This is a blog of many fandoms and of their respective casts. It also collects weirdnesses and copious amounts of sass.
Superwholocked, with a focus on whichever show is currently running (SPN at the moment). I don't really get involved with ship wars, but I do like to watch them and the Padaleckis are my irl otp.
My name is Abigail, I am 21, and this is my blog.

 

So I was talking about superheroes to my class of five year old boys today and I told them that Black Widow is my favorite and they were trying to remember who she was and then one goes, “Oh! She’s the one who’s always hanging out with Hawkboy!”

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palmsizedmoth:

ask-fire-emblem-olivia:

roavaswardrobe:

THAT IS EXACTLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WAS EXPECTING

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sassingintothevoid:

Masterpost of Gabriel confirmation tweets from last night. According to IMDB, Robbie Thompson is the “Executive story editor” for Supernatural.

#Gabriel lives

just adding this… screenshot courtesy of hesmydrowningmoron

finnharries:

tigerton:

imanadult:

mydearlolita:

brianashanee:

Everything we were taught about aging is all in our minds. Eternal youth.

Amen

I fucking love this post.

I want to be this awesome when I’m old!

This is so awesome!

(Source: mothers-monster)

captainmjolnir:

People criticizing TFIOS because Gus sounds pretentious???

that was the point???

like literally at his fake funeral his best friend talks about how fucking pretentious he is and how annoying it was???

It was one of his character flaws? He was deliberately written that way?

You’re not being clever or critical by pointing it out, you are literally stating a fact about the novel that the author deliberately wrote

THANK YOU FOR SPEAKING THIS THING

(Source: gameofbooze)

Oh Death

So Teddyrooseveltvevo had this awesome prompt about a human falling in love with Death and killing people so they could keep seeing him until he gives up and asks them out and I… made it darker…

She met Death at 16 and has been chasing him ever since… 

It wasn’t exactly a man. Definitely not human. Featureless and cold, Death entered the night without a sound. There was a power in his very aura, a cold magnetism. The figure was supposed to draw souls from the corpses after the heart stopped and the brain slowed and the body’s desperate clutch on the soul had relaxed. He stood over the bodies and the souls lifted toward him, tremulous and pulsing, afraid. Death was not afraid. His figure was just a darker darkness beneath the inky black that swirled silkily between his limbs. The skin of his face was white, but grey sifted through.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. She was sixteen, and the car radio was still playing through the smoke and broken glass and smears of ruby blood. Her father’s arm was crooked, but his face was at peace. Death stood over him, and looked down at the girl. She looked up at him and never forgot.

Perhaps there are children whose souls never belonged to their bodies. Maybe there are souls so turbulent that the flesh never gets a grasp, or even yearns to loosen them from the mortal coil. Her soul was loose, and it flew to Death like a creature to its den.

Death’s white hand was spread out over her father’s face. The soul rose flickering from the dead man’s mouth and had almost reached the inky sleeve when her soul fled into Death’s hand. Blinking, the figure looked up at her. Her lips opened soundlessly, and her eyes dropped to her translucent soul, clinging to his fingers like spider web. Carefully, he shook loose the clinging tendrils and gazed upon it thoughtfully as it hung in the air between them. Then he lifted her soul into the air and leaned towards her. She struggled desperately against her seatbelt, trying to speak, trying to move. Death’s cold fingers brushed her jaw and gently, he blew the soul back into her lips. He gazed down at her face for a moment, snatched up her father’s soul, and vanished.

~

She was seventeen when he saw her again. Standing over a corpse, her fingers bruised and smeared with ruby once again. She was waiting for him as he arrived. “He attacked me,” She said breathlessly, gesturing at the broken body of the boy at her feet. “I had a knife, so…” She was stopped with a cough as once again, her soul drifted loosely through her lips. Death was ready. His translucent fingers wrapped around her mouth, tucking the soul back in.

“Shhhhhhh…” he whispered, reaching for the boy’s soul and dissolving into darkness again.

~

She was nineteen, and this time, there were two bodies. He appeared and gazed at her. “I had to see you again. You never come when I call.” Her voice was petulant, but she smiled. “My soul doesn’t belong to me. Take it. Take me with you.”

This time he paused and stared at her. Then, reaching for the other two souls, he vanished.

~

She was older, and this time, there were more bodies as well. “Listen!” She exclaimed as he appeared, “I don’t know what I am, but I can’t stop thinking about you, please don’t leave me again…” She choked, as her soul flooded into her throat again. This time, she spat it into her own fingers and looked up at him. “It’s getting looser. Please, won’t you take it this time?”

~

She was older again, nearly twenty two. “Listen!” she said again as Death appeared and began calmly harvested the souls floating all around her, “I tried moving on, but I just can’t. You’re… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, please, I can’t think of anything else, or anyone else, just please won’t you talk to me??”

~

The next time, there were even more bodies, and she was dressed in a black dress, smeared with rubies. Her posture had changed, and she had a hand on her hip when he appeared, “Am I annoying you yet?” she smirked, “Am I making your job difficult? It isn’t hard to stop me.” He paused and looked at her, devoid of expression. “You know what I want,” she whispered.

~

Two years had passed, and he had started to wonder where she was. He had not had to collect her yet, and he found himself looking for her as he passed down dark streets and quiet hospice wards. There were not many mortals to interest him here, and she was an exception.

It was early morning in the prison in Denmark. The walls were cold and humid and felt natural to his unnatural flesh as he passed down the curved halls to the darkest ward. He did not see her at first, but moved towards the crumpled corpse in the corner.

