#also it seems you become a soul reaper by choice only and if not then you get reborn

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

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**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

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A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[winter-dayz]

Lonely St.

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader Grim Reaper AU; Soulmate AU Genre: Angst; Fluff Words: 3322 Warnings: implied major character death; implied suicide; strong language

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist:  @soobin-chois

Wandering.

Watching.

Waiting.

That’s all Seungmin really knew.

He wandered around the material plane, invisible to mortal beings, watching them enjoy their short lives. He saw them laugh and cry, celebrate and grieve. He watched their senseless wars, their fighting, their deaths.

And then he waited.

He waited for the feeling. The pull to a newly deceased soul.

It was all he’d ever known.

Ferrying souls so that they could rest, he’d never had a choice in it. It was what he was created to do.

The Fates had molded him in the shape of the beings he worked with, helping to gain their trust once they had left their mortal bodies and making it easier to get them to cross over.

He wasn’t frightening. He didn’t kill. He just did his job. He might’ve been a bit reserved towards his… clients, but he was anything but scary. Despite the rumors that the Grim received.

Presently, he was monitoring an older woman in the hospital. He could feel the tug. Any moment…

“Oh dear…” She sighed, eyeing her children and grandchildren weep over her. “I didn’t want them to mourn me.”

Seungmin nodded at the woman’s soul, “It’s what humans do. It can’t be helped. It simply shows that you were loved.”

Her wavering form seemed to smile up at him. “So are you the terrifying reaper, taking my soul?”

He shrugged, looking back over at the husk that the humans cried around. “I suppose that is what they say about me. Are you ready?”

“More than anything… I suffered long enough. I want to be with my husband again.”

“Just through there,” Seungmin motioned to the doorway of the hospital room, shimmering a white light. “He’s been waiting for you.”

The soul seemed to wriggle in excitement, becoming more and more amorphous as it melded into the white light of the other side, leaving Seungmin behind to once again wander… Watch… Wait…

What an odd thing it was, waiting.

He never knew how much time would pass.

🎃

The tug was there, and he followed it.

Just like always.

He found himself in a park, families with children and dogs with their owners playing all around him. As he settled on a bench, he felt the tug again.

Just in time.

A small brown puppy ran towards him, leash trailing behind.

He would’ve paid no mind. The creature wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.

“Hey! Grab that leash!” A young woman shouted at him.

He really would’ve paid no mind. If the woman hadn’t been able to see him.

For the first time in probably his entire existence, he moved reflexively. He didn’t simply wait. He reacted.

Seungmin grabbed the puppy’s leash in time, and the little dog whirled around in confusion, yipping at—presumably—nothing.

“Oh my god,” the woman gasped, coming to stand in front of him, “Thank you so much…?”

His mouth fell open, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You can see me?”

She plopped down onto the bench beside him, “Um… Yeah… Should I not be able to? Are you a spy or something? Oh shit! Am I blowing your cover?”

Sarcastic. The woman was sarcastic. 

“Anyway, thanks for catching my dog. M is such a troublemaker. He’s always running off… I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Pretty. The woman—Y/N, his brain slowly supplied—was pretty.

“M is a letter.”

She hummed. “Very quick wit you have there, super spy. I wanted to name him M&M, y’know like the candy, since the day I got him he stole an entire bag of them, and then I had to rush him to the emergency vet… But he won’t respond to that. Only M, or just Puppy… If I’m being honest, I think he knows what his name is supposed to be and does it just to annoy me.”

Kind. Y/N was kind.

Wait.

Y/N could see him.

There was his brain coming back online…

How could she see him?

Was she on the cusp of death perhaps? A terminal illness? It would be rude to ask.

It also didn’t feel right. Those who saw him could usually tell who—what—he was. But she simply assumed he was a mortal out for a stroll in the park.

He turned to stare at her. The sun glittered against her skin. She was completely at peace, ethereal, in her human shell.

“You never told me your name.” She finally spoke, standing to leave with her dog.

He hummed but was still in too much of a daze to respond. She left with a shrug and a small laugh.

Dizzying. Her laugh was dizzying.

🎃

Her name had not been on his list, despite the tug he had felt to be in that spot at that moment.

It was as if he was destined to meet her.

But that shouldn’t have been possible.

He didn’t meet people.

He ferried souls. He did his job. He wandered, watched, and waited.

It was too much for him to figure out. Honestly, it was outside of his duties… above his pay grade, so to speak. And yet, it bothered him that he couldn’t do so.

His job continued; the tug reappeared, pulling him to the next soul.

He discounted the experience and moved on.

🎃

“So we meet again?” She tilted her head up at him, eyelashes batting and a playful smile dancing on her lips.

The tug had lied to him again.

He’d been pulled to the front of this ice cream shop, only to arrive at the same moment as the woman from the park.

She could still see him. She still wasn’t a soul. She was still ethereal.

“I don’t know why this keeps happening. You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He muttered, more to himself than to her. She snickered at him anyway.

“So you’re still undercover then? Wait, wait… Am I the target? Is that why I’m not supposed to see you?” She looked around, eyes wide as if she was afraid and searching.

At the furrow of his brows, she laughed and nudged his shoulder. “C’mon. Ice cream is on me, just gotta tell me your name.”

He hesitated, considered leaving. Obviously this was another fluke… And it’s not like he could really enjoy the human treat anyway. But then the tug returned, and it was stronger than it had ever been. It was so persistent, so annoying. He had to follow it. So, he followed her into the shop with a small mutter of, “Seungmin.”

🎃

He had double, no triple, checked his list.

Nowhere to be found was a L/N Y/N.

He had even broken a rule and snuck into The Fates’ hall.

Finding hers amongst the millions of threads should’ve been difficult. Normally, one is only drawn to their own string, and only The Fates themselves can easily identify anyone else’s thread. But…

But, the never-ending tug when it surrounded anything having to do with the chatty, ethereal woman led him right to her string.

It was fine.

It wasn’t frayed like she was near-death or ill. It wasn’t cut like she was deceased and unaware.

Y/N was a normal woman.

Or, as normal a woman could be if they could see, talk to, and feel the Grim Reaper.

🎃

This time he had intentionally followed the tug, knowing it would lead to the enigma in his life.

He shouted her name, stomping through the bar and uncaring of all the people around. They couldn’t hear him anyway.

She turned to him, her furrowed brows eased and a smile lit up her face when she spotted him. She didn’t notice that no one else had reacted to him.

Seungmin nodded towards the side door, and she followed him into the dark alley.

“How did you find me?” She laughed, drunkenly, “Been keeping tabs on me, super spy?”

“Yes.” Seungmin stated, “I need to know how you can see me.”

Y/N groaned, “You’re still playing this game?”

Seungmin huffed, “It’s not a game, Y/N. I–” He hesitated but let out a steady breath, “I am not human. I’m a Grim. I was created by The Fates to ferry souls. You shouldn’t be able to see me unless you are dead… or at least dying.”

Her eyes widened, seemingly terrified, “I’m dying?”

“No!” Seungmin nearly shouted. He was a rational being, but she made him react so strongly. “That’s the problem… Your thread seemed perfectly normal to me. Granted, I don’t work with them. That’s not my job, but it wasn’t frayed or ended.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N let the scared face slip, falling back against the brick wall in another fit of drunken giggles. “Are you insane? You really think you’re the personification of death or something?”

“I’ll prove it.”

And he did. He dragged her back through the bar, snapping in front of people’s faces and tapping on shoulders only to be met with confused glances around. She finally noticed no one reacting to him; she also noticed the crazy looks she got when she reacted and spoke with him.

It was her turn to drag him away, back to the front and into a cab that she shakily hailed.

Y/N remained silent the entire drive, only speaking to the driver.

Once inside her apartment, she let out a heavy breath.

“So I can see ghosts?”

“I’m not a ghost.”

“Well, you’re not a person, Seungmin!”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m aware of that. But I’m not a ghost. Ghost implies that I died and didn’t cross over. That’s not what happened.”

“Okay then, how are you… this?”

Seungmin’s brows furrowed, matching her own confusion. “What do you mean? I’ve always been ‘this.’ I’m a Grim Reaper. That’s how The Fates created me.”

“Okay… Not a ghost. So…” Y/N dropped onto the sofa beside him. “The Fates. You mentioned them earlier too and something about a thread?”

He nodded. “Yes. By all accounts, only beings that have passed and need to cross over can see and interact with a Grim the way you do. In some rare cases, a being that is terminally ill or on the precipice of death will see us as well, but their strings are always fraying. I checked yours since I wondered if that was the case for you; however, your thread seemed to be perfectly intact to me.” 

“So I’m not dead, and you’re not alive… But we’re able to talk?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“It’s certainly not normal.”

“I see…” Y/N sighed, “Well, what if we just go our separate ways and forget about all of this until I actually am dead?”

“That’s the other thing…” Seungmin hesitated, “I keep getting drawn to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, normally, I am drawn to a soul that is needing to cross over. But for some reason, more and more frequently, I am being pulled to you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “That’s how you keep finding me… It’s what you meant by ‘keeping tabs.’ And here I thought it was a bunch of coincidental meet-cutes.”

He tilted his head, obviously not understanding, “I don’t follow. A ���meet-cute’?”

She hummed. “It’s this plot device in movies and stuff where a future couple meet for the first time.”

Seungmin’s expression didn’t falter, but he whispered, “Couple?” to himself regardless. He was aware of the concept, of course, often interacting with sad souls being separated from their earthly partners or excited ones getting to reunite on the other side. But he himself had never considered companionship in depth… Particularly because before now he never thought it would be possible.

“You said those on the precipice of death can sometimes see you…” Y/N finally asked, breaking his lengthy pondering of what it would be like to have someone to wander through life with.

Seungmin noticed the quiver in her voice, the roughness of her tone. He hesitated, if only for a moment, before leaning forward and placing his hand on hers. “Yes, in rare instances. But, I can assure you that your thread was fine. You are not going to die anytime soon, Y/N.”

She shook her head, “That’s– No. I know you said that, and I believe you… I– I trust you. But… When I was little, I was in an accident. The paramedics who responded said my heart had stopped. I was dead for three minutes. Could that be some kind of exception?”

“I– I don’t know, Y/N.” Seungmin floundered. All of this was unprecedented for him too.

“Who would know?”

“The Fates.”

Y/N sighed, “I was afraid you were going to say that…” She stood from her sofa, trading her uncomfortable heels for sneakers. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Go?” Seungmin sputtered with wide eyes as he trailed her to the front door. It was the most reaction she had seen out of him; the most… human, he had seemed. And the cutest, if she was able to think about anything other than the fact that he was a Grim Reaper.

She shrugged, grabbing his hand without thinking to pull him to the elevator. “They are the only ones who know the answers to what is going on with us. So you’re going to take us to them, and we’ll get this sorted out.”

Seungmin gaped at you, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

🎃

“Whoa…” Y/N breathed, staring up at the massive doors in front of her. “So this is the underworld?”

Seungmin shook his head, “Not exactly. It’s The Fates’ hall. It exists outside of your space and reality, a place that the trinity can weave time for mortals. It’s where I first remember… waking up.”

“Right. Well let’s go in.” She huffed, pushing forward as Seungmin’s eyes widened.

“Wha– You– We can’t just go in!”

She shrugged. “Why not?” Y/N asked, opening the doors and stepping through.

“Because it’s against th–”

“It’s about time you two showed up.” A voice spoke, reverberating down the neverending hall.

Y/N paused, gaping as she took in the millions of red threads strung around. Many of them crossed over one another, some tangling together and some fully knotted. There were strings dangling pitifully, obviously ended, and others clearly fraying and barely holding together.

What Seungmin had mentioned came to mind, settling like a rock in the pit of her stomach at how many people were so close to death without even knowing.

Another heavy feeling settled as she gazed over to the Grim, unaffected by the threads as he led her through the maze of red. How many people had he helped cross? How much death had he been around? How long had he been without real connection as the only beings that could speak with him were meant to leave immediately?

“Don’t think too hard, dear.” An elderly woman smiled up at her from a rocking chair, happily snipping a thread.

“Yes, child, you won’t likely remember any of those dreadful thoughts once you leave our chambers.” Another, middle-aged, woman spoke as she measured the string she was holding.

Y/N’s eyes widened, head shaking lightly to clear her jumbled mind, “Who–”

“Who are we?” The final woman, young—barely a woman—spoke, while she wove the red strings. “You know who we are. We’re The Fates. We’re time and destiny. And you are here because you are wondering how you can see our Grim Reaper.”

She nodded, unable to find words. Seungmin, likewise, remained silent. In all his existence, he had never directly met with The Fates.

The elderly woman tutted gently to capture the mortal and reaper’s attentions. “The Grim… Sorry, Seungmin… is a bit confused about his origins. We didn’t create him. He was a mortal once.”

“I was a what?!” Seungmin interjected.

“Hush child, don’t interrupt your elders.” The middle-aged woman scolded.

The young woman continued, “Yes, it’s true. We did not create you. You were once a man who cut his own thread, so-to-speak…”

“That’s to say that you unfortunately took your own life, dear. And, the punishment for this sin is to be reincarnated as a Grim Reaper…”

“You were assigned an undetermined amount of time assisting souls pass on. To not know rest, child.”

“But, a few years ago, we decided you earned your second chance… If you could reconcile with the soulmate that you so cruelly left behind in your last life.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered between The Fates as they stared at her meaningfully. “Oh my god… You mean me?”

“Yes, dear. You and Seungmin are a destined pair. Would you like to see your threads?”

She nodded dumbly, while Seungmin gaped. “I– But I looked at her thread, and I didn’t notice anything odd…”

“Well of course you wouldn’t, child. It’s not your job to read the strings.”

Before Seungmin could argue further, the hallway around them shifted, the strings around them changing. The scenery settled, and the middle-aged woman held two threads gently. She motioned Seungmin and Y/N over, allowing them to follow her explanation with a demonstration.

“This was your original thread, so beautifully woven and tied together, until…” She held the end of one of the threads, cut short as the other continued on, fraying slowly. “You cut your string, while your soulmate continued on, decaying from heartbreak. You were changed into a Grim Reaper shortly after, and we created a new thread from you.”

“And then,” The young woman continued, as the scenery changed once more. Seungmin recognized the two threads she now held, “Your soulmate was reborn.”

The Fates admired their handiwork on Seungmin and Y/N’s strings, tracing over where Y/N’s was cut and retied—explaining it was from her near-death experience.

“It wasn’t quite your time, dear. I apologize for being a bit scissor-happy. But, it was also a way for us to ensure our sweet Grim and you become more easily tangled later on.”

The two threads continued on, crossing over multiple times to signify each time Seungmin was pulled to her, and The Fates held them both tightly together as they stood still in time with each other in the hall.

“What happens now?” Seungmin whispered finally.

“Well, that will be up to you and your soulmate, child. Ideally, you two will continue on your journey together and strengthen your bond to grant you mortality.”

Y/N gasped, backing away into the maze of red string, “This is… a lot…”

Seungmin turned to follow her, making sure she safely made it back to the entryway, “I’m sorry if you feel you have no choice. I had no idea…”

She smiled sadly. “It’s not that, Seungmin. I actually like you… getting past all of this,” she gestured at the hall behind them, “I just don’t want to feel like we’re only together because it was forced by destiny.”

“We’re not.”

Y/N scoffed, “How can you be sure?”

Seungmin shrugged, “If we were being forced, we would’ve seen the rest of our threads woven together already. They aren’t yet because The Fates are giving us a choice.”

Y/N huffed at his blase attitude towards all of this, “Do you even like me, Seungmin?”

“What?” Seungmin’s eyes widened, “Of course I do! You were so kind to me, even when you thought I was crazy and kept following you. And then, all of this, you’ve been so brave and patient. You have such a light heart and not to mention how beautiful you are. You’re ethereal to me. Just unreal. I just…” Seungmin sighed, “I won’t force you into anything for my sake when all of this was my fault to begin with.”

“I don’t want you to be alone anymore…” Y/N whispered.

“I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore either…” She added, stepping closer.

“Then you won’t be. We can wander together.”

[revserrayyu]

2.2 Penacony thoughts [part 5]

**Major story spoilers** as we’re finished the main story here. Going to be chatting even more about Acheron and our time in the Horizon of Existence, the real final boss, as well as all cutscenes that follow, so if you haven’t finished the whole story yet, I encourage you to come back and read this all later if you wish to do so after you experience everything for yourself first.

I gotta start off by saying that I absolutely love how this scene looks. Yeah it’s upsetting to learn that Acheron’s companion here is actually dead, but all the rain falling upon that red glow is just really nice to look at. Of course Acheron is slaying as usual too. I even dig the shadowy look of this man despite his circumstances.

Is Acheron kinda of like a grim reaper of sorts? At least that’s the feeling I’m getting when she says she’s guiding lost souls. And correct me if I’m wrong, but he is the one who wanted flowers on his grave, right? He just doesn’t remember I assume? It also seems that “Acheron” is just a river and I vaguely remember Acheron mentioning one during her conversation with the “Dreammaster” inside the park.

So I guess this is what all that red text meant? It wasn’t something we should have feared but a way to guide us forward, onto the right path? That’s how I’m interpreting it. Anyways, name drop reveals that this man was actually one of the Nameless buried at Dream Flux Reef.

