@fakedsciences
    ‘Uhhhhhh,’ she’s still new to signing. Old dog, new trick. Give her a second. < Your dad is kind of -- > how do you say, < w-e-i-r-d. >

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@fakedsciences
    ‘Uhhhhhh,’ she’s still new to signing. Old dog, new trick. Give her a second. < Your dad is kind of -- > how do you say, < w-e-i-r-d. >

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"i told you: no more deaths in the house." lana @ anyone just because she is a Death and it is so funny to me every time.
ginger snaps
‘It died outside.’ And she intends to be quite petulant about it, if asked again.
The it in question is a nice little squirrel skull, cleaned dried out, its eye sockets full of plucked flowers. She thought she was doing a nice thing. Giving a gift. Look at me, mom, I didn’t even kill a cat this time because I know how much you hated that the first time I did it.
‘You’re not going to have a soul trapped in the house. He’ll be a pony in the next life.’
“I hate my dumb heart for making me feel things!“ honestly, surprise me
gravity falls
‘ have you tried taking it out. ’
Wash @ ida
nonverbal starters / wash: wipe something from their forehead, cheek, etc.
‘ stop - stop it. ’ it doesn’t make a difference. there’s blood and dirt and the lot of it, as there often is, and when spirit tries to wipe it away, it just smudges further across pallid, sickly skin. words aside, she doesn’t pull back.
her skin feels hot and raw and spirit touching her - even though ida saw it coming a mile away, and had more than a few chances to flinch away, out of her grasp - manages to make it worse. you’d think, at this point in life, with her emotionless vampire schtick running on loop, she wouldn’t let it get to her.
but sometimes it does, when you’re ripping into a blonde, helpless teenager; angry at them for making the exact same mistake you did. only, they don’t get to wake up three feet under, with loose soil in their nose and down their throat, left to dig themself out of their own shallow grave.
it’s been a long night. she doesn’t want to get into it.
‘ can i stay here? sun’s almost up. ’
@stides
   she’s got a human spine in one hand and what looks like it could be a rat - mauled so brutally it’s stopped looking like the creature it might’ve once been and is now just a lumpy pile of fur and its own insides - in the other. she drops them both on the table, and then digs a ringbox out of her pocket, to place alongside the hoard. she tucks into the seat closest to rizzo, hands still covered in a thick mix of human and animal blood. it’s a gift. she’s being nice. or, she’s trying. that’s how this works, isn’t it?

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"I think you’re the victim of a practical joke." @ ida
closer / not accepting.
   she’s stomping around like a small, spoilt child, not used to anything ever going wrong. angry blood-tears that prick only at the corners of her eyes, wiped away as soon as they appear, before they get the chance to touch her cheeks.  ‘ who did this? did you do this? do you know who did? i’ll kill them. i’ll rip their arm off and make them eat it. tell me spirit, tell me now. i’ll kill you. ’
@bestvictim / liked.
      ‘ there’s somethin’ in your hair. looks dead. ’