#< dms i sent to julian like 2 weeks ago

[grapejuicegay]

Being haunted by a legacy

They want us to be aware of how memories of people can haunt and influence us. It’s why Mes exists. Mes is a ghost in the narrative, haunting only Akk. He serves as a legacy and a ghost and a memory all at once. He has never shown up in the current time and he never will because he doesn’t matter outside of his influence on Akk.

And he exists for a very important reason. To highlight how ghosts can haunt everything you do. Just like Dika, for both Ayan and Chadok.

Dika’s influence on Chadok goes the opposite direction - he is a reminder that Suppalo needs to be worth it. That if Suppalo’s rules and traditions are not worth it, he has given up everything for them.

Part of why I believed Suppalo was a cult was because of the use of terms like “faith”.

We know more about Dika than we do Mes, but for all we know he was haunted by what he had done too. For us, it doesn’t matter. Because outside of what he has left behind, he doesn’t matter. But for Chadok, it does matter. Because what he left behind is what haunts him.

‘Have faith in Suppalo’s rules’ is not just a reminder from him to Akk, it’s a reminder to himself (for all we know, it’s the same of Mes).

The only reason Dika matters outside of this is because someone else was left behind too. Ayan, who believes in the true meaning - in knowing the truth, in finding answers.

And Ayan is haunted by the truth he has found. The truth that his beliefs need to change

That his uncle is not the person he thought he was - that he was in love with Chadok, a person Ayan hates for so many reasons.

They’re all also haunted by the literal death of their legacies.

Thua killed Chadok’s legacy by exposing him as the originator of the curse. He can no longer uphold Suppalo, not the way he wants to, not when everyone knows this.

Akk is dealing with the death of his belief in Suppalo.

Ayan is not only haunted by the death of the image he had of Dika, but the fact that he can never be like him. He wanted to be like his uncle, so understanding, a comfort, but he knows where being like Dika leads.

They’re all haunted - by memories of people no longer here, by legacies they can’t live up to, by beliefs they have to let go of. Dika and Mes exist to highlight that.

[chrysanthmilk]

a guide to being death: chapter 2

by staccato

“Death is very, very tired of its Master’s strange wants and whims. This is the last time it does something he wants.”

aka: a apocalypse fix-it, featuring a master of death who has been reincarnated into a winchester. things can only go up from here.

chapter 2: harry (finally, julian sighs) remembers

read it below, or on ao3

*

The anniversary of Dean’s death found Harry sitting on the side of the road, holding a bottle of beer loosely by its neck. An unopened bottle was buried in the dirt in front of him, along with two other similar bottles.

“It’s been three months, Dean…”

The crude cross made no reply, and Harry sighed. He lifted his hand and let the beer trickle down his throat, suppressing his gag reflex. He has never liked beer or any other alcohol, preferring the scent of smoke as it filled his mouth and lungs. Sam had always berated him, citing the list of cancers whenever he returned with another pack. But it’s not Harry who is dead, is it? Dean is. Dean is in Hell, because he is a dumbass who sold his soul for Sam’s.

Sam, who doesn’t even care. Sam, who Harry last saw six weeks ago. Sam, who is probably fucking that demon girlfriend of his and drinking her shitty demon blood instead of here, with his brother, drinking shitty beer to honor his other brother. The one who died for him.

The one who has been tortured for three decades.

Time passes differently in hell. John held out for ten months and a hundred years, but Harry knew Dean was never that resilient.

(It was why he went and got Sam that weekend to look for their dad. In truth, Harry and Dean would have been fine on their own, but Dean wanted any excuse to see and talk with Sam again; to try and lure him away from that apple pie life, and into the life of a hunter; to manipulate him into being with Dean again. Four years was the longest the two had been away from each other, and Dean, who carried and fed and bathed and dressed little Sammy, couldn’t cope with the separation.

(Look where that got him, huh? Buried six feet under, on the side of a random road.))

How long until he meets Dean again, this time with black eyes and a tainted soul? Would Harry be able to kill him, or even exorcise him?