Soon enough we arrived at the Horizon of Existence with Acheron and I’m like 99% sure this set of questions she asks us are close to the same exact ones she spoke of when we met her inside that first dream. I wish I remembered my choices to her questions from back then, because with the game only giving us one option to choose for each question, I wonder if it’s giving us the same option we picked when we first answered her because that would be amazing.

SHE. SAID. THE. THING!!! Acheron real name confirmed!!! Even though it’s pretty much what we all expected from the very beginning, it’s great for it to finally be true and not be a total secret.

A big ol’ cutscene begins and it reminds me of how little we actually received about Boothill, like yeah he shoots that fancy relic bullet up into the sky because he’s the only Galaxy Ranger around who can do so, but he didn’t do much else? I mean I absolutely enjoyed seeing him interact with Dan Heng and everyone else but to not even get the chance to fight a battle with him seems weird after 2.1 gave us the chance to really use both Acheron and Aventurine and test our their gameplay whenever we switched to their perspectives. Same thing happened with Robin too. We walked around as her and Boothill for brief moments but that was pretty much it, making the switch seem kinda pointless to me.

I got no words for this. It’s just an incredibly beautiful screenshot of her. I’ll never get tired of seeing all that red whenever this monochrome world takes over. Makes me regret skipping her every day but next time I’ll pull her for sure.

Yet another line she told us during our first encounter with her. Also, if this is the last time we see her in the story, I’m gonna be sad.

The crew!!!! I’ll admit it does look a little silly that we’re only armed with a hat while everyone else has a reasonable weapon, but I love each one of us so much!! It felt perfect for me to have Himeko in my team during the upcoming fight too.

While I figured we were gonna be blessed with Robin’s appearance and one of her songs during the fight, can I just say that I was not expecting the assist mechanic to be the mother-forking Express?? I had joked somewhere sometime ago that if Pom-Pom were to ever become playable, that their ultimate would be running the enemy over with the train and color me surprised, because that’s pretty much what happens!!

So the final battle itself went pretty well. Took a bit more damage than before but still an easier fight overall than how Aventurine’s went for me. I knew I didn’t have to bring in our dear gambler in since the fight itself granted us shields, but his helped me just fine along with all those follow up attacks.

I think my Trailblazer managed to do pretty well too? I stressed so hard to break that 145 on speed to access that secondary buff of the Talia planar ornaments, so that’s why other stats may be a bit lacking. At least I have break effect at 197%.. is that reasonable?

Anyways, as much as I adore Serval, I had to use the train to deliver the final hit.

Pfft, ain’t no way. Sunday is really over.

Look at us protecting March, aww!

Trailblazer pulls off some last minute talk-no-jutsu to get through to Sunday’s head and with a heartfelt embrace from Robin, I think it’s time to start crying.

C’mon, look at how gorgeous this is!! Such a beautiful sunrise to witness after all the chaos is over.

Surprisingly, the credits roll again only this time it actually feels like a proper ending to the story. It even lists Acheron’s true name, yet March still remains a mystery. When will we ever learn? Who knows.

Final cutscene of the patch begins and what do you mean Argenti saved Aventurine??? When and how and why didn’t we get to witness such a moment with two of Star Rail’s most beautiful men!

Aventurine betting his own life once again.. oh dear, you never learn. Then again, it seems you never lose either so, go ahead sweetie. Go get that promotion you so rightfully deserve!

This scene also bums me out a little because I was really hoping we would actually get to see Jade arrive in game this time around, but it seems we’ll have to wait even longer. Cutting it a bit close to her release with it being in the same patch but at least she’s phase two. I’m pulling for her day one though. I don’t care what happens in the story, it won’t change my mind about her! (to be fair, I’ve seen some leaks about her gameplay and, oh my god..)

Boothill unexpectedly enters the room after knocking out the two IPC guards outside the door and we’re left with yet another cliffhanger. Definitely not as strong as a final scene as the previous two versions but no way a random name drop could match a sudden surprise death either.

And finally, that’s all for now. Penacony remains to be a story full of mysterious twists and there’s plenty more to see.. hopefully. We still have no clear idea what happened to Firefly, then there’s all those bombs Sparkle was handing out to everyone, we still have to officially meet Jade and see what she and Topaz have planned. Sunday and Robin were last seen falling from the sky so they gotta land safely and I haven’t a clue if we’ll even see Acheron again. Here’s hoping 2.3 ties up all loose ends and gives Penacony the finale it deserves!

[talesofsonicasura]

Woke up from a nap earlier to my brain wanting to mess with Kafka and Mina.

Kafka had always been a strange person. He was born with a birthmark on his back: a black outline of butterfly wings. Those who saw it obviously mistaken it for a tattoo to the point he stopped correcting them.

Another oddity became known on the day he turned 6. Kafka had gotten a nice new neighbor and been talking to them for weeks. Strangely it seems like nobody else wanted to see them. The little boy obviously asked his mama about it and even gave her the neighbor's name.

Kafka learns that his new friend was in today's obituary. He soon realizes he could see and talk to the dead. The third peculiarity reared its head when the boy was 13. Kafka's family were holding a barbecue with a few families from the neighborhood.

A game of tag unfortunately goes wrong when the boy gets shoved into the hot open grill. Despite the holes and burnt marks in his clothes, the boy wasn't hurt. Kafka had learned fire can't hurt.

All of these strange things about hundreds didn't really scare him. Sure Kafka knows it's weird but he thought it was cool. Maybe it can be a major help when he joins the Defense Force with Mina! Then the fourth oddity finally bloomed.

For the past two weeks, 22 year old Kafka has been complaining about his back feeling super itchy. Both him and Mina recently just finished their first attempt together at the Defense Force. The only thing they are waiting for are the results.

Back to the itching, Mina thinks Kafka may be allergic to something. A notion that has him worried since he took an allergy test for the exams and it came out completely negative. She asks if he has a rash which Kafka embarrassingly admits only for the first week but it's been gone since. Mina chalk it up to the skin condition haven't fully went away yet.

Fast forward to the next day. The results came in but Kafka hadn't responded to her messages. She runs over with his in hand only to notice the lights in the apartment were off yet the door was unlocked. Mina worryingly stumbles inside the dark apartment.

It's an absolute mess, moreso than the usual. She soon finds what has to be Kafka in the bathroom. Yet there's something very off with him. Her best friend is shivering as a curtain blanketed part of his back.

Then realization struck once her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. What was on Kafka's back hadn't been a curtain. It was faded crimson butterfly wings.

"Help me Mina... They won't come off."

If you guys noticed what I'm referencing then super kudos to you. For those in the dark, my mind decided why not delve deeper into horror with an unusual muse: Kirby's Morpho Knight. This is what's going on.

Kafka has essentially been chosen as Morpho Knight's champion in a sense. In Kirby lore, this Fluttering Dreameater is a primordial entity that ferries the souls of those who should have died and leads them to paradise. Simpler terms, the grim reaper disguised as a seemingly innocent sun colored butterfly.

Morpho Knight has an affinity for fire and imbues the butterfly sword he wields with them. An attribute Kafka also inherited although he'll need some help to get his own swords. With age, the remainder of his blessings would soon manifest.

One being his own wings much to Kafka and Mina's eventual horror. These aren't fully developed though but they will be flight worthy in soon time. You can bet your ass both are horrified.

Kafka's involvement in the Defense Force immediately begins under heavy watch as Mina believes it was the only choice they had. Neither knew if his condition could worsen over time and didn't want to take chances. Kafka was a mystery since the butterfly wings were the visible anomaly with his body. No core or anything else that screams kaiju.

He would stay at headquarters before eventually ending up in Mina's care once she becomes 3rd Division Captain. (She could only visit before due to her position as an officer.) An arrangement that already formed a foundation when Kafka's unnatural affinity for the sword became known. This happened during an experiment with his growing fire ability.

A test to see if he could channel it through an object and one option was a training sword. The moment Kafka picked it up is when things went sideways. A simple training sword was configured into a burning hot butterfly blade and he swung it as if possessed. The large deep slice he scorched into the wall, one made to withstand a kaiju attack, had been enough to call Soshiro in.

Merely one of multiple incidents to come before canon even starts. Only thing I can say is everyone better prepare for fire and flames to come. A himbo imbued with the powers of an eldritch butterfly death god is one thing.

Tiny the larval kaiju will appear to ramp things up.

(Here's the link to the boss fight for those who want further context on how insane this will be.)

@discoknack @foolmariofest @driokrine @writeroffanfiction

[femoso-seben]

Pandemonium AU

Cod mw2 characters if they were Grim Reapers!

SOAP was the first to pass faced with the new(ish) modern war Death God. Soap tried to haunt 141 to 1) make sure they get Makarov and 2) scare them but that's not how Death works.

As a last-minute ditch to stay, he asked about the Grim Reaper, turns out this young Death God had no Grim Reapers and is runner-dogged.

SOAP then said he could be a Grim Reaper and he also (accidentally) sold all of 141’s soul to the Death God.

SOAP then dreamed Grim Reaper of Destruction (seems, bombs, building collapse, landmines, etc) as the Grim Reaper shroud is hung on him his memory of his human life is suppressed.

——————

GAZ dies in a collapsed building and meets Grim Reaper and immediately recognizes him. He tries to talk to him but the Grim Reaper ignores him.

GAZ stared at the Death God in annoyance as he was told his fate to become one of its Grim Reaper.

“Why?”

“Oh, your friend sold your soul to me.”

And boom!

2nd Grim Reaper!

GAZ then becomes the Grim Reaper of Equality (less literal and more symbolic) he keeps records of the newly fallen

——————

PRICE dies from wounds taking out Makarov and is greeted by the Modern War Death God in person sitting across from him smoking a cigar (and coughing a lung out because it can't smoke to save its life!)

“Are you the Grim Reaper?”

“No, I’m your Master.”

PRICE tries to argue with the Death God to let him rest in peace.

“Nope, your buddy sold your soul to me, your mine.”

“Who?”

“Um… John MacTavish.”

PRICE folds fast after hearing that name and agrees to become the Grim Reaper of Strife (his anger in life fuels how the Death God named him) and retains some of his memories (mostly the ones attached to anger)

——————

GHOST was a victim of Makarov’s plan and was escorted by Reaper Gaz to the Death God.

GHOST 100% believes he's going to hell and was 100% preparing himself for the hellishness of hell

GHOST didn't know what to say when the Death God said he was joining its ranks.

“Why?”

“Your soul was sold to me.”

“I didn't sell my soul—”

“Your friend did.”

GHOST reluctantly agrees and the Death God names him the Grim Reaper of Compassion (Ghost is canonically a kind person… ANYWAYS he leads Children and the innocents that died in war to the other side)

GHOST kept all his memories

——————

VALERIA dies in her struggle to keep her cartel territories and faces the Dearh God boldly. She knew she was going to go to hell and tried to stall.

Death found her entertaining and knew the war on drugs would continue on and needed a reaper in that field. Death makes an offer.

VALERIA agrees and one last fuck you to Alejandro and Rodalpho throws their name in.

VALERIA becomes the Grim Reaper of Narcotics. (she follows all the infighting of cartels, Mafia, and organized crime and will cross paths this the Death God of Drugs and their Grim Reapers often)

Keeps most of her human memories (all after she decided to join the Cartel world)

——————

ALEJANDRO like the saying did die at his own hands…. Kinda. Since VALERIA is so good at her job Death God wanted him

Death didn't give him a choice and just dropped the shroud on him changing him.

ALEJANDRO becomes the Grim Reaper of Honor.

ROLDAPHO died with Alejandro a few minutes before. He accepts his face and becomes the Grim Reaper of Mercy.

ALEJANDRO and ROLDAPHO only kept memories of each other working a lot with each other giving each person some self-honor

——————

GRAVES was killed by 141 in a coupe to take him out (revenge) and the Death God already had its eyes on him.

GRAVES was easily swayed by the Death God’s cry for help since war is never-ending and it's swamped with never-ending work!

GRAVES becomes the Grim Reaper of Soldiers (his favorites are the Marines and he always congratulations fallen soldiers with a pat)

GRAVES Kept all his memories

——————

KÖNIG died blessing out protecting Civilians and he Deatj God on a pure impulse dropped a Shroud on him turning him into a Grim Reaper of Civilians

HORANGI was accidentally chosen when he pulled the shroud on top of himself and Desth God simply shrugged and named him the Grim Reaper of Accidents (for how he became a reaper, how he became a soldier, and for any other fooled tricked into joining war)

Both don't keep their memories.

——————

FARAH and ALEX died together and together they joined the Reaper team force.

FARAH became the Grim Reaper of Freedom

ALEX became the Grim Reaper of Independence

Both remember their human life

——————

When the God of Death of Modern War called a Grim Reaper meeting there was a lot of pointing and full-on confusion. It was pretty funny as both Gaz and Soap remembered who they were the moment they saw Graves.

[lapinparka]

There's this part of the Secret Reports that I think gets misinterpreted, which then leads to people getting the wrong impression of how the Game works.

It's this section here:

"So, what happens to those who survive the week? Those whose Imagination is less than outstanding are broken down into Soul, while those with excellent Imagination become Reapers. The most talented of these may travel to the next plane, inhabited by Us Angels."

I've seen the "broken down into Soul" bit interpreted as "if you're not good at arts and crafts by the end of the week, the Conductor erases you on the spot." Which I don't think is right.

Firstly, I think this comes from a misunderstanding on what Imagination is. People assume it's just creative talent, and while it does refer to this a few times in the Secret Reports, that's not the only thing it refers to. We're told that Neku's Imagination is what brought about Joshua's change of heart - which would make no sense if we went with the above definition, because Neku does not change Joshua's worldview with his artistic abilities. Instead, here, it seems to refer to Neku's growth as a person. Earlier in the reports, Imagination is also used to refer to a person's "true intentions."

On top of that, despite Neku having stronger Imagination than Shiki or Beat, he's the only one of the three not shown to have some kind of hobby or talent. If Imagination did just refer to this, then Shiki would be strongest, but she can only use certain pins, and only one at a time. The Composer is meant to have the strongest Imagination in the UG, hence the ability to revive people - but again, we don't see any particular creative hobby associated with Joshua either.

Then there's the assumption that if your Imagination isn't up to scratch, you get erased outright. This is actually contradicted by a scene we see in-game, when Neku completes the first week, and Megumi tells him:

"If you still cling to life, you may reenter the Game. If you lean toward destruction, you may join your friend as a Reaper. Otherwise, should you welcome oblivion, erasure is also an option."

We see the erasure option here... but that's exactly what it is: an option. Something a winning Player can choose. Which makes sense, because even though we're also told Players with excellent Imagination become Reapers, this does not happen automatically without their consent. Why would the alternative be any different?

The Secret Reports are written from an Angel's perspective. Angels want to make more Angels, so from their point of view, choosing to join the Reaper's ranks showcases high Imagination. On the other hand, having completed the Game and been given these options, yet still still choosing erasure - well that would display a lack of Imagination. You've effectively fought these seven days for nothing.

That's how I see it, anyway, and what I think we're supposed to take from it. Everything offered by winning the Game is a Player's choice - the Game does not insta-punish you because your drawing skills are sub-par.

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Since the ask about reaper reader implied that they were human before I imagine when they first became a reaper they still look very human. Their body was replaced with a mannequin like prosthetic that have joints similar to a jointed doll since their real body is 6ft under and rotting. The only supernatural thing about them is their strength, agility and inability to feel pain along with immortality. Basically level 1 reaper reader.

But the more they reap souls (more specifically sinners' souls) the more powerful they become and gain abilities like shapeshifting and dimension hopping. Not just that, but their blade is also sharpened enough to kill other reapers. Which gives them the choice to either finally end their own existance or stay a reaper if they wish.

Sorry for the long ass ramble, it's just that I'm digging this whole reaper reader lore the moment it came out!

Oh yeah you are supposed to be having fun with it so have at it! Seems like you are maybe you should dig deeper into it 😉 🌟

[thehealerhairpin]

the choice and the word for the situation to her , is that she must stay . stay to fight . stay to protect . stay to HELP .

she knows it was soul reaper's job to protect living beings - to protect living souls , specifically humans that are a weakling and needed to be protect and purify like souls and herself - it was their job , not hers . yet , how could someone like her stand to watch someone get hurt so SEVERELY while she only stood there and watches as everybody fight and screams from their injuries , pain , and agony . she know she could help them - and even just this once . . she WILL HELP .

it might seems dumb , it might seems stupid . but that it just how she is she do not wanna see another person get hurt in front of her again .

" understood , Kaisa - san ! "

but now - . . just what is she supposed to DO . her leg was injured , she have to heal , but does she have to also help kill the hollow while using her offensive technique ? she doesn't understand at all - as she stood there sweats starts running down her body and her hand forming into a triangular shape ready to use at least one of her technique as then another growl from behind the both of them came through as it startles her and she put her hands behind and turning around to face the new hollow -

" KOTEN ZANSHUN - "

it was an automatic behavior that she couldn't help - it was the only offensive technique she have that can end a hollow as her hairpin glows in a bright light as her leaves of the hairpin separated and it goes to become a sharp light splitting the enemy into two -

holy fuck she just killed somebody .

this was the least she could do .

