Gold funerary wreath, oak leaves and acorns
Roman, 1st–2nd century

7 years ago with ♥ 3510 — via

# ᵉᵗᵉʳᶰᵃᶫ ᵈᵃᵐᶰᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ⋅ ( the prophet. )

waricka:

angels angels aNGELS

7 years ago with ♥ 8846 — via

# ᶰᵉʷ ᵐᵉˢˢᶦᵃʰ⋅ ( visions. )

7 years ago with ♥ 26897 — via

# ᶰᵉʷ ᵐᵉˢˢᶦᵃʰ⋅ ( visions. )

bitchsnake:

_{↪ SMS TEXT »   ( baby ❤ )
I would, but I ran out of places for them to sleep.
Did you know, a single bed   & a couch can only hold so many people?}
  🙎 🙎 🙎

_{↪ REPLY: ❤eve❤}

> too bad!
> they cant stay here
> get them OUT
> especially this one
> img.png
> he cant bring a cat this is a no pets building and i think it peed somewhere
> i will dump you and kick you out
> deal w this

7 years ago with ♥ 3 — via

# bitchsnake # ᵈᵃᶦᶫʸ ᵍʳᶦᶰᵈ⋅ ( v.002 )

_{[ NEW MESSAGE ] to: ♥eve♥ @bitchsnake}

> stop bringing weird homeless people to my place
> run a cult out of YOUR OWN apartment 😠 😠 😠 😠 😠

7 years ago with ♥ 3

# bitchsnake # ᵈᵃᶦᶫʸ ᵍʳᶦᶰᵈ⋅ ( v.002 )

@bitchsnake. continued from here.

“different how?” is she another one like him, or is he being crazy? the parts that stick out of his hoodie – her face, her hands, the bit of skin between her pants and her shoes – all seem to glow, but that could be a trick of the light. sure. how much longer are you going to use that excuse?

( the last time, he’d gone after someone that made the visions fade and the voices go silent. he’d ended up almost getting sacrificed. oh, well. giving the opposite a try couldn’t hurt. )

“sure,” he said, even though he’d meant to say something more like there is no way i’m going back to your place, it’s one in the morning, you creep!! whatever. it was cold. he exhales, and the fog twists and roils in a way wholly unnatural. he looks away before it can resolve itself into more creepy prophetic bullshit. “mine is probably closer.”

7 years ago with ♥ 7 — via

# bitchsnake # ᶰᵒʷ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᴸᴼᴿᴰ﹗﹗ ( v.003 ) # fcking shit kev don't go to her place when u met her on some weird prophet midnight walk bullshit.

AESTHETIC MEME. anyone can do this. list your muse’s personal preferences regarding each of the following things. add as many subjects as you’d like; it can help people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things for your muse!

tagged by: @lizardbraiin
tagging: @bitchsnake, @broadcastiing, anyone else who wants to do it tbh.

REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

TASTES. that pill-bitter dry-swallow. mint gum over vomit. bitten-down nails.

SMELLS. purell. smoke – not from cigarettes, but from candles, paper, incense, everything else. cold day-old takeout.

SIGHTS. worn over-ear headphones. the inside of the toilet bowl. folders and cabinets and notebooks full of writing no one can ever see. the thousand-yard stare of someone who knows just how to ignore everything he doesn’t want to see. light and heat and teeth.

SOUNDS. whispers. shouts. loud music, drowning it out. “don’t you know you’re meant for more than this?” “i don’t care.”

BODY. smiling eyes. bird bones. barely shaking fingers, with bits of gore under the nails. where did that come from? someone didn’t believe.

7 years ago

# thank u for this opportunity. watch me fck it up. # ᵉᵗᵉʳᶰᵃᶫ ᵈᵃᵐᶰᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ⋅ ( the prophet. )

out. screams gently i’m here.

7 years ago

# ᵐᵘᶰᵈᵃʸ ᶠᵘᶰᵈᵃʸ﹗﹗ ( ooc. )

oszalec:

out. you know what it is! second semester is picking up, give me a couple weeks and i’ll be back here.

7 years ago with ♥ 2 — via

# ᵐᵘᶰᵈᵃʸ ᶠᵘᶰᵈᵃʸ﹗﹗ ( ooc. ) # goes for here too!! # i'll be back i always am. mwah.

clara–lux:

BARELLI, Agostino (1627-1687) et alii (architecture)
interior of the Theatine Church
17th century
Theatine Church, Munich
Ed. (Orig. by Schlaier) Lic. Ed.

7 years ago with ♥ 8794 — via , source

# ᵉᵗᵉʳᶰᵃᶫ ᵈᵃᵐᶰᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ⋅ ( the prophet. )

Rules.

THIS GOES AT THE TOP BECAUSE IT IS HARD FOR SOME PEOPLE TO GRASP.

in the his default, kevin CANNOT die. rather: he can die, but he will not stay dead for long. the same forces that chose him will stick him back together, breathe life into all the dead bits, and then they will not be dead anymore. no one should not be killing him without my permission anyway, but acting surprised and offended when he comes back is a BIG no-no.

some simple rules:

i’ll rp with mutuals. full stop.
if we’re not mutuals, you’re still welcome to send headcanons, prompts and asks.
don’t bug me to reply if i haven’t. i’m getting to it. i promise. i have a fancy tracker and everything. i didn’t miss you.
i’ll interact and rp outside the fandom, but i’ve got to know the source material. it’s not personal if i don’t. linking me to info/wiki pages is always good. linking me to short clips/playthroughs/chapters is even better.

credit stuff:

rp icons are all mine.
photoshop actions/overlays are all mine.
same goes for edits, promos, banners, graphics, theme bgs.

About.

Aren’t people supposed to beg for this and pray for this and live their entire lives for this?

^{The dreams aren’t the worst part. He’ll get these dreams, see, symbolic and stuff. Trees and roots and wheels and doors and all the baloney your English teacher wouldn’t let lie, mashed together like something out of the book of Revelations, if the guy that wrote Revelations got hopped up on Adderall trying not to sleep and then fell asleep anyway. He does that. It’s a bad habit.}

Isn’t this supposed to happen to good people? Sure, he’s not a bad person, and he goes to church on Sundays, but he never believed.

^{The words aren’t the worst part, either. Sometimes when he’s popped too many pills or tunes out, he’ll start to scribble, and that will turn into pages, and that will turn into notebooks. He watched once, detached and slightly nauseated, as his hands typed something about hellfire until the tips of his fingers were numb from hitting the keys so many times. The worst thing he ever did to stop it was break his left hand so he couldn’t write anymore. He’s ambidextrous, now, and he doesn’t have the nerve to break both.}

What chose him for this? Who chose the nonbeliever, the liar, the heretic? Whose grand plan was it to curse him with these visions?

^{Sometimes he blacks out. When he was little, he took pills for simple-stare seizures, the ones where one second you’re here and the next you’re on the floor and you’ve been looking up at the ceiling like a vegetable for half a minute. It’s like that, except he’ll have written three composition books that he rips to shreds later or he’ll be faintly glowing or he’ll be sore all over and there will be freshly turned earth in the backyard and he’ll be too scared to dig it up again. That’s the worst part.}

More importantly, how does he make them stop?