Three months…

Harry finished the last of his beer, and threw the bottle at a nearby tree. It shattered upon impact and exploded into glass shards, hitting the man who had just appeared. It was midnight, and Harry had neither seen a car nor heard the click of the man’s cane, and he had the sharpest senses of any hunter he had come across. The man, if he really was a man, had literally materialized out of thin air.

Harry jumped up, a gun already cocked and aimed. The man remained unfazed, however, bushing away the pieces that had impaled themselves into his overcoat. He was old, with a narrow face and slicked-back hair.

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

The man chuckled, “ah, Master. How quickly you forget me. Well, it’s being several thousand years, and the Apocalypse dawns. I believe it’s high time for you to remember.”

Then, quicker than Harry’s human eyes can follow, the man was right there and pressing two thin finger against his temple and then he was screaming. The gun dropped out of his hands, hitting the ground with a thump, soon echoed by his knees as they buckled. The man followed him down, remaining skin contact as he poured something into Harry.

As he returned all the powers back to their rightful master.

Harry passed out, his human body unable to handle the burden.

*

When he woke, he was lying on top of the Invisibility Cloak, looking up at the bright sky. The being that had been Death, but no longer, sat at his side, picking French fries out of a McDonald bag.

Harry—Death—Harry groaned, flinging an arm across his eyes to block the bright sunlight. The Stone on his finger hit his forehead. He could also feel a wand harness digging into the skin of his other arm. He’ll have to adjust that. During his first life, he had been skinnier; this one introduced him to the oils and fats in American fast food.

“Finally awake, Master?” His loyal companion drawled.

“Julian,” Harry said, “shut up, please.”

The reaper crunched down on a fry loudly.

Harry sighed, and pushed himself up on his elbows. A truck drove by, slowing down as the driver turned her head to give him a concerned look. Harry met her eyes, and knew she was about to die twenty three minutes later by hitting a train head on. He gave her a thumbs up.

The truck sped up, driving away.

“So, the Apocalypse, huh?”

“As it is written: the first seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell,” Julian reminded him, as if Harry wasn’t there when Chuck wrote them.

“And I’m guessing Dean is this Righteous Man?”

Julian inclined its head in agreement, and Harry let out a laugh. Right, just his luck. There were only six Righteous Men in the whole of creation. Of course he was born brother to one.

“Angels began storming Hell this morning,” Julian told him. “They intend to retrieve Dean’s soul and return it to his body.”

“Only after he broke the seal, of course. Those bloody bastards,” Harry muttered darkly. “And here I thought Michael’s Sword was supposed to be free of taint.”

Julian shrugged, “Perhaps an angel will purify him.”

Harry gaped, “and absorb the taint into itself? That will influence it to fall.”

“Where’s the harm in that? You did, and we were okay.” Julian said casually.

Harry winced. Ah, so Julian wasn’t going to ignore the topic Harry wanted to ignore. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t know I would be reincarnated. I thought I would be human for only a little while.”

“You’re forgiven,” Julian said simply, “you couldn’t have known.”

“I—right, yeah.” Harry licked his dry, chapped lips, “so, you lot were good?”

“A soul has never not been collected,” Julian reported.

“That is good. Nice job.”

“Mmhmm.”

They sat in silence for a while, Julian finishing his Happy Meal while Harry properly listened to the Angel Radio for the first time in eons. In every lifetime while he was young, he would be able to hear voices. They would usually fade when he experienced puberty, and every time he had decided they were figments of a child’s imagination.

Only now has he finally learned the truth.

Harry didn’t know how the Radio worked, exactly. He just knew it allowed angels to telepathically communicate, but Harry and Chuck would also be able to talk in it. And when one message was sent, it was received by everyone. There was no such thing as DMs or privacy. Why would there need to be, unless someone had something to hide?

Currently, the Radio was buzzing with the news of three garrisons descending into Hell. Of plans to break more seals. Of cooperating with demons. Of how Sam Winchester is doing exactly as he should. Of summoning the Horsemen—

Ah, of course. The Four Horsemen and their rings that bind the cage.

Harry should go visit the rest of them.

*