#strangesurvivals

[+] “I’ve prepared something special for you, Cath..”

'you're a snack and i could use a good dicking' is just proof positive the writers of the show have never met a young woman in her 20s and don't know how one would talk

Creature old, a beast most weary, has laid down roots nowhere but everywhere at once. For to a god, all realms are but theirs, aren’t they? This is untrue of the deathless, she knows, but fear recedes as the tide does when the moon says so in this world. She has no reason to be afraid. Scent of something she doesn’t know of well, but friendship is easy for Kitty Valentine when a creature answers back. It is no offense to the human-creatures, Otherworlders they may be, but the absence of magick or of anything else is a gaping void within her soul. To be not surrounded by it is to be alone.

How many generations has she spent so fundamentally alone, surrounded by those she always knew were not quite hers? An animal, of sureness, and shaped as ‘humans’ might considers themselves. She did not know this word until crossing into the Otherworld, and knowing humans to be selfish, self-obsessed animals. All things of their shape immediately labeled ‘humanoid’. Even arrogant as she, the death god could not begin to so blindly, so ignorantly decide. 

All things are, unto themselves, what they are. This is what she knows. And while others smell like her, they are not her, and she is who she is, and that is all.

“Bubble,” It floats in the center of a palm, lilac-scented, a body made of solid muscle sat upon a tiled floor, hulking and small at once. Wildly mussed black hair around shoulders, never tamed, and the god blows gently on the sphere so it drifts away and toward the other, twitching a fanged smile bright with sharp, terrifying teeth, “See? ‘S’comfy. Smells nice. Sawft. Bubbles.”

A low, low, low purr in the back of a throat. It stays, pleased as a growl, metamorphosed into a strange but rattling sound. The noise a snake makes before it strikes, but it is innocuous. Even, it means a kindness.

“  if he puts his hands on you, cut them off.  ”

The street-wise girl smiles. She’s young -- too young, too little to be here in the grimy alleyways, not even old enough to be bringing the half-smoked cigarette to her lips and taking a well-practiced drag. She looks so OUT OF PLACE, but that was just always the way with those seeking to break the natural planes of the universe, wasn’t it?

⇏ random headcanons ☆ @strangesurvivals ☆ accepting!!

strangesurvivals​:    “All the darkness goes into you.”

“darkness?” she’s about as dark as vanilla ice cream in a waffle cone. least, that’s what she likes to think about herself. every harsh word, longed to be released in anger, is constantly swallowed before it dare reach the tip of her tongue. every doubt that may crack the mirror of her ideal life is shattered before it shatters her. everything is peachy keen, jelly bean, and that’s the way that dolores likes it. 

that’s the way it’ll stay.