#pretttymuch fics

[bredsticon-blog]

title: the alternative

part: one (saint or sinner)

desc: you have died. you weren't an extraordinary person when you were alive--you made a few little sins and a few little good deeds, but it's not enough to land you in heaven nor hell. so the reaper gives you two choices: be in limbo forever, or serve equal years in heaven and hell. well, you choose the latter...

tags: angel!nick & demon!zion love triangle (or not? wink), heaven and hell au (yes ik purgatory exists but it has different purposes for this series), ooc (on purpose, i swear), sfw (as in, no smut), gore, violence (i mean, you're in hell...), cussing, murder, mentions of: rape, abuse, addiction (alcohol, LSD, heroin, uhh everything else), mental issues (depression, suicide), and death in general. gender/sex neutral reader (as always) and humor to lighten the mood

word count: 2k

notes: it isn't nearly as scary as the tags make it seem, i promise. i spent a l o n g time on the promo art for this (which imma post LATER) so uhh please read :'( haha yes i WILL finish writing the fma!austin fic and make the part 2 for ¡quake! & ~the wave~ but my ass is still collecting gifs and cleaning up plot holes sksksk and on the 2.76% chance the boys read this: hi follow me im @/bredsticon on ig, i make quality content and be more active on tumblr please we love you

You don't remember dying.

You're dead, and you don't remember dying.

Perhaps, in another life, you once thought that death accompanied a special feeling: life flashing before your eyes, lights out, everything over before your last breath escapes your lungs. But this is... this is slow. So slow. You're still on earth. Floating.. somewhere. Nowhere else. You see the world, all of it. Stars twinkle in the mist. The world around you is gray and dark. You watch your home fall apart. Every crack and shake is in full detail, and, dimly, you watch the sprouting of vines and weeds in its place. The weeds brush heads as they cluster your old house, your old neighborhood, your old country, your old everything.

You're old.

Breathless doesn't begin to describe it. You don't have lungs. You don't have... you don't. You just don't. You are nowhere. You are nothing. You don't exist.

Someone waves inside of you.

What the—

"Hello, Soul One-Hundred Thirty-Three Billion, Seventy-Five Million and Sixty-Five. You're late."

An NYC accent? You're from—

"Now that's a mouthful. I'll just call you Rosebud. See, you were supposed to cross over..." A watch ticks inside your... your form? You? "...millennia ago. Five millennia, in fact."

The voice throws a powder on you. Something blooms inside you, and you fall to the ground.

You gasp—holy shit, you can gasp. You move your head around. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, you have muscles, you have form, you can move. You exist.

The voice has a form, too. He looks like you: human. Flaming blue hair, khaki-colored skin with reddish-pink polka dots and marks. He wears modern clothes: a bright yellow vest and green pants. And glowing. He's like a painting. Human, kinda.

You gape at him. This doesn't exist. This can't exist. You thought you'd be nothing forever. But now you're something and that's something and the world around you is still murky but it's something and oh my God. Oh my fucking God. What happened to you? What happened to your home? Why aren't you dead?

The form smiles at you. "Be careful with mentioning the Master Creator so much. They're listening, y'know. They can tell when you're talking about Them."

He offers you a hand. Shaking, you take it. You wobble so hard you grab his shoulder, and he pats your wrist.

"Relax, Rosebud, we're gonna go up now. Take my hands." Gently, he takes your hand off his shoulder and interlocks your fingers together. You close your eyes as he pulls you close.

Once you open them, you're no longer on Earth.

You're in an office.

Vaguely relaxing piano music plays in the background. The walls gleam "eggshell white" (whatever that means), and copy-and-paste potted plants commiserate in corners, on shelves, and on top of desks. Rows and rows of cubicles line up in front of you, complete with ancient computers, loud clicking, and early morning groans of "I need more coffee, for fu- fun's sake!" A vending machine and a water cooler stand behind you, with banged-up tables interspersed between those.

Someone rises out of a cubicle. His skin is pale, but his hair is dark. "Reaper Honoret Jr.! Is that—oh my goodness, is that the stray? You did it! It took a few millennia, but you did it!"

Honoret Jr. grimaces. "My bad, Dad. The soul blended in so well, it took me a while... my readings showed complete neutrality. It's like there's no one there." The reaper looked back at you. "I only caught a flicker. Right now, I can't—"

His dad chuckles. "Not Dad. It's Reaper Honoret Sr. to you." He winks. "I'm kidding, y'know how they get around here."

He comes forward and wraps his arms around the boy, then unlatches. Without Honoret Jr's support, you fall to the ground, so you watch as he holds his son's shoulders. "Your bad? What do you mean? I'm proud of you. So, so proud. You're the only one who could even—actually, wait."

He turns to face the cubicles. "Reapers of Thanatos & Co., guess who just caught the stray!"

The clicking stops.

Someone coughs. "You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it's behind me, right now."

Chairs scoot on scratchy carpet as the reapers of Thanatos & Co. nearly jump out of their cubicles to see you. Forty reapers dressed in some manner of business attire speed walk in your direction. One pushes Honoret Jr. out of the way—his dad has to catch him before he falls on his face.

When they see you, they stop. They start staring at the air around you. They sniff like blood hounds.

After a pause, a reaper with large eyebrows turns to another, eyes wide. "I think... I can't... I literally..."

The other nods. "Same here. Reaper Honoret Sr. isn't lying."

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

A reaper with short pink hair raises his hand. When no one calls on him, he puts it down and mutters something about being new. "Wait, if Reaper Honoret Sr. found the stray, shouldn't we tell the Grand Reaper about it first?"

Once more, the crowd murmurs in agreement.