" DO YOU WANT SOME HELP ON YOUR LEG ? - "

she could only watch out for Kaisa's back at the moment - but so far there's not much she have attracted with these hollows and it seems she have time to at least get to healing Kaisa's leg - if she would try and stay still for her for a bit .

~*~ The young soul halted at Orihime telling her she refused. She blinked and tilted her head to the side. If Kaisa didn’t attack and purify the hollow soon then they’d both be in danger. Yes Kaisa was injured, her left leg was still bleeding, but no major arteries had been severed. She wouldn’t bleed out and she didn’t want to let the girl get harmed as well. This argument wasn’t going to help either of them in the situation and Kaisa needed to make a choice. She could let Orihime stay and risk both of them being wounded more, or convince her to leave and get herself harmed again while trying to convince the girl to listen. That decision needed to be quick and well, she was still not wanting to let Orihime get harmed.

“Inoue-san, it’s my duty to protect living souls,” Kaisa told her, focusing her attention back on the adjuchas that was stalking them, “if you won’t run, then please do your best to avoid getting yourself harmed. I couldn’t live with it if I let you be hurt when I could have stopped it.”

The hollow growled at them, bearing its animalistic teeth and claws. Kaisa took a breath and steadied herself for blocking its next attack with her shield.

“Keep your guard up and don’t underestimate them.”

With that the bear-like hollow pounced at the girls and Kaisa lifted her shield to keep the claws at bay. She thrust the spear towards its side, aiming for a weak spot to incapacitate it. What she needed now was to push it back and prepare for an assault herself.

[another-fantasy-world]

Grim Reaper's Apprentice

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Title: Grim Reaper's Apprentice

Pairing/s: Rosalie Hale x GN! Reader (Romantic), Alice Cullen x GN! Reader (Platonic), Bella Swan x GN! Reader (platonic)

Summary: in which two lonely mystical creatures find peace and comfort in each other as fate deemed it to be

Warnings: Not detailed violence but violence nonetheless. My own shitty take on Grim Reapers.

Additional Tags: OOC characters, fluff, I am so sorry I haven't watched twilight in a while vurabhvrbhabvr

Reader Pronouns: I think I didn't put any pronouns for the reader honestly-

Word Count: 3358 words

Author’s Note: It's been sitting on my drafts for too long and I've not written for the twilight fandom in so long so I decided why not?

╚═════ஓ๑♥๑ஓ═════╝

Grim Reaper. A being that is said to bring nothing but an ill omen.

You didn't really think you'd have the pleasure of meeting the spiritual being and live, but you did. And now they took you in as their apprentice. Which was terrifying at first, but you made it out just fine. And now you also had the ability to gather souls and make their whole life flash before their eyes.

You love your job, you really do, but sometimes it can get lonely. Your guardian was busy, moving from one soul to another and they certainly need your help, which you gladly provide, but you need someone you can talk to, someone who had a mortal life once.

And you found what you were looking for in a blonde girl whose soul was due to travel to the other side of the veil. How? You didn't know, you never knew, you just knew when they'd die and what they did in their life when you watched their memories.

It may be an invasion of privacy, but you have to do it, and over time you were numb to it all. You always ensured that you only showed the happiest memories to those who didn't deserve to die but those who did? You made sure they regret their lifetime of decisions.

This time, a name suddenly wrote itself upon your book, a list of names whose souls need to be retrieved and guided before the end of the day. And while a name suddenly popping up in the middle of a job isn’t unusual, the fact that it’s glowing an elegant shade of gold is. 

You quickly guide the ordinary soul through the veil and once that’s done, you allowed yourself to dematerialize and assemble to where the soul was. 

And there laid the most beautiful creature you have ever laid your eyes on. You, however, didn’t get to stare at her for too long because you felt a crushing pain in your chest. You gritted your teeth as the pain reverberated and spread all throughout your body. Rosalie’s memories start forcing their way inside your head and you are reliving her life just as she is.

“Child. One wished that fate would allow your meeting with your fated half in a pleasant way, but one sees that it is not the case. You must make a choice, one’s dearest apprentice. Would you allow her soul to pass through the veil, or would you allow her to live as a Cold One?” You feel your mentor’s bony hand on your shoulder

You weighed each option carefully, Once a soul passes through the veil, it experiences the best treatment it could wish for. Basically, heaven as most mortals prefer to call that phenomenon. However, you would never be able to see her again. But if she becomes a cold one instead, she would have to live with the pain of having to consume blood. You had a feeling she would consider that a curse instead.

“Ah, it seems you are too slow when it comes to decisions child.” 

Your head shot up at the sound of someone’s footsteps echoing from within the dark alleyway, a cold one. Are they looking for a meal? You scrambled to your feet and attempted to push the blonde man off your fated one, only for you to phase through him. You felt dread quickly filling you up, She doesn’t want this. No one does, she doesn’t deserve to live with the memories that’ll forever haunt her. 

Perhaps he’d just feed on her? Or will he change her?

But isn’t that a good thing? You’d have a chance on getting to know her? After all, you’d be contented with just being in her presence. 

“Child. One understands your turmoil, however, you must not be too reckless and hasty. Gaze into his eyes little one.” Your mentor sighs as if exasperated by your antics

And so you did as they asked, gazing into this man’s golden eyes. Ah. 

“Oh.” you pouted slightly, embarrassment slowly replacing the dread

“As you can see, she’ll be…relatively safe with the Cullens.”

“Do you know him?”

“Why yes, of course. One was supposed to claim his soul but he turned into a cold one before one had the chance to steal his soul.” Your mentor’s cloak shook as if the body under it shrugged

Your mentor’s making your job sound so much more terrifying and evil than it actually is, making you look at them with a scrunched-up face.

They sigh, “She will be safe with the Cullens, you have sifted through his memories so you should know firsthand what he truly is like. One also gives you permission to follow your fated one around when you finished guiding your set amount of souls every day. However, you must remember, child, you are not strong enough to appear in front of those who walk in the mortal plane just yet.”

You know that. You’ve been trying to get past that hurdle for who knows how long. Grim Reapers take souls who have experienced great pain and suffering yet remain neutral, as opposed to the good souls that go up and bad souls that go down, as apprentices. And you were one of the new ones, barely able to force souls through the veil. This is why your mentor always gave you the easy ones.

“Do not worry young one.” Their bony hand petted your hair, “With your work ethic, you’re going to gain that skill in the next few decades” They then turned around, that signature scythe lazily draped over their shoulders.

“Besides, if you manage to capture souls before they turn into cold ones or a creature of the night, you might lessen your sentence.” 

And so you did just that. You gently guided kind souls to their destination, helping them fulfill their last wishes before moving on. You not-so-gently kicked cruel souls into your soul jar and threw them through the veil. Your method made your stoic mentor laugh so hard their jaw fell off… literally. 

You also (creepily) romantically followed Rosalie around as she navigates through her new life as a cold one. She was particularly attractive when she killed those who led her to her death without even spilling a drop of blood. Only the Gods above and below are witnesses to your feral fawnings over your beloved. Well, except maybe for the souls of the very same men your beloved just killed. They were already in your jar so it’s not like they had any say in it. 

So that was how you spent the next few decades, following Rosalie around to make sure she’s safe, doing your job, and practicing how to solidify so that you can finally attend that God-awful school in Forks, where Rosalie and her family are trying to blend in with their God-like looks and their dazzlingly golden eyes. Florescent they say. 

You can’t help but laugh as (your brother-in-law) Rosalie’s brother weakly try to explain and defend himself from his blood singer and fated one. 

“Hmm. Bella Swan huh. I remember a soul whose last wish was to name his granddaughter after his wife Bella… I wonder…” You shrugged it off, maybe it was a coincidence. 

“Woah! So you really are here.” You jumped and screeched when a pixie-like being suddenly appeared beside you. 

“Alice? You can…see me?” You waved your hand back and forth in front of her face

“No. I can’t see you. But I’ve seen this vision so many times that I have memorized it down to every last second.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh indeed. So tell me, who are you and why do I see you with Rosalie in almost every vision I get. And yes I know the answer I just want to hear you say it.” 

“You can’t even hear me.” You sighed, before trying to materialize and succeeding, but you feel yourself struggling and you knew that your time with her is limited. 

“Hello.” You tested it awkwardly, then laughed slightly when Alice’s eyes lit up as she bounced on the heels of her feet.

“You’re prettier than when I saw you in my vision-” she then grabs your hand, lightly gasping “You’re cold!! Colder than us, at least.” You chuckled, loving the cheerful attitude that was directed toward you. 

“I’m glad that at least one of the Cullen’s like me at least.” You grinned

“I don’t just like you, oh no. We are going to be best friends. And I will be setting you up with Rose sooner or later… Preferably when you can permanently make yourself solid.” She giggled, pointing at your now fading body. 

“Oh.” That was the last word you muttered before running out of time, which made Alice laugh gleefully before turning to return inside where her family was waiting for her. 

You wondered if they heard your conversation whilst floating to them but it turns out that they were quite worried for Alice since her presence suddenly disappeared. You noted that as one of the things you’ll ask your mentor once they come by for their check-up on you every decade or so.

Days pass by as more trouble finds its way toward the Cullen family, the center of it all would be one Bella Swan and you suddenly found yourself swamped with work, so you could only be there when a certain crazy blonde-haired vampire bit Bella Swan. 

“Do I really look like that?” Bella whispers to herself as she gazes down at her convulsing body

“Yes, you do. Now, do you see why Alice insists on taking you out shopping?” You suddenly phased through one of the pillars in her childhood ballet studio. 

You just came from Italy, guiding a huge group of souls with 2 more fellow apprentices after a coven feeding. It was easy but tedious and tiring. When you saw that 2 names suddenly written themselves in your “souls-to-fetch” list, you were baffled to see Bella’s name along with some random white dude named James.

Bella took a ghostly step back as you fixed your clothes, ignoring the fighting of Edward and James in the background. She was clearly startled by you but she composed herself quickly

“Excuse me? Who are you? Are you…like a ghost?” She then glances at your scythe and you see her slowly put things together. 

“Wow, I can see the cogs turning in your brain-” you spin your scythe around for fun then made it vanish, winking at her before floating towards her “-No, I’m not a ghost. Yes, I am a grim reaper, one of many. And No. You’re not going to die… yet. As if Edward will let you die. The guy watches you sleep for fucks sake.” You huffed out, before shutting your mouth, realizing that you’ve done the same every night, granted that Rosalie never slept… only pretended to do so. Perhaps that doesn’t count.

You see Bella’s soul glow bright red in embarrassment, a tell-tale sign that she’s not meant to be taken through the veil just yet, for she still feels emotion and is still attached to her mortal body.

“Ew, he’s going to suck your blood now, so you’d probably feel a vacuum-like feeling, don’t worry, just let it happen. It’s your body dragging your soul back. Nothing to worry about. Now shoo!” You pushed her towards her body, laughing when her ghostly feet tripped and she fell on top of herself, which prompted the process of soul-attaching. It was just a goofy sight of the soul swirling around like a vortex as they get sucked into their mortal body.

“That’s always hilarious.” You wipe the figurative tear off your eye.

“Now what am I going to do with you.” Your eyes turn into slits as flesh slowly melted off you, revealing the classic bony grim reaper look, your scythe slowly materializing in your hand as you slowly turned towards James, who was struggling to keep himself together since he did just get dismembered and burned into ashes.

He tried to speak but you slashed your scythe into the air once, making stitches appear on his mouth, stitching it shut. He then realized his circumstances and with his dwindling attachment to the mortal plane, he ran in fear. You laughed, floating eyeballs flashing red as you began to chase, toy, and play with him. Hunting him down like prey, just like he did with so many other souls. 

Your job comes with such benefits after all. 

You might’ve had too much fun with him since the next thing you knew, it was time for Fork’s Prom Night, the night wherein you planned to reveal yourself to Rosalie. Upon realizing that, you quickly jammed James’ soul into a jar and hurriedly threw it through the veil leaving whoever was on the other side with the responsibility of him as you rushed to phase to Forks. 

Upon stepping on luscious green grass, its blades still moist from the rain as you breathed in the forest-infused air, you knew that you were in the right place. However, the loud music coming from the school indicated that you were late. You sighed and let your bond with Rosalie lead you to her, your feet soon moved by themselves as gold slowly invaded your vision. 

She looked so…ethereal, yet oh so lonely sitting there. The wind pushes her hair back as she sits there, peaceful and alone.  Your hand longs to hold hers while you both gaze up unto the starry sky, just keeping her company throughout eternity. 

“Beautiful.” You whispered, watching as her eyes shot open, slowly looking around as if feeling your presence. 

“You know I can feel you right?” She softly says, her shoulders relaxing as she realizes it’s just you

“I actually didn’t.” You sheepishly say as you materialize, having practiced time and time again, you felt like this time, you’ll be able to last longer than before

“Is that so?” She smirks, before turning to look at you. 

She then blinks slowly as if she can’t believe what she was looking at. You quickly looked down and saw that in your hurry to get here, you forgot that you were still in your grim reaper outfit, with your hood down. Which meant that she saw you in all your boney gloriousness. You quickly made yourself invisible just so you could put some flesh into your bones and quickly reappeared, an embarrassed look painted heavily on your face.

“I am so sorry.” You looked away from her, biting your lip hard as punishment for the unsightly sight that she had to see

You then felt the air shift as she suddenly appeared before you, her hands cradling your face as she pulls your bottom lip to stop you from biting them. You felt your mind short circuit and you were so sure that smoke was escaping from your ears.

“Please let me court you.” You quickly blurted out, your mouth letting the words escape before your brain could fully process them.

Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the sudden declaration of adoration before chuckling, her face filled with glee as her eyes look at you fondly.

“Only if you allow me to court you as well.” She replies, hand intertwining with yours as she leads you to sit beside her on the bench that she previously sat at.

You two spoke for hours, basking under the moonlight as you play with each other’s fingers. Telling stories and comparing hand sizes, you also let yourself gush over her as you tell her how attractive she looked every time she struts down the hallway or how hot she looked when she played baseball, especially when she stared Bella down as she slowly got up from sliding. 

She then told you about all the times she felt your presence, which was frequent. She told you about the time she caught your boney hand emerging from nowhere to put a bookmark on the page of the book she was reading the night before while she was showering for school. She also told you about the time she felt coldness hovering over her and the time that she was sure that you punched someone for gazing at her like a piece of meat. You sheepishly admitted to it and you both laughed about it.

Soon enough it was time for her to go home and you were feeling yourself fade away.

“You don’t have to worry. Although you can’t see me, I will always be right there with you.” You reassured her when you saw the panicked look on her face. 

And oh boy did you fulfill that promise.

Your daily life now consists of appearing before Rosalie every morning, inviting her for a walk. It allows her to have time for her to organize her thoughts about the happenings that seem to only happen to her family. It allows her to rant about Bella while you take her hand in yours in silent comfort and support. It allows her to spend time with you as you practice materializing yourself for longer durations. 

Your walks always end with that one tree that you deemed as your tree, your initials, and Rosalie’s carved into the wood. You would always sit down on the cloth that Rosalie always carried with your back against the rough bark. You would then open your arms, inviting Rosalie in your embrace as she slowly melts into you. Her head resting on your chest while you place your chin on her shoulders. She would then start to read a book that you both chose with you enjoying the way her voice sounds. 

She would never admit it but she absolutely loves the way you hum directly on her ears when she reads parts that you particularly like or the way you would grunt in annoyance when a character does something idiotic. 

After perhaps 6 chapters or so, when the sun is fully out, you like to pick her up suddenly, focusing on her as you wave your hand around, your gifts, as she likes to call it, making sure that you put a bookmark on the page you left it, then making sure the blanket was nice and cleanly folded. You would then adorn her with a gorgeous gown from an era of her choice (it really depends on her mood), your black mist wrapping around her before forming into the said dress while you too adorn yourself with the clothing of your choice. 

You would then kneel on one knee, asking permission to kiss the back of her hand before asking her to dance. Her skin would sparkle under the sun, the very same sparkle that she used to loathe with her whole heart, she loves it now. Why? It was all because of your expression each and every time you see it. A child-like wonder, your eyes filled with adoration and love as you twirl her with the rhythm that only the two of you can hear. 

She could do this for all eternity, she would never get sick of it. Not even when you finally put a ring on her finger. 

While there are times that you would miss this morning routine on yours, you would always tell her beforehand, silently cursing your work and only leaving when she tells, or rather, orders you to. She understands how important your work is, no matter how time-consuming it is, she would always wait for you with a cold yet warm embrace as you cuddled the night away. So it doesn’t really bother her when you disappear at random points in time.

Why should it? She knows in her very soul that you would always come back to her, a grin on your face and sometimes you even come home with live animals from wherever you were from for her and her family. 

Being a vampire and having a Grim Reaper as a fated one may be unorthodox, but she would choose it over and over again with no hesitation whatsoever.

[k1ng0fn0b0dy]

💛 DAY 5 OF MONSTER WEEK — ANGEL PHILZA

[1500+]

[gender-neutral]

Description: You're a priest for Lady Death when you kinda... accidentally... refuse to let the grim reaper claim a soul.

