Independent roleplayer as Death personified. Read about page and headcanons to understand the muse. This is an original character.

Created since October 31, 2013.
Please read the info page.
Open to all verses.

This blog is NSFW and has triggers.
Mun and muse are of age.

tracking the tag sweetxrelief
not an enemy but a friend
consumes with a kiss
hellfireandpie asked:

You're certainly better looking than the last time I saw you.

hellfireandpie:

sweetxrelief:

              "Well things change. I was at a low point in time."

image

"Sounds good to me."

              "Is there something you were in need of, or was
              that all you have to comment on?”



hellfireandpie asked:

You're certainly better looking than the last time I saw you.

hellfireandpie:

sweetxrelief:

              "Well things change. I was at a low point in time."

image

"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.”



sweetxrelief asked:

♔ :Finding your muse wearing their clothes [oops help my hand slipped]

roccothewop:

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."



hellfireandpie asked:

You're certainly better looking than the last time I saw you.

              "Well things change. I was at a low point in time."



sweetxrelief asked:

"Their blood is on my hands."

roccothewop:

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.”



sweetxrelief asked:

"It is not your time."

hesnotyourpet:

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.”



sweetxrelief asked:

"I did not mean for such a mess to happen. Please forgive me."

sleepyheadedhunter:

"It’s —- it’s fine." This is his third rinse with the mouthwash, but at least all of the black material he’d started puking up was now gone. It had left a taste so sweet in his mouth, so tempting…

Death.

He wasn’t supposed to be alive anymore. His soul knows it. It wants nothing more than to be lead off by the one near him, but there is also denial. There is violence. Screaming. Pain. Anguish. The spirits that are always near him dislike this other being … for many, many reasons.

The cap is screwed back on and he makes it a few steps before he is slumping down onto the floor and leaning his head against the counter. Exhausted.

"When the time comes… it won’t be like this, right? When it’s finally all over? I want it to be nice… I want it to be just like falling asleep. I want it to be better this time. Just… soft. I want it to be over."

image

              "Does not look fine."

Commented lowly from somewhere behind Jean. The being is only half visible as he coaxes shadows and spirits to quiet their fussing. An easy feat as tendrils sway before he is real and lingering in the doorway. This is a typical occurrence however Death tries to stay away for as long as he can to keep this from being too terrible for the other. It gets a little better every time — small warnings here and there before he shows up at given at least.

Hues watch as Jean finds purchase on the bathroom floor and soon enough the creature is moving closer as he listens to words spoken out. There are things that Death cannot promise but when it comes to Jean — things are different. He has a weakness for this soul that cannot be explained. Thanarius crouches and smiles gently, the sweater donned on his form hiding most of the action.

              "It will be sweet — much like you. Something gentle and soft
              like taking a nap. When it is truly your time, I’ll make sure it
              is how you would like to go.”



sweetxrelief asked:

"I see that you have been busy."

subcutanexus:

subcutanexus:

Whatever it was, it’s dead now. The table he’s working on is all red with blood, as is the sides and even some of the floor around it. A mess. This process had been a mess, but Denver is calm as he hacks off what appears to be an organ before he puts it in a jar that rests on a cart.

"I was asleep so long… th’work piled up."

image

"There is more filth now than ever." Filth, of course, being anything that wasn’t human. Denver’s views towards such things were always cold; he was created that way. There was no mercy, no compassion. Nothing. Literally nothing but irritation when it came to such beings. "Some new things, too…"

New was always something he enjoyed.

"Where were y’off to, while I slept? Not doing yer job, judgin’ by how many humans there are on th’planet. Have they all found new ways t’avoid ya?" Medicine had come a long way since he walked the Earth last, he’d noticed. "Or have y’gone soft on me?"

He supposed Denver did have a point. Filth was more so evident but the lines were always so blurred with the creature. Death did his job and nothing more — sides never mattered. Filth never mattered. The hunter speaks of new things, beings more than likely, but those are nothing new to him. Those are just rarely discovered by mortals — just like the one that is laying on the metal slab.

              "I have been doing my job plenty. — but it would seem that
              things do keep changing and prolonging life. Hardly deters
              my task entirely. I do just fine.”

Then Death is pausing. Staring at Denver with confusion and brows pushed together. “Soft? My mortal form is in fact rather soft. I think it always has been…if that is what you mean.”



dear-indies:

We are creating a masterlist for every Supernatural roleplayer.



sweetxrelief asked:

"I see that you have been busy."

subcutanexus:

subcutanexus:

Whatever it was, it’s dead now. The table he’s working on is all red with blood, as is the sides and even some of the floor around it. A mess. This process had been a mess, but Denver is calm as he hacks off what appears to be an organ before he puts it in a jar that rests on a cart.

"I was asleep so long… th’work piled up."

image

"Wonderland." The word comes out simply at first and his boots squelch against the blood and tissue on his floor. Denver is collecting organs and some of the tissue left over as well. A crescent tool is used to scoop an eyeball out of a socket, large and red but devoid of life. That also goes in its own little jar.

"I was decommissioned. Forced t’sleep. My body decomposed over time, but th’bastards figured out a way t’keep m’soul in place…" But like a machine, he’s continued. "Gettin’ out was somethin’ of an accident. Th’world’s so noisy now… and dirty."

The reference to something is acknowledged but Death hardly understands to what. There was still so much of the world he ignored or just simply did not grasp. Smokey blue hues continue to watch over the hunter as he keeps on. This could be considered somewhat of a comforting sight despite what others would feel upon seeing such decaying matter of a creature ripped to pieces.

So that is where Denver had been. Strange to think that something could even blind his eyes enough to put the hunter to rest but there is time for questioning and searching for an answer on his own later.

              "The world has always been those things. You’ve just truly
              come to see it as such.”



alicat