“You’re here,” she gasped, and he turned quickly. She was crouched in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes smudged with something dark and washed with something glistening. “I…” she breathed quietly, trying to get up, “I had forgotten how beautiful…” she leaned back against the wall, gazing at him. “I didn’t kill this one,” she whispered. “She didn’t want to live anymore and I didn’t stop her, but I didn’t think you would come because I thought you were avoiding me. I went too far and killed too many and now I’ve been here and I’ve missed you.”

He looked down and collected the soul of her cell mate. “How many have you killed?” his voice was sibilant and soft.

“Twenty-seven,” she murmured, instantly. “Twenty-seven for you. I was so jealous of them, getting to go with you. I was…”

He looked up at her again, a parting glance, and moved toward the door.

“Please.” She whispered, and he turned slightly back. “I know it isn’t my time, but… when can I see you again?”

He moved toward her slowly, without speaking, and she coughed as her soul lifted out of her mouth again. She quieted as he stood before her and dropped his mouth to hers, breathing in the filmy soul.

 

It wasn’t exactly a man. Definitely not human. Featureless and cold, Death entered the night without a sound. There was a power in his very aura, a cold magnetism. The figure was supposed to draw souls from the corpses after the heart stopped and the brain slowed and the body’s desperate clutch on the soul had relaxed. He stood over the bodies and the souls lifted toward him, tremulous and pulsing, afraid. Death was not afraid. His figure was just a darker darkness beneath the inky black that swirled silkily between his limbs. The skin of his face was white, but grey sifted through.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. She was sixteen, and the car radio was still playing through the smoke and broken glass and smears of ruby blood. Her father’s arm was crooked, but his face was at peace. Death stood over him, and looked down at the girl. She looked up at him and never forgot.

Perhaps there are children whose souls never belonged to their bodies. Maybe there are souls so turbulent that the flesh never gets a grasp, or even yearns to loosen them from the mortal coil. Her soul was loose, and it flew to Death like a creature to its den.

Death’s white hand was spread out over her father’s face. The soul rose flickering from the dead man’s mouth and had almost reached the inky sleeve when her soul fled into Death’s hand. Blinking, the figure looked up at her. Her lips opened soundlessly, and her eyes dropped to her translucent soul, clinging to his fingers like spider web. Carefully, he shook loose the clinging tendrils and gazed upon it thoughtfully as it hung in the air between them. Then he lifted her soul into the air and leaned towards her. She struggled desperately against her seatbelt, trying to speak, trying to move. Death’s cold fingers brushed her jaw and gently, he blew the soul back into her lips. He gazed down at her face for a moment, snatched up her father’s soul, and vanished.

~

She was seventeen when he saw her again. Standing over a corpse, her fingers bruised and smeared with ruby once again. She was waiting for him as he arrived. “He attacked me,” She said breathlessly, gesturing at the broken body of the boy at her feet. “I had a knife, so…” She was stopped with a cough as once again, her soul drifted loosely through her lips. Death was ready. His translucent fingers wrapped around her mouth, tucking the soul back in.

“Shhhhhhh…” he whispered, reaching for the boy’s soul and dissolving into darkness again.

~

She was nineteen, and this time, there were two bodies. He appeared and gazed at her. “I had to see you again. You never come when I call.” Her voice was petulant, but she smiled. “My soul doesn’t belong to me. Take it. Take me with you.”

This time he paused and stared at her. Then, reaching for the other two souls, he vanished.

~

She was older, and this time, there were more bodies as well. “Listen!” She exclaimed as he appeared, “I don’t know what I am, but I can’t stop thinking about you, please don’t leave me again…” She choked, as her soul flooded into her throat again. This time, she spat it into her own fingers and looked up at him. “It’s getting looser. Please, won’t you take it this time?”

~

She was older again, nearly twenty two. “Listen!” she said again as Death appeared and began calmly harvested the souls floating all around her, “I tried moving on, but I just can’t. You’re… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, please, I can’t think of anything else, or anyone else, just please won’t you talk to me??”

~

The next time, there were even more bodies, and she was dressed in a black dress, smeared with rubies. Her posture had changed, and she had a hand on her hip when he appeared, “Am I annoying you yet?” she smirked, “Am I making your job difficult? It isn’t hard to stop me.” He paused and looked at her, devoid of expression. “You know what I want,” she whispered.

~

Two years had passed, and he had started to wonder where she was. He had not had to collect her yet, and he found himself looking for her as he passed down dark streets and quiet hospice wards. There were not many mortals to interest him here, and she was an exception.

It was early morning in the prison in Denmark. The walls were cold and humid and felt natural to his unnatural flesh as he passed down the curved halls to the darkest ward. He did not see her at first, but moved towards the crumpled corpse in the corner.

“You’re here,” she gasped, and he turned quickly. She was crouched in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes smudged with something dark and washed with something glistening. “I…” she breathed quietly, trying to get up, “I had forgotten how beautiful…” she leaned back against the wall, gazing at him. “I didn’t kill this one,” she whispered. “She didn’t want to live anymore and I didn’t stop her, but I didn’t think you would come because I thought you were avoiding me. I went too far and killed too many and now I’ve been here and I’ve missed you.”

He looked down and collected the soul of her cell mate. “How many have you killed?” his voice was sibilant and soft.

“Twenty-seven,” she murmured, instantly. “Twenty-seven for you. I was so jealous of them, getting to go with you. I was…”

He looked up at her again, a parting glance, and moved toward the door.

“Please.” She whispered, and he turned slightly back. “I know it isn’t my time, but… when can I see you again?”

He moved toward her slowly, without speaking, and she coughed as her soul lifted out of her mouth again. She quieted as he stood before her and dropped his mouth to hers, breathing in the filmy soul.