[Read the rest under the cut]

You were raised within a church worshipping Lady Death, who you have always cherished. You have always been told you should never fear death, as it is only natural, it is an unstoppable force. Or, that's what they told you when you had caughten the Withering Effect, a terminal disease with no known cure.

Of course, you had agreed. This has been written in Lady Death's plans far before you knew how to speak, this is your natural course, fear would stop nothing.

Now, facing off an angel, whose darkened black wings you've only seen in portraits, with golden hair and narrowed eyes like from the sculptures. Sir Philza, Lady Death's most beloved angel, has come to take a soul and you refuse to let it happen.

Behind you is a young boy, with similar golden hair and pure sky blue eyes, now watery as they cower and clutch at your robes. He is sickly pale, he is so young.

"Sir Philza," Your voice does not quiver, which surprises you because bravery has never been a title of yours. "I beg of you, do not take this young soul from us. I will offer you anything."

"Even your soul," His eyes, icy blue daggers, cling to your face, to your eyes. They see too much, you feel naked, you don't look away. "It is only natural for disturbing nature so."

"If that is the price, let it be so," You kneel, still keeping the young boy behind you. "I will pay any dues."

Sir Philza looks over you, dancing over every relaxed muscle with a fine-toothed comb, as if searching for any fear. You cannot show it, you will not let the young boy die having lived such an empty life. His eyes aren't icy anymore, there is something substantial in them when he looks at you, as if your choice was respectable instead of ruinous. "I shall accept no soul today. It is my boon to you."

"You are a generous lord, Sir," You stay on your knee, head dipped to your chest. "And what is it you wish instead?"

"I shall accompany you until you die. I wish to see why it is you live so…" Sir Philza's lips audibly pucker, "Interestingly. I can't imagine this is a common occurrence."

"As you wish, Sir," You try to take as stealthy of a deep breath as you can, disbelieving that you had succeded in your insane actions.

{《☆》}

You had arrived at the temple with Sir Philza and Tommy, who had insisted on joining you to protect you from Sir Philza, who has firmly cemented himself in the young boy's head as evil. Having brought Sir Philza along with you, your fellow priests had spoken only politely to you, with none of their usual casual speech, as if you were a Saint instead of their friend, It all felt so alienating.

Sir Philza has been shadowing you since and with Tommy's health rapidly getting better, he also followed you around. It was only after a week did Sir Philza seem inclined to inform you that Tommy had the magical attunement to become a Saint to Lady Death.

Of course, you had told Tommy, who insisted on doing morning and afternoon prayers with you to see if Lady Death could stop what he called "the dying of your light" which Sir Philza pleasantly translated as Tommy seeing your soul dying. Truly heartening.

"Sir Philza," You took the time to initiate a conversation with the angel at least once a day, both from obligation and curiosity, "How long have you been collecting souls for Lady Death, our records are unclear."

"I'm not quite sure," Sir Philza paused, "I was born very early, far before any other angel could recall. I must at least be half a million years old at this point."

"Oh," You can't say you expected a number that large.

"Wow, you're old," Tommy chimes in unhelpfully. "You're like a grandpa. Grandpa Phil."

Sir Philza smiles, every day he seems to become more endeared to Tommy, and now he positively beams, "I am a grandpa, so I suppose you're allowed to call me as such, young saint." He looks far more pleased than he pretends.

"I wasn't aware angels could have children," You say before Tommy can disrespect the powerful angel more. "Are you the exception or should I fix our records."

"A little of both," Sir Philza doesn't need to think for this one, "It's completely possible but since most of our children are born mortal, angels don't bother. So, I'm definitely an exception to something."

"And were they?" You blurt before you can stop yourself. You cough, "Mortals, Human I mean."

"Yes," Sir Philza looks down at Tommy, who looks considerably more bored as he starts stacking and breaking towers of books. His face is wound tightly in pain, "My son was born mortal, as was my grandchild. I--," his breath catches, "I killed him myself."

"Oh," You weren't sure what you were expecting. Then, your wounds flare and you grunt, "My apologies for asking such a thing."

"It's no bother," Sir Philza laughs it off. He is a very kind person, you've found out. He is polite even though he's of such a high status, cares for humanity, and adores children. He is more human than some people you've met, even as an angel. "How has your daily prayers going," His eyes curve as he smiles, "I imagine Tommy is a delight so early in the morning."

'You sigh heavily, "Do not get me started, Sir Philza. I'm beginning to think he is an imp not a saint."

He laughs, "Oh yes, I can imagine. Were it not for my aversion to mornings, I'd join you just for the sight."

"You don't need to see it to know," You gesture your hands as you talk, "Every priest in the temple is talking of the newest way Saint Tommy's disrupted morning prayers. Most find it endearing but Sir Marshall has written multiple strongly worded letters, none of which Tommy had bothered to read."

"I read some of them," Tommy protested, "But he uses too many long words and they get boring quickly."

"That's fair, young saint," Sir Philza ruffles Tommy's hair, "If I read every letter sent to me, I would also stop reading them all at some point."

"Sir Philza," You stay, scandalized. Then your stomach feels inclined to rearrange itself and your vision blacks out from the pain. Tommy is being kept preoccupied from noticing by Sir Philza, who can tell just by looking at you how little time is left.

{《☆》}

He finds you sitting outside one day, staring into the sky. Your soul is weak, dim and dying. There is so much melancholy in this painted picture; a dying priest sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, staring at stars which are simultaneous dying and being reborn every second.

"Why did you let me live that day," You trace lines at the stars, memorizing the constellations' unique shine. You don't look over when you hear Sir Philza sit. "What did you see in me."

There's a pause before Sir Philza breaks it hesitantly, "You protected that young boy. You wanted to protect his pure soul, even though he was a stranger. You were unwavering, unstoppable."

"You let me live because I don't fear Death," You surmise because it's the only thing you can fathom.

"I let you live becauseyou fear Death," Sir Philza corrects, tone ever so soft, "If you hadn't feared Death I would think you a fool but… You protected Tommy even when you were afraid. You didn't hesitate, you didn't back down. Your kindness is rare and your strength even rarer."

"You flatter me," Your eyes settle down to your lap, embarrassed to hear such a spin on that story. In your memories, it had been sudden and quick. You had been afraid, very afraid actually. But you have never once regretted it and you wouldn't've even if you had actually died. "I have a lot to thank you for, Sir Philza,"

"At that moment, you looked like an immovable object," Sir Philza said, voice quiet like the admission was a secret. It's almost like he hadn't heard you. "You reminded me of Lady Death."

"That's a high compliment, Sir, really but…" You faltered, finally looking over at him. He was looking at you too, as if he was seeing through you, cradling your soul with his warm smile, like a parent holding their child. "I will miss this after I die."

Sir Philza's smile loses its warmth and he looks as sad as you feel, "I will miss this too. You are a special soul, young priest, and it's an honour to know you."

"I should be the one saying that," You laugh sadly, gazing back up at the stars. They shine extra bright tonight as if to say We see you too, we burn for you. "I have a selfish request to make."

"Anything," Sir Philza says, with no pause this time.

"I would like for you to be the last thing I see," You whisper, "You and Saint Tommy."

"If that's what you wish," Sir Philza says, voice oh so warm, oh so mourning, "Then it shall be so. I'll ask someone to fetch Tommy. You won't die alone."

"Thank you," You smile, feeling nothing but relief. Maybe you're a fool right now because you're not the slightest bit afraid.

{《☆》}

[Okay, this was supposed to be longer but I'm already late and also have to be up in like 4 hours so just pretend the jump of strangers to friends makes sense PLEASE]

[Anyways, please don't be me. Get sleep, lots of it. Oh and check out the PROMPT LIST OoOOohhHhHWwWweEEeEeEee]

[L0v3, k1ng]

Masterlist

Taglist: @creatorofstars

[yuichi-ro]

i had the revelation of summoning a demon to become your domesticated househusband and u g h;;; so many ways to take this trope.

demon! hakkai who is an incubus, a virgin incubus to be exact, his skittish and shy demeanour stopping a lot of people from summoning him. but you summon him with the simple request of him becoming your househusband while you are off at work and hakkai can’t of course help himself and fall in love with you because you treat him so kindly. and of course you notice, his cute heart shaped tail is swishing from left to right every time he sees you all adorable and excited so you know you have made the right choice.

demon! hanma who is a lonely grim reaper kind. people usually only summon him when they want to see someone dead and then release the contract. but when you summoned him with the simple request of “become my husband”, he is absolutely flabbergasted. this demon does whatever u tell him to, even if he sucks at doing the dishes or the laundry isnt as fluffy, you’re just glad to have the support while he is happy that he isn’t alone anymore.

kisaki as a contract demon, the more complicated the contract the more powerful he becomes. but your offering is… so simplistic. your soul in exchange for his own. there is no immediate gain either of you obtain through doing that so why would you want to? he keeps thinking that you’re setting him up to backstab him- of course you would, you’re a human after all. but nothing ever does happen and he cant help but fidget and adjust his glasses to hide his growing blush when he realises you are genuine.

thats all what my brain can think about today but hnn yummy concept idea for sure!!

also my prof still hasn’t responded to my email imma scream and throw hands i no longer want peace i want violence

i hope you have a good day may all your pillows me cold and the blankets be cozy!

-🌌 momo

demon!Tokyorev has me frothing??? And idk why but demon!Kisaki is just??? Really doing it for me?? incubus!Hakkai who is so bad at his job?? He's a laughing stock but he's kinda cute compared to your failed dating life?? and reaper!Hanma all creepy looking but folding your socks?? I just?? I'm gonna sob??

allow me to offer...

imp!Rindou who isn't much without his brother. No one wants him. No one summons him if it isn't because they're looking for trouble with his big brother. So when you do and you simply tell him to just...be your little house husband he's, angry? Happy that you picked him? Confused? You actually meant Ran right and this was a mistake? But when you keep shaking your head and telling him you meant to make a contract with him, he's just, so confused. Mouth agape confused and you just pet his head and tell him he's kinda cute like that.

nightmare!Kazutora isn't what people like to see. Or be in the prescense of as he's so off putting. Even to people who summon him, they end up wanting him gone before a contract is up. He's bitter and lonely and misunderstood. But when you don't freak out. Try to banish him. State that yes you meant to summon him. He's leery of your intent. Baffled when you say it's because you needed help around the house but in return you'll let him feast. He's never had someone so frankly endearing that...he keeps fucking up the things in the house so he doesn't complete the contract. He doesn't want to get a meal if it means loosing a person who seems to genuinely want his company

ugly choking on demon!Tokyorev T^T

[wolfinshipclothing]

Your Angel of Death AU has interesting implications in light of the finale

YOU BET IT DOES!

The finale would play pretty much the same way, except Anne doesn't need the stones power to defeat the Core. She uses her own powers.

THERE IS A COMPLICATION THO. To exorcise as many souls as the Core has, Anne has to tap fully into her power. Go full Angel of Death. BECOME 100% Reaper, extinguishing her human part and merging with the Other Reaper, the one who does the actual soul collection. That way, she had enough power to exorcise the Core once and for all, but she lost herself in the process (think Hollow Knight defeating The Radiance)

Once the Core is exorcised, 100%Reaper Anne banishes to the void, but the Deity transports her to its world and restores her human half. From then on, everything is pretty much the same... with some changes.

IN FACT, have a little fic about it.

---

"Just consider it Anne," Said the Deity, in the shape of Domino. "You are already in possession of one of the greater powers in the Universe. You have mastered Death. Because you're partially mortal, you're not bound by the rules the old Death has. You are free to choose who lives and who dies, if you wanted to. But you don't. Because you are trustworthy.

"Why not make it more, then?" proceeded the Deity as it licked her paw. "You have power over Death, Life, and the In-Between. Space, Time, and Energy are pretty tame by comparison. And tell me, who is better to call the shoots than the mortal who have power over death but doesn't use it?"

And considers what the Deity had just said. She had made a few good calls as Angel of Death. However...

"Sorry, but I'll have to pass," she said.

The Deity was astounded. "What?! Why?!"

"Because its too much." said Anne. "You're right. I think, as a Reaper, i did some pretty good deeds. But for every one of them, i also did something messy and wrong." She shrugged. "Besides, I'm still learning to balance me being human with me being Reaper. You said I'm the first mortal to be responsible enough to deserve this power. If i take your offer, how much human will be left of me?"

The Deity throw a fit, punching the ground. Which, considering she had the shape of Domino, just made everything much funnier.

"No no no! You're the only qualified for this job," the Deity whined. "Its so frustrating and lonely here. All the power in the Multiverse, but you can't use it cause it would be... it would... be..."

"Irresponsible?" Anne added

The Deity blinked several times. "You remember me why i made the stones in the first place. You're right. Power or not, somethings are just not for you to meddle with. I gave the choice to the mortals. Guess that was just a big disappointment."

Anne silently agreed. "Now what? I'm stuck here with you, or..."

"Oh no! No no, i restored your human half. Plus, I'm not a warden," the Deity rolled their eyes. "You're as you were before you merged with Azrael."

"Azrael?" Anne asked. "Oh, you mean the Reaper that does the collection stuff? The one who made me?"

"Accidentally made you," clarified the Deity. "But yeah. Gloomy fellow. Taciturn. ALWAYS TALKS LIKE THIS. I like you better."

"You seem pretty cool too, Deity."

"Please," said the Deity, "Call me D."

With everything said, Anne summoned her scythe and opened a hole into the reality. A portal leading to Amphibia.

"So, i can come and go as i want?" asked Anne. "Earth, Amphibia, all that?"

D shrugged. "Your powers, your call. I for one won't be giving more all-powerful stones to mortals for a while. It gets too... complicated."

Anne couldn't agree more. "What if it happens again? What if i need to tap into my full Reaper self and got absorbed into this Azrael guy? Or worse, what if he wants to retire too and gives me the full job?"

"As i said before, i suspect you would be a good Full Time Reaper. But don't worry. He's just too career-oriented to quiet his job," D reassured her. "But i suspect he'll be in contact with you soon. Besides, there's no reason why YOU can't absorb him."

"Just something for you to ponder," added D with a wink.

Anne took her words to heart and hopped into the portal. Back to Wartwood. Back home.

---

In the following years, and for the rest of her life, Anne would find herself opening a portal to D's home dimension; always with a tabletop game or console or just with her laptop brimming with movies. Did you know time doesn't pass in D's home? Crazy.

And well, Anne figured that whoever had the gentleness of offering her a job could use a friend.

[poptod]

In the Heart of Atlas (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: He doesn’t fear you––who thought such a simple thing would win your affections?

Notes: this is my first time writing for Rami himself! anyway, this is for the rami week. happy birthday rami!!! this is a bit of a strange story but i hope yall like it anyway. WC: 5.6k

+

His body twitched slightly before his eyes opened, slow and dry across his grey irises. A deep dehydration had seized his bones, as though his blood was drudging through his veins and muscles, losing water by the second. Still, he sat up, his head a weight upon his shoulders.

To his surprise, he found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, the highway beside him mostly vacant. He looked around, finding a large but abandoned mall to his right, the lights long shattered and broken. Tension welled in his brow as he tried to piece together just how he got here.

"Most people don't get knocked out after they get ejected from their bodies," said a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scratching his pants on the rough pavement.

"Who are you?" He asked, scanning you.

For the most part, you looked normal. The only thing that stuck out was the massive katana strapped to your back and the darkness swarming around your eyes. He could barely see your face beneath the hood of your black sweatshirt, but that didn't matter all too much to him––there were more pressing, more important questions that required answers.

"Demons and angels call me (Y/N), but people call me the Reaper," you said as you offered him your hand.

He gingerly raised his hand to accept your help, faltering when your sleeve pulled back to reveal prominent bones and veins in the back of your hand. The bones poked out of the skin, glowing a faint white, while your veins remained a simple shade darker than your skin. Looking back up to you, he found no malice in what little expression he could see. With that he accepted your aid, pulling himself to his feet.

"The Reaper?"

"I go by a good many names. In the north alone I am called Gwyn ap Nudd, Cù Sith, the banshee, the Ankou, and more simply... death. Most of the time I have others collect souls, but.. you're an interesting case."

You reached forward, and though he instinctively flinched back, he soon regained control of himself and allowed you to cup his cheek. Even with that allowance, however, there was a decent amount of discomfort within him.

"I'm dead?"

"Not quite yet. That's where the interesting part comes in. Come––let's find a place away from the sun," you said, drifting past him and heading towards the abandoned mall.

Looking upwards, he found a blistering sun. He hadn't felt the heat, and looking back at the black pavement, he realized he hadn't felt that astonishing heat because he was, as you said, dead. No longer in his body. With that realization, he jogged back over to walk at your side.

"I'm a little confused, here. How did I die?" He asked.

"Again, not dead yet. Just out of your body. It's quite interesting, really," you said, opening the creaking door.

He entered gingerly, turning and waiting for you before wandering in any further. When he turned back to scan the building, he found instead a drawing room with a Victorian rug spread out across a hardwood floor, and red velvet couches filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. Paintings from all cultures covered the walls, nailed into place alongside maps of different eras. He hardly noticed his gaping mouth till you passed by and closed his jaw.

"Well... what happened to me?"

"Take a seat, Malek. I need to ask you some questions," you deflected, herding him to sit on one of the chaise lounges.

A clipboard materialized in your hands, a pen following as you sat down opposite of him.

