chapters, NOT ALL WARNINGS LISTED HERE. Just like AO3, author has chosen not to mention all warnings.

A/N: I finally have the gumption to post this! Whew.

Anyway, there's no use of y/n. Dieter calls the reader "Sapphire" but there's a reason for that and it becomes a pet name as time goes on.

I got some of these prompts from @creativepromptsforwriting and of course @obiknights!

The female bodies in this mood board are not indicative of the reader in this story. I believe I have stripped the reader of most defining characteristics. If I've not, let me know.

Entries:

Coffee + Contemplation

Meetings + Misunderstandings

Apologies + Kisses

Diners + Revelations

Dilfcember Entries:

Bookstore Date

Candles

[monty-a-coniac]

A WIP Introduction

Title - Death Comes in Three (DCIT) Genre - modern, fantasy, humor, mystery, fiction POV - Undecided Status - Brainstorming (and spending too much time on Pinterest)

Theme

Death and the Afterlife, Immortality and Mortality, Loneliness, Regret and Shame, Identity and Self-Discovery, Healing, Time, Desire for Connection, Desire, Redemption, Courage, Rivalry, Love, Relationships, Soul Mates, Choices and Consequences, Dream and Reality, Power and Responsibility, Freedom and Limitation, Family

Synopsis

Humans die three times, and it falls upon the Deathgods to collect what is rightfully theirs—the soul, the body, and the mind. But what happens when each god meets their inevitable equals, who dare to challenge and allure them? A serial heartbreaker for Kindred, the Deathgod of the Soul. A wounded beauty for Mordekaiser, the Deathgod of the Body. And a cunning criminal for Aurelius, the Deathgod of the Mind. Drawn to the humans, the gods succumb to the temptation of their existence. As they enchant and manipulate, driven by curiosity and a thirst for entertainment, their mortal counterparts turn into their cherished secrets, an irresistible part of the deities' time on Earth. Until one day, when all three mortals vanish. No soul, no body, no mind to reap. Gone.

Characters

Kindred, the Deathgod of the Soul

Protective and pure, the eldest among the Deathly Triad, Kindred, is the collector of souls. Her souls, each a unique orb of individuality, are returned to her in the grasp of her familiar wolves. Safeguarded in her realm by her loyal pack, each soul's fate ready to face judgment—another chance or eternal seclusion in the abyss. One with the universe, Kindred possesses a celestial ring, a physical manifestation of the cosmos that is forever in her possession. Her wolves, faithful companions, form a sacred fur coat around her form, a constant presence in her solemn duty.

Siblings - Mordekaiser, Aurelius Order - Eldest Alias - Kin, Wolfgang, Wolfie, Luna, Moonshine, Starlight, Starshine, Light, Soul Eater Familiar - Wolf Weakness - Hope

Mordekaiser, the Deathgod of the Body

Rebellious and ruthless, the middle among the Deathly Triad, is the collector of bodies. The empty vessels of mortals past are swallowed whole by his monsters spawned from mythical dragons and demonic shadows. With full bellies, the phantom messengers pass through reflective portals, gently delivering and ensnaring the bodies in a mirrored realm. Lingering in the world of mortals, Mordekaiser shifts his appearance from one warm body to the next, but his eyes always remain an homage to fresh blood. Cloaked in black with a mischievous shadow and a golden crow tailing his every move.

Siblings - Kindred, Aurelius Order - Middle Alias - Morde, Mord, Kai, Bones, Handsome, Wings, Devilman, Puppet Master Familiar - Nightshade Weakness - Sex, drugs, and physical pain

Aurelius, the Deathgod of the Mind

Callous and calculated, the youngest among the Deathly Triad, Aurelius, is the collector of minds. Within the labyrinthine corridors of consciousness, memories and emotions intertwine, their essence taking the form of a gilded brain and carried away by his loyal crows of gold. A scale of judgment weighs the mind, measuring the gap between what was and what could have been, based on mortal choices made. Draped in a veil of liquid gold from head to toe, Aurelius shields himself against the clinging thoughts. In his wake, he leaves behind vanishing trails of golden feathers, each one a spark that ignites new ideas and revelations.

Siblings - Kindred, Mordekaiser Order - Youngest Alias: Aurel, Rell, Rellie, Golden Boy, Goldie, Baby, Feathers, The Smart One Familiar - Crow Weakness - Money

Thank you for make it this far!

Since this story is in its early stages of development, and one of many stories in the works, ideas, plots, and characters are subject to change.

Posted: Tuesday, Sept. 5, 2023 Edited: n/a

Pinterest Board

[shortforlizzard]

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult was playing on a loop in my brain the whole time I was working on this.

[zorbs]

i think having the big bad wolf be Death is a really interesting choice in the way it recontextualizes little red ridding hood’s fairytale. was it just her grandmother’s time to die at the mercy of Death?

[peapod20001]

I hate trying to describe like. A characters voice and accent and shit cus I!! Don’t know the words for things!!! 😭 but anyways idk if these are entirely how he sounds but you kinda get the vibes of how Rory sounds with these songs here-

You get the vibes right?? You get what I’m goin for???? 🥺??

[howifeltabouthim]

It would be a long voyage home, and what would happen when they got there? When Icarus flew too near the sun he lost his wings and fell and died. That's what happened to heroes who played heavenly games. But Death didn't bother with the ordinary folk, the extras. They had it tougher, they had to keep on living, crawling forward in the dark, with no moon or even any stars to light the way.

Lev Grossman, from The Bright Sword

[nihiltism]

tracking where your ocs are inspired from can lead you to really fucking weird places

[un-fortunate-sloth]

Playing a game against breath for my life but the game is DND and my win condition is I make them cry in a natively compelling way. (I secretly just want to play D&D with them and am not afraid of dying.)

[thatgirlonstage]

Please meet Ronald, the grim reaper with a lawnmower

(Also from the same property as Grell, a grim reaper with a chainsaw)

i'm so glad nobody really tries to do a "modern take" on the grim reaper because can you imagine how lame it would be if your time of death was recorded on an apple watch or something instead of an hourglass