#this sweatshirt embodies all that I am heart and soul

[littlemissobvious]

🖤🩷

[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

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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.