#v05. WEEP WHAT YOU SOW. / death.
❝ And everybody wants to know ‘bout how it felt to hear you scream ...
They know you walk like you’re a god; they can’t believe I made you weak. ❞
▬▬▬▬ &; @deanmcn , one liner sc. : strange love by halsey
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❝ Fearing the warmth within, I know it BURNS watching the same sun glow. ❞
▬▬▬▬ &; @mysericordia , one liner sc. : paraffin by meadowlark
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ARCHIVE: SPN-based plot background VERSE(S): PRIV. whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. SUBJECT: @redlied RELATION: Mutual understanding to tolerable complications
The Apocalypse had been the beginning.
In some other universe, the pull of extinguished souls to strengthen what is soulless called Death’s presence on a Soldier’s orders. She had been then, a pawn of the Morningstar following his every whims... but under such remarkable loyalty is a promise of thirst for recognition and power should a chance present itself. He didn’t really delve himself in any politics of any kind nor had any business with hell unless they’re cosmically fucking up the universe, so he allowed her trespasses and ignored her insignificant existence in his world.
In every parallel dimensions, the countless and similar pulls of the soulless soldier is something that Will had been familiar with over stretches of time; amusement and annoyance at the mayhem left by the demon. She was now a Knight finally caught up with his time and seeking her throne in the present, crushing everything in her way and made promises to Death himself for every body she left in her step. Will was curious to see what would happen, so he turned his eyes away from her destruction and allowed her trespasses under his skin, her teeth bared against his neck as he laughingly returned the sentiment every time she summoned Death on the blood she keep purposely spilling.
It was all fun and games until sutures are made in chests inhumane and until Will had to check the thread that once bound her neck back to her body. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the same structure of madness found in an unlikely exceptional creature, that earned Death’s wish to share a bit of the universe within him.
And so, the horsewoman of War is reborn, her threads hanging from Death’s fingertips though ensnared is he of her strings instead. Pro quid pro.
© Property of W. GRAHAM.
Strictly confidential, do not reblog.
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❛ sets his jacket on fire. ❜
RANDOM. , always accept. / @redlied
Demons... and their oh so lovely thirst for unnecessary destruction.
Shouldn’t have expected less.
❝ Rude much ? ❞
Hand pats off the flame creeping up his shoulder, a click of tongue follows distaste in having to drop by a tailor’s to see if anything can be even salvaged. Probably not, and this is a beloved long black coat he just attained after long ancient time of lurking in the shadows.
Another irked click.
❝ Better have a GOOD reason why I shouldn’t disintegrate you right here and now, Love. ❞
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❛ why this place smells like the sewers? ❜
RANDOM. , sel. accept. / @deanmcn
❝ Would you rather it be your FUNERAL celebration ? ❞
This is why he doesn’t engage with anyone especially during his work hours, let alone bratty demons complaining of their own scent.
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❛ let me help you. ❜
CARING PROMPT. , sel. accept. / @deathfound
The voice startles him, as the familiar pull of similar wavelength and essence anchors him to consciousness. Dread, far worse than fear, is an unfamiliar sensation; one that earn him lacking of mind’s presence and participation in engagement. Will takes a minute to ground himself, his sense of self, slowly gazing at the Reaper that must’ve felt his... displacement.
❝ How long have I been... out ...? ❞ Bewilderment and alarm in his voice though he maintains an air of CONTROL, or at least what’s left of it in his hands. Blue sparks more than the greyness in his optics while he scans his surroundings... until they land sight on the girl’s shoulders. Cassie. Wolf Trap. Hounds. Snow. Winter. Full moon, here in Virginia’s forests within his parameters, and his name is Wallim... No, William. Will Graham.
His hands by his sides are cold and shaking when he lifts them to his mouth, breath mimicking warmth from his body to calm himself. This is not normal. Silent acknowledgement of assistance has been accepted indirectly, as the man curtly deflects,
❝ The hell-hounds ... Have they sought you ? ❞
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Death found himself in his own personal hell. Not fond of gatherings and most especially volumes of mortals frolicking around him , their lives flashing and flickering behind his eyelids that he pulls his glasses out to cover his Sight. Jaw clenches , breath taken and released tensely , he never really appreciate crowds and their boisterous noises... only if they were able to hide his nature.
But the trail ends here , when his hounds encircle the building of the event where pieces of the innocents are recovered and he’s done allowing leeway for deaths taken out of turn. Someone seems having a good time in playing God that William finds it distasteful. Too many reports to record.
In the sea of souls he sail , mostly keeping to himself ‘round the corners and walls and preferring to maintain his comfort and space. Never touching , never staring far too long as he steps on the outskirts of the party. Difficulty finds him in seeking what he’s attempting to trace since he mostly looks down as his eyes flicker here and there , seeing too much / seeing too little / seeing nothing , while he tries to mitigate the headaches coming in. William brings his knuckles to his jaw , rubbing onto the line as his teeth gnash and his mouth turns into a thin line of frustration.
▬▬▬▬ &; @raudrakos , sc. !
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verses tag dump.
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