"Now, what's your name?"

"You just said my name."

"And?" You said, quirking your brow.

He let out an exasperated sigh before answering with, "Rami Malek."

"What do you spend most of your time doing?"

"Work, mostly. I'm an actor."

"I'm aware. Most of your alternate reality personas look exactly like you. That usually only happens with actors," you said, scribbling down words with a harsh pressure on your pen. "You are given one million dollars. What do you do with it?"

"Um... I'd put it into my savings, let it collect interest until I die, and then donate it," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Calculated. Nice. Significant others?"

"Not right now."

"Family members?"

"I've got a twin brother and an older sister. And my parents, of course."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes, sort of. My parents raised me Coptic Orthodox but I don't really interact with it much in my life."

"Is there a heaven and a hell?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked.

"Answer the question, Malek."

"I don't think there's a heaven or hell."

"Good choice. Alright," you said, straightening your back after hunching over your clipboard. In a quick flash both the clipboard and pen were gone, and you were back on your feet. "Do you have any questions for me before we try to fix this dilemma?"

"Yes, lots," he chuckled humorlessly, watching you circle over to a liquor cabinet. "How did I die? Or – how did I get 'ejected' from my body?"

"Remember the movie you were just working on?"

"Yeah, James Bond."

"You tried to do your own stunts since your double was missing. You missed the catching net, landed on the ground, and your essence was accidentally absorbed by the earth. The earth decided you would be safer here––in Thailand."

"Thailand?? I have to finish filming. I can't be in Thailand," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll take you to your body in due time, and from there we can decide how to move next. This is a rare opportunity for you," you said as you poured two glasses of sherry. "People don't usually get to see me. If they do, it's pretty much assured they won't interact with me. You're very lucky. I could also just reap you and get rid of the problem, but you're not supposed to die. Not yet."

"What, do I have something to do on earth yet?"

"Yes," you said, handing him the glass in your left hand. You sat back down, sipping from your own cup.

"Then what happens if people accidentally die?"

"The world goes on. We correct our calculations and figure out the fate of the earth again. It happens very rarely, thank everything. Our I.T. would be in hell if it happened a lot."

"What affect do I have on the world?"

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that," you said, eyeing him.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm just kidding. I rule this universe. You're going to have a fan at one point who is very suicidal. They meet you on the street, get the will to live again, and their daughter will write a mystery novel that both furthers space-travel technology and surgical technology. Happy?" You took another sip from your cup.

"... I guess."

It was certainly, if anything, an interesting time to find out your entire existence was being protected by the embodiment of death just so a woman you didn't know could further technology just slightly. He didn't feel fantastic about it.

"It's not your only purpose, if you're worried about that," you said, noticing his fallen expression. "You inspire a lot of art and a lot of stories. Everything you do and inspire adds to the color of the world. Humans are one big organism and they can't seem to see that––I hope you, and others, will realize that soon."

"I hope we do as well," he said with a sigh, leaning back into the velvet. "I'm quite sick of people getting angry at each other all the time for useless shit."

"Yes, well..." you swirled the mixture in your cup, "the human condition, and all that."

"Were you ever once human?" He asked quietly.

"No. I am not truly a being. I am what you imagine me to be, a mirage of what you expect from death," you said in a low voice. "I will be here to kill God, and in the end of time I will be all that remains. The representation of all that ever existed, and its' inevitable demise."

"... comforting."

"Isn't it?" You said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ready to see your body yet?"

"I think so," he said. "What kinda state am I in?"

"I don't know. The state of destruction your physical form is in will dictate whether or not I can return you to yourself or take you into the unknown."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. "Take me to myself."

"Very well," you said as you stood, setting your cup aside and offering him your hand once more. He took it and rose to his feet.

In a single blink, and without warning, he was in a hospital––an American one, or at least one where the signs were all in English, and the nurses were speaking that same language. Fluorescent white light filled the room, mixed with the dreary daylight of a bright but cloudy day. The shades were open to the city outside, but what first caught his eye was the centerpiece of the room––him.

Gauze, linen, and casts covered more than half his body, cradling his leg, chest, head, and both arms. His eyes remained blissfully shut, not even fluttering from the bruises and cleaned scars circling his face.

"You look good," you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the body.

"Wow, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You fell, like, 35 feet. Not a lot of people survive that, much less still have one of their legs."

"So does that mean I can go back to living?" He asked, sudden excitement filling his words.

"I suppose so. You've been out for a while, though, so be careful when you get back in. Listen to your doctors. Keep safe, and let professionals do stunts," you said.

He chuckled, turning to you before saying, "I thought Death would want me to die, not live."

"It doesn't matter. I will reap all. For now I can let society grow, let lives multiply to greater heights, as in the end you will all join my kingdom. I'm old as the universe. I can wait."

"Your kingdom?"

"Me. I carry the souls of the dead in my memory. They all live within me."

"And that's what happens when we die?"

"When you die, you become one with the universe. I become part of you just as much as you become part of me. Is that a comfort to you?"

"... yes, actually," he said softly, looking back to his body. "I think I'm ready to go back to living now."

"Very well, Malek. Take my hand," you said as you offered your see-through hand.

The moment he touched you, he noticed that he, too, became see through, and he wondered if that had always been happening and he simply hadn't noticed it. He had little time to think about it before you were leading him forward, taking him to the side of his hospital bed. From there you helped him into the bed, lining his soul up with his physical body, and telling him in a soft murmur to close his eyes.

The very next moment he remembered was opening his eyes to blistering hospital lights shining down on him. His memory of you was vague and blurred, but nonetheless present in a way that tested his image of the world, questioning if he was truly living his life.

Doctors, nurses, and friends rushed to his side once they noticed his consciousness, hurriedly asking questions and preparing tests on him. His bruised eye was swollen shut, but the other one could see alright, and it was a blessing to be able to see his mother above him. It took a good deal of time, but he returned to health and was luckily not disabled by the fall.

Years later the incident came to him in a dream, in a perfect clarity that he hadn't ever had as a waking person. He bolted awake, heavy breaths emphasizing the thin sheen of sweat that now covered his chest. You had explained to him the way the world worked––his purpose in life, the inevitability of humans and of the universe, and the beauty in that. The happy ending in that unavoidable death.

Never in any other time had he desired to see you again more than he did at that moment, stuck awake in the middle of a night plagued by rain and thunder. Wide eyes stared straight ahead, to the twisted sheets covering him, to the closet on the other side of his bedroom.

Shaken to his core, he slowly moved to his feet, the cold floor shocking him awake further. As he walked towards the kitchen, he attempted at calming himself with slow breaths. Once there he grabbed a glass of water, chugging the entire glass, and slamming it back down on the counter as though he'd done a shot, which it might as well have been this late at night.

Would it be possible to summon death? he thought hypothetically, before realizing the incredible stupidity of that statement. Who would want to summon death? Also, summoning death would probably involve putting himself in a dangerous situation, which you had specifically advised him against.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his face.

"His name is Yeshua, and he can't help you right now."

He jumped, spinning around in his kitchen to find you sitting on the counter across from him.

"Death!"

"People aren't usually that excited to see me, but yes," you said, looking down to scan your fingernails before looking back up at him with a smile.

"How did you know I was thinking about you?"

"You had one of my true forms in your thoughts. I remembered you from a little bit ago. How long has it been again?"

"11... maybe 12 years? I haven't thought all that much about the incident, but... I had a dream tonight. I remembered –"

"I know. You're not supposed to remember me while you're still living, so I had to come back and fix that," you said, jumping off the counter and approaching him with determined resolve.

"Wait, no!" He tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the kitchen island.

"We will meet again, quite shortly, you'll see," you said with a smile, a weak attempt to calm him as you raised your hand to his forehead.

"I don't want to forget you," he pleaded, fingers dug into his palm.

"That's awfully unfair to all the other people whose memory I had to fix. Makes their sacrifice a little silly if I allow you to go and tell the world how it'll all end just because you're pretty."

"I won't tell anyone. They'll think I'm crazy."

"You're a celebrity. Someone is going to believe you."

You pressed your thumb to his forehead, and in that moment he lost all control, leading him to make the first action he could think of, the one thing that might deter your work. He grabbed you by your sweatshirt, balling the material in his fists and pulling you till your chests met. With that he smashed his lips into yours, feeling your hand slip away as you weakened, shocked into stillness.

He wasn't quite sure whether you were actually enjoying yourself or if you were just shellshocked, but he continued to kiss and move against you for a moment before releasing you. When he let go of you and drew away, he watched your unmoving expression, staring at him with parted lips and wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

"... a kiss?" He answered meekly.

"What does it do?"

"You don't know what a kiss is?"

"Malek, I have two trillion different planets that I reap from, all with multiple different societies and beliefs. I'm not going to memorize each of your customs."

"Oh," he said. He would have to devote some time, later on, to let the fact that there were aliens (and a lot of them) truly sink in. "It's a show of affection. It's kind of personal."

"So it is a gift," you said with deep concentration.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What for?"

"I like you. You're knowledgeable, and kind, and... I think you're pretty," he admitted, almost sheepishly in his low, rough voice.

Flirting with what could essentially be labelled as an eldritch monstrosity was a tad difficult, especially since you were millions of years older than him. From that point of view, he felt more like a child speaking with you, admitting to some silly, meaningless crush.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked, your voice high pitched and coming out in almost a squeak. He nearly gawked at your reaction.

"Of course I do. Do people not tell you that?"

"I don't really talk to consciousnesses much, Malek. And most people don't find my bipedal form very nice to look at," you said quietly, looking down to the floor with fidgeting fingers.

He reached forward, pulling off your sweatshirt's hood, and allowing the warm light of his kitchen to finally show him the whole of your face. The skin around your eyes still retained that mystical darkness, like the ink of space, surrounding the cosmos of your eyes. It was quite clear now that you were not human, which explained the reasoning of hiding the whole of your whole form. 'Bi-pedal,' you called it––you had to fit in with alien worlds as well as his human world, and thus hiding many parts of yourself was required.

Now he would be the first person, the first creature, the first consciousness, the first life, to see your entirety. No one else had thought to flirt with death, but apparently that was how to avoid it. Ironic, considering the earth phrase 'flirting with death'.

You had gone into such a fluster by his words and actions that you stuttered out instructions for him to stay safe, and promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He wouldn't see you again for three years, which saddened him greatly, but he made sure to remind himself that ten years for him was the blink of an eye for you. 2 trillion planets with life on them needed your attention.

In 3 years he found himself victim of yet another incident. He had been sitting in a donut shop for a little while, enjoying himself on his phone, before another customer entered and began to make a fuss. The man started yelling and he rose to the occasion, stepping over and attempting to take some of the stress off the poor teenager working on the till. Before he knew what was happening, he had a gun in his face, staring down a dark barrel of metal.

"You move and I'll slit your fucking throat," you said, appearing in a flash with your katana pressed against the stranger's throat. "Your gun's on safety mode. It'll take more than one move for you to kill this guy. Want to take that chance?"

The man faltered, and with that you nodded to the cashier, who quickly dialed up the police.

"Put it down, Michael," you said. The man, apparently Michael, slowly looked to you with wide, horrified eyes.

Rami could almost laugh at the incident, but his heart was far too full of fearful adrenaline for him to smile, much less laugh. It all happened so fast. The little bout was won the moment Michael met your eyes. He set the gun on the floor, turning to you with contempt and raised hands.

You waited until the police arrived for the sake of the cashier, but before anyone could question you, you were off again with Rami on your tail. Disappearing in a puff in front of mortals would do you no well, thus you had to start off with walking––something he could certainly follow. 3 years since he'd last seen you––grey had pervaded his hair more and more, skin more freckled and imperfect. You remained as you always were, even 15 years ago.

"Met anyone interesting lately?" He asked when he caught up with you.

Ideas of what creatures you were meeting, the types of things you got yourself into had been a decent source of inspiration for his daydreams. Such was his interest in what you wouldn't tell him that he wrote a screenplay, directed it, and shown it to the world. People often commented on the creativity of his imagination, but he always believed you to be the true source of actual creativity.

Of course, he hadn't ever actually heard about anything that you did. It was purely what he hypothesized.

"I met creatures that reproduced by stringing together DNA by hand. They are new consciousnesses in the cosmos, only recently earned souls... or what you would call, self-awareness," you said, staring ahead to the empty streets lined with cars.

"That's what gives something a soul? Self-awareness?"

"Not quite that simple, but for the most part, yes."

"How long ago did humans earn souls, then?"

"Longer back than you'd imagine. Remember, it's represented as more than self-awareness. It's societies, too, and ants have societies. I can't quite remember, but it was back when you were living in the trees," you said, taking moments to pause and correctly recall the facts.

He continued to walk alongside you for a moment more, pondering upon that information.

"Anyway. That's enough questions from you. What the hell were you doing?!" You said once you were out of sight from the cops, balling his shirt in your fists and forcing him up against a wall. Rami spluttered.

"What the hell were you doing? Aren't you not supposed to interfere with that kind of shit?" He asked, rattled from the sudden movement, and feeling bruises already building in his back. His skin and muscles had become more prone to injury over the years.

"I can do whatever I want. I don't have to worry about losing my mortal body. You're still tethered to this plane!"

"Who cares if I die? Everyone has to at some point, and helping others seems like a good way to die," he said, trying to ignore the aching in his body.

"Don't you have a wife? Kids? Family or friends? You're really ready to leave that all behind at the drop of a hat?" You scanned him.

"I was helping others," he hissed. "And I don't have a wife. Or kids. I've had more important things on my mind."

You watched him for a little while, trying to gauge his thoughts from his eyes. Eventually you released him, letting him drop to the ground, and watching carefully as he brushed off his clothes.

"Why do you want me alive now if I'm going to die soon anyway?"

"You're not going to die soon –"

"Relative to your sense of time, I'm going to die very soon," he interrupted, satisfied when you had no rebuttal. "Why do this? It's not even helping me. I know I won't really disappear when I die."

"Yes, you will. Gods, I shouldn't have told you about anything," you sighed, rubbing your face tiredly. "You misunderstand the concept of death. You, as you are, will not survive. You will disappear. I will carry your memories, but I will not be you. You will not be inside me, your memories will. I'm like a library, not some sort of vacation resort. Are you getting this?"

The blank look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"There is no heaven or hell and I am not a substitute for their nonexistence! When you die, that's it. You're gone. Forever."

"I became a soul on earth. What about that?"

"Because you weren't fully dead, just separated from your body, like astral projecting. You either return to your body or you really die within a year. And if you try to astral project for that long, even if you do return to your body, you'll lose more and more control of it because you can't remember what it's like to have a physical form. It’s complicated, just – just stop getting in dangerous situations!" You practically yelled, clasping his head in your hands and talking quite loudly right in his face.

"There are a lot of technicalities to death," he said, putting his hands over yours and gently leading them down.

"There are a lot of technicalities to life. Why would I be any different?"

"I know, I just – I guess I don't know. Death, I... is it.. you're the only... consciousness I've ever.. loved," he admitted with a broken voice, unsure of his every word.

Your eyes widened, and you almost stumbled backwards with your own surprise. He kept you from doing so by keeping his grip on your hands.

"You want to know if you can stay with me," you said in an instant, soft realization.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," you murmured, suddenly shy. "I've tried to erase your memory so many times. Why do I keep failing?"

"You said none of your other victims ever spoke with you. I remember you because you're unforgettable, Death. I couldn't let go of you."

No one had ever thought of wooing you. You'd met creatures who tried to seduce you, yes, or to pay you off, but never romantically seek after. This would be the first time in your 14 billion years of being alive that someone did this––spoke sweet words and used your name without fear. Without shame. As though you were something to be honored.

Living things fought you so valiantly, and you loved them for that. Their desire to stay alive, to continue existing even when existing was more painful than simply facing you, to thrive in environments you yourself would've given up in. People were terrified of you. They hated you. Rightfully so––you were an easy scapegoat, something to pin blame on, like the actions of Kings weren't what actually killed them, but were the fault of the one who had to clean up the mess of souls left in an army's wake.

People also romanticized you. Thought of you as something to beat. Something to find beauty in, bliss in that nonexistence. People who hated being alive, who found their worlds too dull, or their minds too plagued with thoughts they couldn't help. It was not a true love––it was a desire to escape what they believed to be an inescapable life.

But people did not honor you. You were not a thing to give gifts to. You were not some sort of god of death––you were death. The essence of it. The misery and grief left in the wake of a taken friend.

Tears welled in your eyes, burning a bright white that trailed down your face like melted silver. The streaks were clear against the shadowed skin of your eyes. Instantly Rami thought he had done something wrong, said something to upset you, but he had no chance to apologize before you disappeared in a puff of smoke. In your wake you had left two tiny little puddles of silver teardrops on the pavement, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Years later, when he died, he expected to see you. He crawled out of his body, leaving behind the prolonged ringing of the heart monitor, and drifting away from his family. Long had he expected this, awaited this almost eagerly. But when he died, he was met by a man named Jynq, who went on a long spiel about death and the true meaning of the universe.

"Where is Death?" He asked once Jynq gave him a moment to speak.

"I am Death," he said with a confused frown.

"No, you're one of it's workers. I want to see the real Death," Rami stated firmly.