The eyebrow reaper stares at you—no, not at you. Into you. Like you're not even there. "Before that, we need to know who found it. Reaper Honoret Sr., did you find it? We need someone to congratulate."

He grins. "Nope! My son did." He shook his boy's shoulders.

The reaper raises a brow, then gives the blue-haired reaper a look. "Oh. Well, uhm, congratulations."

The crowd weakly claps. Good job... mhm... congratulations, Junior... and then they disperse back into their leather spin chairs.

Honoret Jr. turns to you and makes a face. "Sorry about that. Office drama. Can't escape it, even in this world."

He doesn't look like a reaper to you. No black cloak, no creepy aura, no skeleton fingers. Kind, colorful, couldn't be a reaper. Nope. Impossible. None of this is.

"You're not believing a lot of things, I know. The first few days are the hardest." He gifts you with another smile. "You'll get there, I promise. I'm here to help.

"Name's Edwin, by the way. You've been calling me Honoret Jr. and that just gives me middle school flashbacks. No thanks."

You can't even make a proper facial expression to react to that. You can't formulate words—or even walk without Edwin holding your hand. He's reading your thoughts, at least. You're basically a vegetable.

He shrugs. "Give it a few hours, Rosebud. The vegetable'll wear off. Your body's just adjusting to this plane. No shame."

You can't speak, so you just think of the word: thanks. My name is—

"Oh, I know what your name is. I've been searching for you for five millennia. I'd be a horrible reaper if I didn't know."

He extends a hand. "Speaking of vegetable and horrible reaper, I bet you're hungry. You're also naked. Let's fix that."

-

Reapers need to eat, surprisingly. Edwin leads you through a myriad of hallways with the exact same paintings and potted plants (this is disgustingly easy to get lost in, you think. Edwin agrees) until you reach the break room. It takes you an hour.

No one's in there except you two. Edwin gave you some of his clothes (kept in another room), so you're wearing a red fit with a black vest and a lime green beanie. He tried to offer his matching ski mask, but you managed to mentally shout "No!" before he put it away. You don't mind wearing his stuff, but you wonder what that could imply. Do reapers...? Actually, you don't wanna think about that.

The break room curves up into a sparkling, plastic chandelier. The rest of the room accommodates a fridge plastered in posters, a microwave, and a dirty coffee maker paired with beige countertops. A pile of paper plates and utensils decorates the left countertop, while a sink occupies the right end. Island tables take up the rest of the center, leaving room for vending machines in the back.

Edwin scrunches his nose. "Who's bummy ass forgot to wash the coffee pot? Ew." He examines it, then starts washing the dishes.

He looks back at you. "You can go raid the fridge. Just don't touch the lunch boxes or uh—bento boxes, I think. Those are Reaper Porter's, and he will get very mad if you touch his bento. I did that once, so he threw a fork at me then said I messed with his feng shui."

Edwin mutters something about unseasoned chicken as he continues scrubbing coffee stains.

You stand up. Your walk is wobbly at best, and you feel like a pile of jello—you're weak in the knees, like jello. But you're getting there. Its better than before. At some point in your hour-long journey to the break room, poor Edwin had to carry you. You felt bad, but at least he's strong. Maybe it's a reaper thing.

You stumble to the fridge. Posters and dates and schedules cover the surface, but you brush past them to find what truly matters: the food.

Reaper office food tastes just as bland as human office food. How sad.

You find that your body works just like it used to. You're hungry, you can feel pain, and you're starting to move. It's like you never died. And now you're in a huge office full of slightly-glowy people who call themselves Reapers and also can't sense you, which is a concept you still don't understand. Or maybe you didn't die? Maybe someone stirred some LSD in your drink? And this is all... a major... acid... trip...

You blink, then pinch yourself. Nope. You're 'swell.

Edwin pulls out a chair. "Now that we're done with the basics, Rosebud, we need to get you registered. You're a bit of a weird case, but you're not too too special. Just uncommon."

He pauses. "Well, actually, you might be a little more special than that. Just a tad."

You give him a look. Something builds in your throat.

"What the fuck?"

He giggles. "Those are your first words on this plane? I—"

"No, seriously. What. The. Fuck." You sound like a cheese grater but you don't care. "I literally have no idea what's going on. I died, I think, then I watched mankind die too as the Earth turned into dandelions, then you went inside of me and threw some pixie dust to make me come back again, suddenly I'm in a 90s sitcom office and I'm naked which literally no one told me about until everyone else saw me as bare as the day I was born and—"

Edwin pats your hand. "All right, all right, let it out, let it out. I'll explain everything. It's just really long." He rubs the back of his neck. "And we're kinda on a time crunch here."

"A time crunch. When it took us an hour just to get a snack."

"Yes, a time crunch. We have about two more hours to get you registered before you become tied to this plane. Then you'll have to become a reaper, like me, and you don't wanna become a reaper." He bites deeply into his peanut butter and banana sandwich. "Shit's hard."

"I can't even—"

"Mhm." He says through a mouthful of peanut butter. "I'm rellay sorreh you're goineh frough thif. I geh how you feel. Eferyone dehs."

He swallows. "We all started out alive. No one's been here since the beginning. Except for some of the seraphim, I guess. But the rest of us? We just humans the Master Creator decided to gift. You're not alone in this. I went through the same bullshit as you. I get it."

You bow your head down. Your thoughts are too jumbled to feel actual anger. "Thanks, Edwin."

"You honestly deserve better, but no problem." He stands up and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Imma clean up after myself, so you can get a head start. We do only have two hours." He yanks you out of the chair. Still chewing, you watch as Edwin shoves you out the break room.

"Wait—hold up—wh—I don't know where I'm supposed to—"

He grins. "You will! Your senses will guide you."

"What— more vague shi—" and the door slams.