Jynq's expression fell into seriousness, the polite exterior of a worker making way for his true personality.

"It's on the other side of the universe right now. Several planets have been having a war for a while now, and the deathcount has kept them there for many years now," Jynq answered truthfully.

"Can you take me to them?"

"How do you remember Death?" He rebutted instead.

"They spoke to me. On several occassions. They tried to wipe my memory but it didn't work," he explained.

"You spoke to Death on several occasions?" Jynq asked, his mouth falling open.

"... yes?"

"Alright. I'll take you to it, but the journey will take a while. I hope your soul is resilient," the reaper said.

"Doesn't it take a year for a soul outside the body to die out?"

"Hm. You really did talk to it. But yes," he offered his hand, which Rami took, and they began to ascend towards the heavens, "it takes a year for the average soul to die. This journey will take several years. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?"

"Yes."

There was no spaceship in which to find a home, nor any set spot for rest or food. Neither he nor Jynq required any food or water, and certainly not any sleep, so the method of travel was a long, straight line towards the edge of the universe, unbreaking and unmoving.

Cosmos passed him by, and he became a part of them, leaving behind parts of his essence in the form of star dust that trailed after him. The further and faster he travelled, the more of himself he left behind, till he became a translucent outline of who he used to be. Jynq remained the same, just as you did. He couldn't calculate just how much time had passed, but as more of it did, he got a sense that he was experiencing time at a much faster rate than he imagined. Still, he remained oblivious to how much time was left in the journey.

At times he would go through solar systems, beside stars with planets that certainly carried life. Worlds made of diamonds, suns bigger than the whole of his home solar system, clusters of stardust reforming into young stars. Each of these worlds was one you had met––one you had left your mark on, no matter how young or old.

Life on earth didn't seem quite real when he reached the warring planets. There was so much going on in the universe––things humans would never know about. Worlds full of people that would never be found.

Jynq stopped Rami on the moon of a green planet, keeping him there while he went to go find you. He took the opportunity to sit, to rest after years of drifting through space, and to wonder which thought of his many collected thoughts he should first tell you.

"How in all the fucking WORLDS alive do you keep managing to endanger yourself, even after you die?!" You screamed, appearing in front of him in a millisecond and grasping his face tight again. "Are you insane or something?! Like clinically insane??"

"You've clearly never met someone who's in love with you," he chuckled, taking your hands and, again, gently pulling them away from their tight clutch on his face.

"Ohh, Malek," you said, anger falling away to the aching sorrow in your tone. "Look at you. You're so thin... does it hurt?"

"I feel weak, but I also feel light. I am okay," he assured you. "I left a trail of myself all across the universe. I've given myself back to the stars. Now I want to give what remains of me to you, but I had to talk to you again. Just once more."

"You speak like you’re old," you said with a weak laugh.

"I am old."

"How old do humans live to be?"

"The oldest was around 120 years, I think."

"Oh. Well, then I guess you're a little old. Not to me though," you said, flipping his sheer hands and taking them in yours.

"I'm old enough that I have accepted my own fate. I'm ready for you, Death," he said, his smile only visible in the bits of glittering stardust that made up the frame of his face.

Your smile fell.

"No," you said.

"... no?"

"No. I'm not going to do it," you stated.

"Can you do that? Like, legally?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Who's going to stop me? I'm Death."

"Good point."

"I just wish I could heal you," you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only to have your thumb fall through his face.

"I don't mind it," he said softly.

"Hmm," you said, taking a moment to think critically. "I think I know how to help you."

You found him a home in the heart of a star––Atlas, a part of the Pleiades that shone bright beside its' sister, Pleione. The intense pressure was lost on both of you as you entered, making your way to the heart, where the elements of matter and life were formed in overbearing heat. As was the nature of space, the center of Atlas was dead silent, leaving you and Rami in a white, detail-less expanse.

Slowly, over the years, parts of his body returned to him, building off the star-lit frame of his soul. As you suspected, the workers of the dead and afterlife were extremely dissatisfied with you, but could do nothing. You were older than all of them, and you decided you could allow yourself this one indulgence––this one moment of straying from the rules that Gods had so often broken.

They allowed you this one comfort: a home in the heart of Atlas, in the arms of a man who had given himself to the world, and then to the universe. The one Death who had taken so much from the universe, who would eventually take everything in the universe, wrapped in the embrace of the one who had given every part of himself to the world he lived in.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH133

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 133: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXIII)

Use Countercurrent Sand to reset the cooldown of the S/L Data skill card.

Save and drink the Devil’s blood.

Detonate all miniature bombs.

There was a loud roar as a violent explosion blew the tower deep in the church into ruins.

At the moment the file was loaded, the demon "Depravity" vanished and the resurrected Qi Leren returned to the state of when he had archived. Now he had no longer drunk the blood of the Devil and was still a human being!

His fragile human body appeared in the center of the explosion and was immediately thrown out by the billow of air, fell heavily on the ground, and even rolled several times before stopping.

There were some surface burns, multiple fractures, and countless bruises and contusions, but these injuries couldn't be judged as fatal injuries. There was no second reading of S/L skill and there is still dust and smoke in front of him. Qi Leren coughed in a heartbreaking way, and the blood accumulated in his chest gushed out from his mouth, filling his mouth with the taste of iron.

It hurt so much, it hurt so much, even breathing had become a kind of torture, he felt truly terrible.

At present, his vision was blurred red with hot blood. Qi Lereen used his single intact right hand to hold the dagger, bringing it toward his chest.

This body had lost its combat effectiveness, so he had to load again.

Before the knife's tip could touch his chest it was stopped by an incredible force, and Qi Leren suddenly shivered and looked into the smoking chaos in disbelief.

In the smoke after the explosion, a figure was coming down from the ruined throne.

The dust and smoke gradually dispersed, and the safe and sound devil came to him with elegant steps. He said approvingly: "Perfect acting skills, precise psychological grasp, unexpected attacks, in order to have me lower my guard you even drank the cup of blood... The only regret is that everything you carefully prepared still can't smooth out the distance in strength."

Su He stopped in front of Qi Leren and looked down at him gently and pityingly.

As time went by, Qi Leren’s hand holding the dagger could not move, and the S/L skill’s countdown was running out.

Qi Leren stared at him, but his trembling hand was too late to send the dagger into his heart. The Devil King looked at him with a smile and watched him step into the abyss of despair.

Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59

"It seems that time’s up." Seeing the light of hope in Qi Leren's eyes dim, Su He leaned down and gently took the dagger from his hand.

Qi Leren looked at him coldly and he realized that he was about to die. Although Su He's expression was still gentle, his repeated attempts to thwart him had angered him, and the Devil of Fraud refused to accept the worm’s deception.

"Since the save hasn't been loaded it means that your current injuries aren’t fatal, but if just little more is done, you will bid farewell to this world, Leren." Su He played with Qi Leren's dagger and looked at him with a cold smile. "I’m very curious. When you really face the test of death, what will your choice be?"

The sharp point cut his throat and the blood flowed out. This degree of pain was not worth mentioning compared with the current pain all over his body, but Qi Leren knew that this injury would be fatal. 

Foaming blood would quickly block the respiratory tract, and it would become more and more difficult for him to breathe. If he was not treated, he would die of suffocation or excessive blood loss in a few minutes.

Su He stood up and put another goblet full of blood a few meters away: "Now, you can choose."

Breathing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried to inhale, it was more and more difficult to get enough oxygen into the trachea blocked by blood foam. Blood was constantly lost, oxygen was constantly decreasing, and his consciousness was becoming blurred.

Death was coming, and Qi Leren almost saw the grim reaper hovering over his head. It held the scythe and raised it high…

He didn't want to die, he didn't want to…

No, he wouldn't die. He had the Easter Egg!

But if he easily gave up struggling and accepted death, would Su He believe it? What would he do if he saw through his fear?

Must... Do it again... Again…

The desire for survival once again surfaced in Qi Leren’s eyes and his vision blurred. He tilted his head and looked at the cup of bright red blood a few meters away. His bloody lips moved slightly, longing…

The Devil King watched with great interest as the dying man ignited the last strength with his will. He rolled over and dragged his body forward with his single intact right hand. He lost more blood. His cut throat and injuries dragged out a shocking trail of blood on the ground, which showed how strong his will to survive was at the moment.

It was only a few meters away, but he’d exhausted all his strength.

By the time he reached his destination, the weak human was already dying. He used the last of his strength to hold the goblet, but his trembling hand kept shaking the scarlet blood in the cup…

He cried, and his broken trachea made his cry like a nightingale's whine, so despairing and pitiful.

The Devil liked this sound, watching a strong soul lose its bottom line and become corrupted and dirty. He was struggling to resist, yet he still succumbed to his own desires.

It really was amusing.

With a clear and crisp sound, the goblet fell heavily at the feet of the Devil King, spilling blood all over the floor.

The Devil King accidentally looked at the dying human being and saw his unyielding eyes. He was speechless as blood seeped out along his throat. He tried to pull up the corners of his mouth, showing him a mocking smile.

-Go away.

He growled silently.

In the blood on the ground, the handsome Devil smiled. "I didn't expect you to really do this for him. Humans are obviously so weak, but they’re always unexpected. This is probably what makes them so interesting."

Qi Leren struggled to roll over and lie on his back on the ruined floor.

His cut trachea was bleeding continuously, and the dying Qi Leren looked at Su He in the distance as Su He looked at him in return. After a moment, he came towards him but stopped in the middle.

"What is it?" Su He said, turning his head.

Within the shadow in the corner, a vague unfamiliar figure appeared and bowed slightly to Su He: "I’ve come to convey my King's instructions, the 'goldfish bowl' has raised an alarm. It’s very likely that it will escape again. Please go back and preside over the overall situation."

"It seems that my holiday is coming to an end." Su He said faintly, "Tell Power for me, I will force myself to leave this task and go back now. By the way, I’m bringing a big gift to her."

The shadow bowed again. The special connection between Devil King and Devil King could not last long in the Holy Nun’s field, and it quickly disappeared silently back into the shadows.

In the cold air, Su He’s deep voice came, mixed with mocking emotion: "...That woman."

Qi Leren could hardly see anything. The cloak of death had covered his eyes, the air was growing colder and colder, the chill slowly rose from the ground, and he was dying.

He heard Su He’s footsteps stop beside him, and then the rustle of fabric. He seemed to squat down and gently parted the hair on his forehead.

"I originally wanted to play with you for a while longer, but unfortunately the game has ended early. Your best friend beat Isabel and is on his way, but calculating the time, he probably won't see you one last time. It’s a pity that I can't see his expression when he gets here," Su He’s gentle voice rang in Qi Leren’s ears as he lay dying.

"For your courage and perseverance, I’ll allow you to rest here." A kiss as light as nothing fell on Qi Leren’s forehead. A farewell kiss.

"Depravity’s appearance was beautiful, but unfortunately, you did not become it after all."

The footsteps of Su He's leisurely departure were getting farther and farther away, disappearing from Qi Leren’s ears.

Qi Leren was dying.

Glad and anxious.

Although his brain had almost stopped running, he still understood the dialogue between Su He and the unknown person. He would hurry to leave here immediately, which meant Ning Zhou was safe.

Great... Great... Really, great.

He could be resurrected in seven days, as long as the news was conveyed to Ning Zhou…

Qi Leren, who had difficulty moving a finger, squeezed out the last strength from his body and wrote a 7 with his bloody finger trembling. He also wanted to write another word, "days", but for all his effort he couldn't make his finger move again.

Qi Le people closed his eyes in exhaustion, his breathing halted, and his consciousness sank into chaos because of lack of oxygen. Even the pain became slow and psychedelic, as if his soul had begun to gradually break away from this scarred body.

He absently thought, there was only the one number, could Ning Zhou understand what he meant?

After 7 days, he could be resurrected in 7 days, just wait for 7 days…

Memories began to flash in his mind like fragments, like film pulled out from a camera, and then suddenly it fixed on a certain one. At that time, he was absent-minded because he was thinking about the task clues, and Su He was explaining the meaning of numbers to Dr. Lu: "Numbers are very interesting in the Nightmare World. Many numbers have special meanings. For example, 4 stands for luck and 7 stands for..."

"I love you."

He’d made an unforgivable mistake.

Qi Leren desperately struggled to keep breathing, but the blood foam stuck in his throat prevented him from inhaling air. He opened his eyes wide and tried to erase the numbers written in blood.

He tried his best to squeeze out the last bit of strength from his nerves, bone marrow, and every organ that was about to stop working, to erase this number, but there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't move, he couldn't move at all.

Tears of remorse flowed out of the corner of his eye and he cried. He hadn’t in the face of the Devil's performance, nor in the face of fear of dying, but now it was really out of control.

This desperate fear even exceeded his fear of death itself and his consciousness that is about to dissipate was shouting, struggling, and repenting. He couldn't imagine, couldn’t bear to think of Ning Zhou seeing this message - this simple number. It could be the last straw to destroy Ning Zhou.

The world slowly sank into the dark abyss of death.

He remembered the difference from a few hours ago. At that time, it was so dark that he had only dared to ask Ning Zhou if he wanted to go with him. His timid heart made him even afraid to wait for Ning Zhou's answer and he’d said goodbye in a hurry. He’d always thought they would meet again, so he said: I'll be back soon, you have to wait for me! You must wait for me!

How naive and how stupidly self-confident in front of reality, fragile and ridiculous, vulnerable.

At the last moment before the collapse of his consciousness, Qi Leren saw the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

At that time, he’d woken up from the stump covered with fallen flowers and followed Dr. Lu to the place where Su He was. As he walked, he’d turned his head and saw Ning Zhou.

He’d stood by the broken tree and looked at him from a distance.

So restrained, so distant, but so gentle, there were too many emotions floating in his blue eyes, just like the sky and the sea that contained everything.

He’d suddenly wanted to ask Ning Zhou, how many times had he looked at him like this? And how many times had he missed returning it?

Ning Zhou was always so lonely and silent. All his pains were buried deep in his own heart, without words.

If he hadn't looked back, he would have never seen such tenderness.

He would never have known how deep this repressed love was.

Just a little bit like infinity.

　　&&&

Through the broken stone columns and countless broken statues, Ning Zhou walked forward without looking away and finally came to the front of the cathedral.

The first half of the church had been seriously damaged, with solemn and historical writing under the starry sky.

Ning Zhou briskly walked to the depths of the hall, looking at the two huge stone doors.

The earth was still shaking and destruction had played the final movement.

Ning Zhou took a deep breath, and his abdominal wound was burning and generally painful. He drew a cross on his chest and then pushed back the stone door.

The huge Maria and the stabbed dragon would have occupied most people's field of vision, but Ning Zhou's line of sight chased the familiar figure lying on the ground amidst a shocking pool of blood.

His heartbeat stops at this moment, and whether heaven or hell, it didn’t exist at this moment.

He didn't know how he came up to him and knelt down there.

Open brown eyes looked ahead emptily, and there were wet tears in the corner of his eyes. His blood-stained fingers were stopped on a reddish-brown number.

At the moment before he died, he was saying—

I love you.

Deep in the dark hall, there came the cry of desperation and collapse. Witnessed by the remains of Holy Nun and the Devil, a devout believer finally admitted his love that was not allowed by his God.

But it was too late. At the moment when he’d received his love, he’d lost him forever.

-----

The author has something to say:

PS: So, there is no love that can't be achieved through a grand death. If there is, then die again.

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[midnightactual]

Yoruichi’s Soul

What if I told you that perhaps Yoruichi has a unique soul?

With the release of the latest chapter, we learn some interesting things about Shinigami. My intention isn’t really to write about Hell and its implications, but it’s pertinent to the point I want to make, so it’s a fine place to begin and I’ll address some asides along the way. Here is what Shunsui says in a fanlation:

There is a word, “reii” (spiritual authority). It’s a unit of measurement that used to be utilized by the nobles, and is said to represent the concentration of reiatsu that resides in reishi. The average division member has a reii of grade 20. Vice-Captains vary between grade 5 and grade 4. And Captains consist of grade 3 and higher. A Soul Reaper’s body is made up of reishi, and when they die their body turns into reishi and returns to the earth of Soul Society. But people classified as grade 3 and higher can't do that because their reiatsu concentration is too high. What allows them to return is this ritual, “Soul Funeral Festival”. This is what’s taught at the Soul Reaper Academy.

What I am about to say is the “superstition”. “Actually, reishi of grade 3 and higher cannot return to the earth of Soul Society no matter what.” So what should we do? We can’t allow reishi that’s too powerful to remain in Soul Society. The Soul Funeral Festival’s real purpose is something else. With this ritual, the deceased Captains are—[Sent down to Hell!]

And here is the translation by Shueisha themselves:

There is something called... spirit class. In the past, it was a scale used among aristocrats. It indicated the density of the spiritual pressure within reishi. A normal company member has 20th-class reishi. An Assistant Captain has fifth or fourth class. And those greater than third class are Captains. A Soul Reaper's body is composed of reishi. When they pass on, their body turns into reishi and is reclaimed by the soil of the Soul Society. But anyone above third class has spiritual pressure too dense to be reabsorbed without intervention. The Konso Reisai is a ceremony to allow that reishi to be returned. That is as much as we learned at the Shinoreijutsuin.

This next part is the old wives’ tale. In actuality... reishi that is third-class and above can never return to the soil of soul society. So what are we to do? It’s not as though we could allow overly powerful reishi to linger loose in Soul Society indefinitely. And therein lies the other reason behind Konso Reisai. With the ceremony, the deceased Captains are... [... Cast into Hell!]

I think you’ll find these both strongly agree in content, despite some slightly different word choices. To recap:

reii is a graded measurement of (the ratio of) reiatsu per unit of reishi

reishi with reii above grade 3 / third class (i.e., that of Taichō) does not decompose and retains its reiatsu indefinitely

this is a problem that must be dealt with

the solution is to cast such reishi into Hell

There’s a lot of discussion floating around regarding what all this means. Does this mean that all Taichō-class individuals go to Hell? Well... yes, actually. What Shunsui says here is unambiguous: any Taichō-class individual presents a problem. This means that say, Gin, Kaname, Kiganjō, and Kuruyashiki were issues that had to be dealt with. Now, it does seem like maybe Jūshirō, Retsu, and Yamamoto have been turned into wardens of Hell rather than merely incarcerated there, given what we see of Jūshirō’s zanpakutō. So perhaps it’s the case that loyal Taichō become wardens (truly, one never retires from the Gotei 13, even in death) and disloyal ones become incarcerated. (After all, why put traitors in charge of security?) But it’s unambiguous that all Taichō-class individuals must be dealt with this way—and indeed, so must any entity with sufficient reii.

(An example: this means Ulquiorra is merely dead, not gone. He should be essentially haunting Las Noches.)

I’ve always wondered what Ganju meant in chapter 83 when he said that Kaien’s powers were “sixth class” and now we know; Kaien, as a former Fukutaichō, is likely not in Hell, as his reii grade was initially sixth class and probably had not risen higher than fifth or fourth by the time of his death.

(There is probably also something to be said about Retsu’s remarks to Ichigo in the Dangai on the way to Fake Karakura regarding the possible “inherent crudeness” of his reiatsu, which suggests there is some kind of reiatsu quality.)

Okay, cool, but what does any of this have to do with Yoruichi? Well, I’m getting there.

Take note that the Konso Reisai / Soul Funeral Festival is happening 12 years after TYBW (in 2015) and is apparently reconstituting individuals in Hell with their personalities and memories at least partially intact (as Jūshirō still has his zanpakutō). This tells us that reiatsu represents a kind of spin on the concept of genetic memory... you might call it energetic memory. Everything that an individual is in Bleach is seemingly encoded within their reiatsu, and they can seemingly be reconstituted from it. (I am also told that Spirits Are Forever With You makes this explicitly true.)

Here’s the rub: this isn’t actually the first time we’ve seen this sort of thing.

It’s become evident that various tie-in media to Bleach have become quasi-canonical to the manga. The movie Bleach: Memories of Nobody was made quasi-canonical by Ichigo saying in TYBW that he’d been to the Valley of Screams once before, along with panels depicting its appearance in that movie and a note at the end of the chapter to see it for more information. The Zanpakutō Rebellion arc was made quasi-canonical through the novel Can’t Fear Your Own World. This latest chapter appears to make quasi-canonical some elements of Hell from the movie Bleach: Hell Verse.

Well, what happens in this chapter with reiatsu persisting and functioning as a record of a Shinigami’s essence, to include their personality and memories... is exactly how Kagerōza created the mod-souls he used to run his reigai army in the Gotei 13 Invading Army arc.

Everyone of Fukutaichō rank and above, except for Yamamoto, Sasakibe, and Yachiru, was copied as a mod-soul and put in reigai, to include Kisuke. We also know that this done by using traces of the reiatsu of the originals. Ichigo and Yoruichi were not subject to this.

Kagerōza eventually “reveals he is unable to make a reigai of Ichigo because he is not a pure Shinigami.” We can assume that because Yachiru is a zanpakutō herself, she can’t be copied. Yamamoto and Sasakibe present an interesting case, probably to do with some kind of warding. Another odd exception exists with Kagerōza’s refusal to copy Aizen, Gin, and Kaname; presumably he thought that once a traitor, always a traitor.

But what about Yoruichi?

Did she perhaps kill her reigai copy off-screen? In Episode 319 of that arc, she “fought three Shinigami captains and four lieutenant-level and above opponents at the same time with Hakuda without receiving any notable damage.” I’ve noted this before as an example of her martial prowess, but think about it tactically from Kagerōza’s perspective. Yoruichi is able to easily resist his forces, and he can make multiple reigai copies of an individual as he demonstrates with Momo. If Yoruichi was such a pain for his reigai to deal with, and he’d already copied her, why wouldn’t he just make another? Or several more?

The simplest answer is that he couldn’t. In say, the Zanpakutō Rebellion arc, the easiest (metatextual) answer as to why Yoruichi’s zanpakutō didn’t rebel wasn’t that she had some unusual mastery over it, but rather that there was no desire to come up with her zanpakutō. However, there was no reason for a reigai copy of her not to appear if it was at all possible... meaning it was likely impossible.

The fact that her zanpakutō didn’t rebel in that other arc (and that metatextual reasons do not make sense in-universe) does put her in yet another very small club, even if its membership is different (to include Kisuke this time). The only other really consistent member of the clubs she finds herself in is Ichigo; this suggests that Yoruichi’s soul is unique like Ichigo’s, if not in the same fashion or to the same extent.

Why might that be? Well, here are some possible options:

it’s all a coincidence, and there is nothing more significant to it

Yoruichi’s cat form makes her soul novel (A. perhaps her cat form is an expression of her zanpakutō and she’s permanently bonded with it; or B. perhaps her cat form is hereditary, as she seems to share phenotypic expression with Yūshirō and it is unlikely to be merely her heritage alone)

Yoruichi’s status as Tenshiheisōban makes her soul novel somehow, if one subscribes to the theory that the Shihōin are themselves the actual Tenshiheisō

Here, for this roleplay blog, I subscribe to a combination of (2b) and (3). Yoruichi has a unique heritage (which also accounts for the strange phenotypical expression) and her family (the Shihōin) have a sort of unusual “contract” with... well, the fundamental nature of reality itself. Regardless of whether one agrees with those choices in general, I think two things are clear:

the expansion of reiatsu put forward in this chapter was both presaged in the early manga and accords well enough with the previously anime-only Gotei 13 Invading Army arc that said arc may be considered pseudo-canonical as others have become

if that arc is taken as pseudo-canonical and complexed with other pseudo-canonical material, it suggests that there is something strange about Yoruichi.

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly  Chapter 5 : Eighteen years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 6300 (big chapter)

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it. The story will be on a little hiatus because both @jay-and-dean​ and I are on holidays. Once we come back the story will continue it’s regular weekly edit.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Firefly Chapter 3

Firefly Chapter 4

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————

5. Eighteen years old.

When she turned sixteen, Crowley had told her the time of being childish was over, not that she ever had time to be a child. And for once, she didn’t fight him or argue. She had understood that she would never win by being an enemy. 

They had to trust her, to give her freedom and access to the secrets of Hell… 

So she became his apprentice and after two long years of following his rules and pretending to care, she was getting closer and closer everyday to her goal.

Getting out of Hell.

She grew colder with age, serious, harsh, anything they wanted her to be. Some days, she barely remembered it was an act, she was getting used to give orders and look at her surroundings with always the same dark threatening eyes. She was becoming the Queen Crowley wanted her to be. 

But when she visited him, the man she fell in love with years ago, she remembered who she was.

And the demons were falling right into her trap, she had to get close to them, especially her father. Crowley knew the way out, he knew everything about Hell, everything she needed to know. So she played him.

She was sitting on a chair as Crowley explained to her the importance of crossroad deals, she wasn’t really listening as she let her pencil float in circles in front of her.

She could feel the shivers on her back as the door opened, the pencil dropped to the table.

Lilith.

“Crowley, we need to talk,” her head snapped towards Y/n. “Alone.”

Crowley sighed deep.

“Y/n go finish up your work in your room” he snapped his fingers and mentioned to a demon to escort her back to her room.

She held her chin high as she walked out of the door towards her room, the demon hot on her heels.

When, she walked right past her door, the demon grasped her arm.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy.” 

With the flick of her wrist she had the demon pinned against the wall, she stepped closer to him and tilted her head to the side as she could hear the creature whine under her powers.

“That’s none of your business and when you get back you’ll tell them nothing, understand ?”

She clenched her fist, making the creature crack on the inside.

“Y-yes…” it whined.

“Yes who ?” she clenched her fist harder. 

“Yes… y-your majesty.” 

She released the demon and watched him scramble off. She turned around and made her way to Dean’s cell.

She no longer had to sneak around, the story of her taking on Alistair had spread like fire, and her growing attitude was convincing enough, all the demons were afraid of her now. They knew she was strong, that she became stronger every day. She could feel it : the power coursing through her veins. It made her more confident, and merciless.

She reached his door and carefully pushed it  open, a smile gracing her face when she saw him.

Dean.

She was just in time, he was healed and conscious.

He lifted his head, as she came near. 

“Hey Firefly.” 

“Hi Dean.”

Every time she was near him she could feel it, the tickling in her stomach, her cheeks heated up. As fierce as she was, she got a little nervous around him, not much but seeing him always gave her a thrill. Over the years she had noticed how handsome he was, and her thoughts wandered more and more towards him when she was alone, what if they weren’t in Hell, what if she was more his age, what if…  

He sat up against the wall, letting out a deep breath.

“I could swear I heard the demons talk about you the other day.” he said. 

She tilted her head in question.

“The Queen of fire they called you, they seem scared of you. Maybe I dreamed it… I get confused, and...”

She sat down in front of him, she looked down at her hands.

“And you ?” she asked him softly, she was scared of his answer.

“What ?” he frowned. 

“Scared of me ?” she looked up at him, she could feel the tears threatening to spill out.

“No, I’m not.” He shook his head.

She nodded in silence, that was good, she was working hard to be scary, but couldn't bear the thought of Dean being afraid of her.

“You’re growing so fast, Firefly. How old are you ?” his voice contained some kind of disbelieve, like he didn’t realize it had already been around 18 years since he first saw her.

“18.” She said, giving him a small smile. 

“Time down here, it goes so slow and so fast at the same time” he scoffed.

A silence fell among them, he seemed to be better today, he was more alert and could muster up a little smile now and then. He seemed to think hard, she noticed a frown etched upon his forehead every time he tried to focus on something, the moment he was totally there were rare, maybe even more lately.

“Your powers… what are they ?” he asked. 

“I don’t know” she shrugged, she couldn’t tell him she was half demon… then he would be scared of her, hate her at least.

“You seem to be getting stronger.” he said matter of factly.

She nodded, they had to change her chains monthly now, she could break them with a snap of her fingers. Her powers were like a child going through a growth spurt where the parents couldn't keep up with buying new clothes.

Her powers weren’t the only thing changing, her body was too. She grew taller, the childish features were disappearing from her face, and her old dresses no longer fit her more curved body. She was becoming a women. A beautiful one, Crowley said, hopefully beautiful enough for their Lord. 

_______________________

It was evening, at least, she had decided it was. In Hell no sunrise and no dawn, but she had found a little watch, it had belonged to her teacher’s vessel she snatched it off him, along with his arm. It was an old watch, with metal gears and little carved hands. On her desk, the ancient watch was in the center, and Y/n used it to rhythm her days. 

Nine p.m. it said, so she lit up a candle and turned off the other lights. She liked to feel the time, and darkness didn’t prevent her from reading.

She turned the old pages of the huge book she was reading, a incredible boring work about Hell’s places, how many bones were in the columns of the throne room, how the corridors were never exactly the same, how only demons, reapers or angels could find their way in this maze…

She already knew all that.

But at 9:28, as she lazily turned another page, her breath got stuck in her chest. On the yellowed paper, was a painting of the Sky Room, and a title : The Exit. 

She got up, with the book in her hands, reading fast in the dark, walking circle in her room, her purple lace dress flying behind her like the wind had risen.

The Sky Room had been an exit all this time. She had taken Dean so close to the goal this time ! If only she had knew. The book said no demon could use it -that’s why they didn’t really care about the key before Alastair took it from her-, as it worked only for souls that didn’t belong here, or that weren’t perverted yet ? It wasn’t easy to say, because enochian wasn’t easy to understand precisely. 

Dean didn’t belong here, and he for sure wasn’t perverted. Her ? That would be a good way to find out…

With the proper spell, and the key, she could at least make sure he will escape.

She sighed. Two years, two years acting like the perfect little princess to win their trust, two years of hiding the consuming hate and smile, to have access to this kind of knowledge that was hidden from her before.

All her previous researches and tries had always lead nowhere, but that sky… It was her way out, in her excitement, she attracted the little flame of the candle that came gravitate round her like a satellite.

 Alastair had taken back the key, and there was only two choices : Either he had kept it or given it to Lilith. Her heart ached a little at the idea that she walked with the key in her Teddy bear for years.

But she would find it, even if it was the last thing she did, even if she had to burn Hell down.

She took time to memorize every details of the pages about the Sky Room by heart, in case one of them remembered this one was dangerous and took it back.

Then she calmly closed it and put it on her desk, she adjusted the many muslin layers of her long and heavy dress, and started to walk out of her room, with her tiny fire star still rotating around her.

The door was locked and warded, but it opened when she came near. Outside, a huge demon in his true hideous form was guarding her door. 

“You can’t go out” he grunted, drool falling at his feet.

She didn’t answer, but when he lifted his arm to stop her, the little satellite of fire grew instantly, and became a huge and threatening ring circling her, and the demon hissed and growled, watching her sink in the corridors like a raging comet, blood puddles boiling on her tracts.

Dean’s cell was quiet, she stopped before it for a second, at this time of the artificial day, she knew he would be in a bad shape. She took a breath and plunged her hand in the big ring of fire around her, and found the tiny candle flame, she put it out between her thumb and index and the ring died. Darkness falling on her again.

She pushed the door and her bare feet under the dress met blood. Dean was laying on his side in a pool of blood, even bigger than usual, but he seemed to be in one piece... His back was on her, his head limp on the cold floor.

“Dean” she said softly, like she always did, to not frighten him.

She walked to him and kneeled, soaking her majestic dress in blood, and gently took his head in her hand, to put it on her lap.

“Hey…” she said, stroking his hair, but only his eyes moved and his lips were trembling a little. “You’re cold.”

A soft light started irradiating from her and his pupils dilated, heat started filling the room.

“F-firef…” he tried to say, stealing the saddest smile from her.

“Dean” she whispered. “I found it. I found our way out. Do you remember the Sky Room ?”

She felt him tense and hushed him softly, pushing a sticky bloody strand out of his face.

“No Dean, I figured it out” she reassured him. “It’s a way out, that’s why they got that mad when they found out I had the key. There is a spell… I’m so sorry I didn’t know back then.”

He looked up at her, his green eyes highlighted by the red surrounding them, his breathing fastened a little and she gave him a teary smile.

“It will be over in a few days, Dean” she bent to talk close to his ear. “That’s it, we’re going out. I will find the key or burn the door, you will see Sammy soon. In three days, they all leave to Earth, I will take you there and it will be over. Can you hold on three more days ?”

He nodded weakly, and a big tear cleaned a line in the middle of the blood on his temple.

She was watching him, his lips white, his lashes on his cheek since she had closed his eyes to pretend he was sleeping.

The blood had almost disappeared from his face and body, but she was still bathing in it, her dress was two-colored and she was wearing long gloves of his blood. It had been a few hours and her legs were sore, but no place was better. 

He would wake up soon now. 

She smiled down at him, thinking of him running out of Hell under the stars, of his brother’s face when he would meet him again. Would Sam be old ? Time was weird here… He would walk the streets and bathe in sun, he would eat and dance. And maybe, just maybe, she could be by his side, chose a song in one of those jukebox and turn on herself when alcohol would make her dizzy… 

His grunt made the bubble of her dream pop.

“Dean” she smiled softly.

“Firefly” he hummed, grabbing her hand on his chest to give it a squeeze. 

He tried to move but she shook her head slightly.

“Give yourself a minute, Dean” she whispered, seeing him struggle.

He closed his eyes again, still holding her hand. 

She could see the colors fill his beautiful plumb soft lips again and wondered how it would feel to touch them. To touch them with her own… A kiss was a weird gesture, why put your lips on someone else’s ? Why not hand on hand ? Or nose on nose ?... Yet, she would have given her shitty life to know what it felt like to have his lips on hers. 

When she was a little girl, she had started to dream about Life thanks to him, about nature, seeing the ocean, tasting ice cream, wandering in a city, dancing under a storm… But lately, all she could dream of was experimenting this life with him. Seeing the ocean blue reflect in those green eyes, it would make the most perfect color, eating ice cream in a theater with him, walking the streets holding his hand, kissing him under a storm…

“Did I hear correctly ?” he asked, sitting up in a grunt of effort.

“Yes, I found the way out” she nodded, remembering it might not work for her, she felt like she didn’t belong here, but she was also half demon...

“So why do you look sad ?” he frowned.

“I just don’t want them to torture you more for three days” she lied.

She just couldn’t tell him that she might be stuck. If she did, he would hesitate, and she would rather have to be Lucifer’s toy, than know Dean was being tortured forever. 

“Three days…” he gave her the most  tender smile. “I am damned for eternity, and you’re telling me I could go out in three days. That’s... “

He didn’t finish his sentence, his eyes fell on an invisible point on her dress, he seemed different, even more beautiful, his irises bright, his featured softer, lighter… Hope.

Hope suited him so well that she felt her heart flutter. How handsome would he be in happiness ? A wide smile appeared on her face, catching his attention.

“What will be the first thing you will do ?” she spoke, searching his face. 

“I…” he frowned. “I think I will find Sammy and drink a beer.” 

She didn’t answer, just looking at him in awe, imagining meeting Sam herself, tasting beer.

“Do you know where the key is ?” he asked. 

“I have a few ideas, and I can open any locks lately, I got this.”

His lips turned into a smile, a thousand of expressions in his eyes and on the corner of his lips. 

Dean had this way of holding her without reaching out at all, with the warm kindness in the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, with the moves of his mouth and the worried lines on his forehead. And right now, she was feeling his aura holding her. The learned coldness of her heart melt and the little girl she once was started crying in the pit of her soul.

“And you ?” he whispered. “What do you want to do more than anything ?”

Her eyes dived in the black of his pupils. What she wanted didn’t really depend on her freedom, and there was a big chance she would never be free anyway.

Pushed by an invisible force, or a new courage, she came closer to his face, her thumb coming up to graze the freckles on his cheeks, enjoying the sight of him clean of blood and terror. Very slowly, she bent a little on his face, her lips shyly met his cheek and she barely let them graze his soft skin.

He didn’t say a word, let her move on her knees to gently rub the side of her face on his. For a second, she could hear the nostalgic yet comforting music coming from the jukebox and feel his arms around her. She wondered if that pleasurable dizziness she felt was like the one caused by alcohol that Dean had described ; if it was, she sure understood why people drank all the time.

She felt like she was dancing, at least what she had imagined of dancing, without moving. And the air wasn’t sulfur and blood anymore, it smelled like what she thought a summer night would… She didn’t need more than Dean to feel all of that.

Her face turned slightly, her nose grazing his, and she hesitantly put her lips on the corner of his. She closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of that feathery touch, imagining all that setting around, with humans and warm lights, music, whiskey, wood, windows and wind, and laughs…

But the scenery shattered when Dean cupped her face with two big confident hands -like no one had ever held her- turned her just enough to line his lips with hers, and put a kiss on her lips.

A real kiss.

His lips were pressed against hers and it felt like their bodies were connected. She started shaking a little, moved by the most intense pleasure she had ever felt and waves of emotions.

He moved an inch back, his lips making a little noise on hers when leaving. So that was the famous sound of a kiss... It tickled a little, but before she could open her eyes, his lips met hers again, this time parting just a little, like he wanted, needed, to capture her own for himself. She parted her lips just enough for him to be able to cage her upper lip between his. Then again, and her bottom lip.

Her arms fell limp on his lap, and shivers roamed her entire body. 

He bent his head slightly to the side and she gasped a little when she felt something wet graze her mouth. It was his tongue.

She parted her lips more, and when he opened his mouth to hungrily slipped his tongue between them to caress hers, something exploded inside her.

“Deeeaaan” the dreadful voice of Alastair threatened from the corridor with an amused tone, making him break the kiss the gasp in terror.

She wrapped her arms around him, tears immediately falling on her cheeks. 

She couldn’t fight the demon, or they would find something to punish her, and he couldn’t find her with Dean, or they would watch them more… All that mattered now was the plan.

To save him, she had to abandon him now. And it was like ripping her own heart…

“Three days” she whispered and got up.

When she felt his hand slightly clinging to her in panic, she let out a silent sob.

“Dean I swear to you, look at me. I swear.”  

She wiped her face and walked behind the door at the exact second the demon entered, a brush hook in his hand... 

“Hello Dean, I prepared surprises for you, I’m pretty sure today will be the day you accept my offer.”

“Fuck you” Dean muttered through tears, making the demon laugh.

And she left in silence in his back, crushed by the idea that she could stop him now, but that it would ruin the plan.

 Dean’s Pov

The chains made it hard to breathe, impossible even, and the pain was screaming in his ears, it was one of those days, when the demon didn’t finish Dean and he was so angry at his body for resisting like that.

Had he really kissed her ?

Snake embrace, Alastair said, and tightened the chains until they broke Dean’s ribs and his back. He just wish he could faint or die.

But tomorrow… Tomorrow his Firefly would take him away. So in his misery, through the panic of suffocation, Dean clung to the only thing he had : the little light in the middle of Hell, his hope, her.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow…

Hope made the dam break and he choked on tears, quickly silenced by the chains magically tightening more. He was going to die finally and when he will exist again… It would be tomorrow.

The door opened and she entered. 

She was like a dream in the middle of a nightmare, nothing about her fitted here. Not her kind eyes, not her beauty, her innocence. And neither her wealthy look. Her long blue silky dress had a train that left a trail of the blood it wiped off the floor, the long tight sleeves were lace covered with occasional pearl…

She looked like a mirage. Her elegant silhouette entered the room, she had pomp dress and hair but her face still showed that artless expression, and for a second in his daze, he wondered how she would look in pajamas… 

Did they really kiss ?

“Dean… Damn !” She came close but he couldn’t see her anymore, his eyes closing, rolling in his skull.

He felt her hands tug desperately at the chains and her soft voice groaning. 

And suddenly, he could breathe. He gasped and coughed and the pain of his broken ribs hit him violently, but under them, nothing. He couldn’t feel his legs or his hips…

He blinked a few times and his eyes widened : the chains were gravitating around him like flying snakes, not touching any part of his body which rested in the air.

“Dean…” her voice came through.

The chains fell and she held him, when he slowly fell on the floor, like he was in water. 

“Tomorrow” she whispered.

And he wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how incredible. He wanted to ask her what she thought of her first kiss. She could defeat them all, and all the evil in the world… But his injuries were bad and he could feel his heart weaken.

“I know where the key is” she murmured, bending on him, her warm lips grazing on his temple. 

“Y-you’re a miracle” he managed to state.

“I’m just a girl” she answered. “But you, Dean… You are everything. You are the sunshine and the starry nights, the music and the ocean. You are snow dancing in the air, and my fireplace, you are christmas and... “ he listened, his struggling heart growing even in his last beats. “You’re the moon in a summer night.” 

A tear fell on his jaw and her lips pressed to his temple more, her voice broke a little. 

“You are love” she almost whined.

He shakily found her hand, and grazed it with his last strength. He could feel what she was saying, her love was irradiating of her and he wondered how that kid could have grown that kind of feelings in here, and for such a wreck…

“I love you” she whispered. “I love you so much…”

His eyes stilled as his last thought, thanks to her, was a hope again : She will get out of here, and see real snow, and she will learn to love…

 Reader’s POV 

To see his ever so vibrant green turn cold and still, was a sight she would never get used to, no matter the fact she knew he was gonna come back. She carefully closed his eyes, and waited for him to open them again.

She held him for hours, felt how his body turned cold and stiff. She couldn’t imagine the feeling when death is permanent, because that was the only good thing in Hell, death wasn’t the end.

She had hoped to see his eyes open before she had to go back, but they didn’t. She took out her watch and she knew she had to go back to Crowley for her next lesson, she had to leave him again, or the plan would be ruined.

She placed her lips on his forehead and squeezed her eyes tightly as she felt his ice cold skin beneath them. 

“I’ll be back, I promise Dean, I won’t leave you. You’ll get to see Sammy again.” She carefully wrapped her arms around his back, her hand holding the back of his head. 

“I love you” she told him once more as she laid him carefully back down.

She would give everything not to have to leave now, but she couldn’t. But things would get better, tomorrow, he would feel the sun on his skin again.

Standing up, she looked back one last time from the doorframe, just to see if she could catch her favorite green one last time, but he was still inert. With a sigh she pulled the door closed behind her and went back to her room.

She stopped behind the corner of her room at the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“Why isn’t she in her room !” he snapped. 

She was late…

“I swear she was here a second ago, sir” the coward demon answered him, even she could hear he was lying.

“Find her now !” Crowley yelled, she could hear the nails of the demon scraping against the floor as it hurried off.

“You know just as much as me where she is, Crowley” Lilith sighed, surprising Y/n.  

She had the key.

“Why is she so interested in that Winchester, he’s no different from the rest. He’s messing her up” Crowley grunted.

They knew ! Since when ? She always had been careful about it, this was bad, but, her plan was still going, they didn’t know about that. They couldn’t.

“Maybe he is, but he also made her go after Alistair, without him she would never have grown so strong so fast” Lilith stated. “She’s becoming too strong and you know it, Crowley. Every one of my demons is scared of her, calling her the ‘Queen of fire’. I’m the Queen Crowley, she’s Lucifer’s WHORE !”

The walls trembled with her voice. 

“And yet, what can we do ? I lock her, I punish her…” Crowley snapped at her. 

“We’re running out of options here, we need Lucifer and we need him fast” the Queen said.

“I think we can deal with a child without our Lord” her father chuckled darkly. “Unless you too fear the Queen of Fire ?”

She heard a muffled thud followed by Crowley’s grunting. 

“You might not be able to hold her back” Lilith groaned. “But she is still a long way from taking me down. So watch your tone with me, you slug.”

Maybe it was the distance or the way Lilith’s voice bounced against the walls of the corridor, but Y/n wasn't mistaking, she could hear fear.

Lilith was afraid, afraid of her.

Y/n couldn’t help the grin that formed on her face. She would get the key, Dean would be free.

She hurried around the corner to the small library to grab some books, she turned back to go to her room.

With the books grasped in her arms she passed the door. Lilith turned to her as she let Crowley drop down from where she had him pinned against the wall.

“Y/n! Where have you been ?” Crowley gasped.

She held her chin high, and looked Lilith in the eyes. The years of being terrified of the Queen of Hell were over.

“In the library.” she said as she mentioned to the books in her hands.

“You stay in your room until I tell you you can leave, that’s the rule Y/n.” Crowley took the books from her to see what she was reading.

“More crossroads lore ?” he questioned. 

Y/n shrugged, crossing her arms.

“It’s interesting” she lied, hoping he would buy it. 

“Whatever, you will eat dinner with me tonight” he sighed.

She frowned, that rarely happens. The only times Crowley asked her to join him, it was to introduce her to yet another monster. 

“Why ?” she asked. 

“Because I say so” Lilith told her coldly. 

Lilith would eat with them ? Something was up, she could see it in the Queen’s horrible glare, and feel it in the shivers along her spine, but Y/n ignored it. Just a few hours from now, she would be out of here, or at least Dean would be. If anything, this gave her another opportunity to get the key.

“I look forward to it, your majesty” Y/n gave the mother of demons a sinister smile. 

___________________________

They all sat down at the big table which was covered in food; a big pig with an apple in its mouth, grapes, red wine, bread and a dozen cakes, about everything you could think of was on this table.

Which was a shame, demons didn’t need to eat. Only she ate but, still, she could survive without it for longer than a normal human, and could never eat more than a fragment of this ridiculous display.

“So Y/n you’re probably wondering what all this is about ?” Lilith said as she watched her for the corner of her eye.

Y/n took her fork in her hand, making sure to keep up her pinky finger up, she had gotten enough beatings for forgetting it.

“Yes, I can’t help but do” she said, her mind was reeling with a way to get the key from Lilith.

The demons she had threatened had told her Lilith had the key, getting it from her would not be easy...

But not impossible.

“Lucifer is coming and you need to be prepared... ready” Crowley piped up.

“Prepared ? For what ?” she knew she was meant to be his slave, his wife in her father’s mind, like it could happen… but she didn’t understand why they said she wasn’t ready, prepared how ?

“Well, first, you’re not ready to talk to him, not with that tone for instance” Lilith sneered. 

“Lucifer will need you, your powers to be more precise” Crowley told her.

“For what purpose does he need them ?” she frowned. “He is far more powerful than me, unless...” she looked at both of them “he is not ?” 

Lilith laughed out loud, an ominous and mocking laugh that made Y/n want to drag Lilith through the halls of Hell and cast her in the deepest pit she could find. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl, no one is stronger than Lucifer. He will use your powers as a weapon… Or your belly” she grinned sardonically.

“A weapon” she repeated, putting her fork in her plate. “What do you mean my belly ?” she  dared asking, the idea of the answer making her nauseous.

“To bring Hell upon the Earth” Lilith smiled.

No… not Earth ! That meant when she would get Dean out, it would all be for nothing ! Anger rose in her core, she could suddenly feel her ears burn with that rage she knew so well. When will they stop ? When will he be allowed to be happy ? Why soil everything ! She couldn’t let that happen. 

“No” she stated, trying to hold her fury hidden deep inside of her.

Crowley’s had snapped towards Y/n.

“No ? Darling, you don’t really have a say in it” he laughed.

“I control my powers. I won’t do it !” she said, trying to weight her words.

“And why not ? You never even saw Earth, what do you care for it” Lilith got up from her chair.

It was the home of the man she loved.

“There are innocent people there. I just… I won’t do it.”

Lilith stood next to her, her hand grasped the back of her head, her fingers tangled in Y/n’s hair, pushing her down to the table, her face now in her plate. Y/n gasped, the rage inside her once again drowned by humiliation, like it had been so often in her life.

“Like daddy said,” she bent down to whisper in Y/n’s ear. “You don’t have a say in it.”

A necklace slipped out of the demon’s dress and dangled in front of her face. 

The key ! 

Y/n was so close to grasp it… So close to freedom. Her heart started pounding in her chest and flashes of Dean in pieces came in her mind, making her more determined than she had ever been.

She started to vibrate underneath Lilith’s hand, she could almost taste her rage on her own tongue. Her body curled inwards, her breath slow and focused, her hair started to flow, she opened her eyes and could see herself light up in the reflection of the silver gravy boat that was placed on the table.

With a powerful blast of fire everything around her vaporized to dust as Crowley and Lilith flew pinned against the walls. 

“I WON’T DO IT” her voice was unrecognizable, it sounded like she was speaking with a thousand voices at the once. 

She was floating high in the middle of the room, she spread her arms and could feel two fiery wings erupt from her back, so big they touched each side of the room.

She would get out. She wouldn’t take any of their punches, any of their humiliations. And Dean wouldn’t spend another night in that cell. She was getting out. Now.

Her eyes focussed on the key around Lilith’s neck, with a nod of her head the chain snapped and the key flew into her hand like she was the magnet.

“YOU WON’T STOP ME” she clenched both her fist, the flames around her growing with the rage inside her as she forced the demons out of their vessels.

A force that wasn’t hers made the room colder. Her head snapped towards Lilith who seemed to be whispering something. 

“L-Lilith” Crowley yelled.

Y/n felt an invisible cord wrap around her feet, it tugged her down violently to the floor with one hard pull. Her wings disappeared, Lilith ran towards Y/n and threw a small vile in front of her, it caught fire and followed a line all around her.

She felt herself growing weaker and weaker, the more she fought the heavier everything got.

“Stop trying Y/n, you’re trapped, no way you can cross that.” Crowley said as he wiped the dirt of his dress pants.

“You really thought you were gonna get out ?” Lilith sneered at her, a wicked grin on her face.“Oh and you wanted to take the Winchester boy with you ?” she was now laughing out loud.

Y/n crawled to the edge of the fire ring around her, heavy and beaten, but met an invisible wall, icy and crackling, she couldn’t pass. She used all her strength, all her rage, but the anger was just a stomachache now, and her body was a prison. She was trapped. 

“Told you the spell would work.” Crowley told Lilith, with that fear hidden in his voice, the voice he had when he felt like he had to protect himself. He wouldn’t help her. 

Lilith leaned closer to her, victory on her face.

“I got you now, don’t ever think you are stronger than me. It’s over.” 

No… it couldn’t be, she had to get Dean out of here, she promised him… She swore. Dean was waiting for her, she couldn’t let him down…

Her ribs became too tight and a sob of supplication escaped her mouth. She lifted an arm, in a last attempt to resist, but despair was even heavier on her back, than the spell was.

“Bring her to my cage” Lilith said, opening the door to the demons on the other side, intrigued by the noise.

“No no, please no.” Y/n started, she knew by now that Lilith intended to lock her up for good this time. 

The thought of Dean waiting for her was unbearable… He would be waiting… forever. In a strangled sob, she clutched the key in her hand so hard it snapped. She looked down at her hand, it was broken…

“It’s a fake” Lilith clenched her fist and Y/n rose up, gasping for air. “You think I would walk around it with around my neck ? I’m not stupid.” 

Some demons grasped Y/n by her foot to tug down to the ground so  they could put new chains around her. She couldn’t move, crying like she had never cried, not even as a child. She wasn’t crying for herself, she wouldn’t mind dying. 

She was crying for Dean. Every single one of his cuts would be on her from now, every one of his lonely nights, of his fears and burns… For eternity. 

On her.

Once the chains were secured the demons started dragging her to her new ‘room’.

“Oh and” Lilith started, the demons stopping at the sound of her voice, she looked down at Y/n laying chained on the floor, silent tears rolling down her face.

“I’ll take care of Mr. Winchester.”

Next Chapter in @roonyxx​‘s blog

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