#A God Walks Among You... Reaper

[anonymousewrites]

A Good Day for Death (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Wednesday Addams x Reaper! Reader

Chapter Twelve: A Good Day for Family

Summary: The Addams meet (Y/N) and approve. Wednesday refuses to admit she's glad.

            (Y/N) had to admit they were relieved to have their mom coming to visit them during Parents’ Weekend. With everyone that had happened, they were in dire need of a mom hug. Unfortunately, their mom was running a little late due to work and was going to miss the welcome speech, but (Y/N) didn’t mind as long as they got to see her during the actual visit time.

            “Nevermore was created as a safe haven for our children to learn and to grow, no matter who or what they,” said Weems with her usual public relations smile. She waited for applause to die down before continuing. “I realize most of you have heard about the unfortunate incident involving one of our students.”

            Eugene… thought (Y/N) mournfully.

            “But I’m happy to report that Eugene is on the mend and is expected to make a full recovery,” said Weems. “So let’s focus on the positive and make this Parents’ Weekend our very best yet.”

            “On the mend?” muttered Wednesday. “Try ‘in a coma.’ ”

            “Have you been to see him?” asked (Y/N) gently.

            “I’m the reason he’s in the hospital,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “No, it’s the monster’s fault. Not yours.”

            “It hasn’t attacked anyone in the past week,” said Enid, trying to “cheer” Wednesday up. “Maybe you finally scared it off.”

            “Or maybe it went into hiding to avoid this weekend,” said Wednesday drily.

            “At least you get to see your family!” said Enid. Seeing Wednesday’s glare, she coughed. “Or not.” She cleared her throat and looked at (Y/N). “Are you excited?”

            (Y/N) nodded. “My mom is driving up right now; she got caught in some work.”

            “I wish mine wouldn’t get here at all,” muttered Wednesday as she spied her parents and brother appear in the courtyard.

            “Mine isn’t that much better,” offered Enid. She nodded to her parents. “Talk about toxic pack mentality. I give my mom thirty seconds before her judge-y claws come out.”

            (Y/N) smiled sympathetically. “Good luck.”

            Enid gave a tense smiled and straightened. “Gotta get this over with.” She walked over to her parents.

            “I suppose I do as well,” said Wednesday as her family walked closer.

            “There she is,” said Gomez fondly. “Oh, how we missed those accusing eyes and youthful sneer.” He hugged Wednesday, not put off by her not returning the affection.

            “How are you, my little raincloud?” said Morticia, smiling.

            “I thought Thing was filling you in on my every move,” said Wednesday. “I uncovered your feeble subterfuge almost immediately.”

            Gomez grinned, proud of his daughter’s intelligence and keen observational abilities. Morticia smiled and changed the subject. “And I see your roommate is here, Wednesday,” she said.

            (Y/N) nodded and lifted a hand in a friendly wave. “Yes, Mrs. Addams. (Y/N) (L/N). My mom’s coming, she just hasn’t arrived, and I was here with Wednesday.”

            “I don’t remember any (L/N)s at Nevermore when we were students, Tish,” said Gomez.

            “Is your family new to being outcasts? Perhaps a fresh batch of turned vampires or werewolves?” asked Morticia.

            Normal people would be offended or freaked out by the question, but it was perfectly natural among people like them. Not to mention, (Y/N) was the type to not even mind getting asked the stupidest questions from normies, so it was all alright.

            “They’re the child of Thanatos, the God of Death,” said Wednesday. “Their mother is a normie; they are an outcast.”

            She knew her parents would be impressed with (Y/N)’s parentage and find it fun since they, like her, adored all things morbid. (Oh, and she also wanted her parents to approve of (Y/N), but in no way she would admit that. Not even if she was forced to sit through all the Disney princess movies in a row).

            (Y/N) nodded and smiled. “Yep! She figured out who some other outcasts were and asked where they sent their kids for schooling, so here I am!”

            Gomez smiled. “I’m so glad my little viper is making friends.”

            (Y/N) grinned at Wednesday, who didn’t do anything other than continue her glower at her father. “Wednesday’s a pretty cool friend, so it works out.” Before Wednesday could glare at them, (Y/N) perked up as they saw their mom enter the courtyard. “Oh! There’s my mom, seeya, Wednesday!” They ran off.

            Morticia smiled. “A unique choice for you, Wednesday.”

            “We are ‘partners in crime’ as my other roommate would say,” said Wednesday. “We have been hunted and targets of attempted murder.” She was rather proud of that.

            Morticia smiled, and Gomez sighed fondly. “Ah, Nevermore. I love you so.”

l

            “Mom!” said (Y/N) happily.

            “(Y/N)!” said (M/N), smiling and hugging her child. “How have you been?”

            Well, people have tried to kill me, and there’s a monster on the loose. “I’m good. There’s just been a lot happening this year,” they admitted. They burrowed closer into their mom’s hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”

            (M/N) frowned. “The other student, the one in the hospital. You know him?”

            “Yeah. He’s a friend,” said (Y/N).

            “Sweetheart, if you ever want to come home, you can. If you feel like you are in danger, I’ll bring you home,” said (M/N).

            (Y/N) shook their head. “No. I want to be here, with my friends. I’ll feel better.” And I won’t give up on figuring out what’s happening around here.

            (M/N) nodded. “Alright. But if you want to, I’ll bring you home. At any time. I just want you to be safe.” She smiled. “Now, what has been happening at school that is fun?”

l

            Later that day, after (Y/N) had shown (M/N) around Nevermore and exhausted her with information on their classes, they returned to the courtyard for lunch. (Y/N) filled up their plate before sitting down near Wednesday as their mother continued.

            “How has your day been?” asked (Y/N).

            “I had to go to family therapy,” muttered Wednesday darkly.

            Before (Y/N) could ask for more, the doors to the courtyard swung open, and Sheriff Galpin walked in with deputies surrounding him. The courtyard fell quiet.

            “Can I ask what this is about, Sheriff?” questioned Weems curtly.

            “Gomez Addams,” said Galpin, ignoring Weems.

Gomez rose and turned to face him. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Garrett Gates,” said Galpin, turning Gomez back around and placing handcuffs on him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

            The Addams family rose in shock as they watched Gomez be guided away. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at the sight, and they looked at Wednesday in worry.

            “Dad?” asked Pugsley.

            “You have the right to an attorney,” continued Galpin. “If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you.”

            Wednesday looked at her mother in confusion. Morticia’s face was stone cold as she watched Gomez be led away. A single tear rolled down her face, and (Y/N) was struck by the fact something was very wrong there.

l

            (Y/N) watched as Wednesday put on her coat. “Do you…Do you want me to go with you?”

            Wednesday was going to visit her father in jail to figure out what was really going on. She had explained the files she had found on him, but this seemed odd and suspicious.  “I will handle this on my own.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “I look forward to hearing what you get up to in freeing your father.”

            Wednesday straightened proudly. “An Addams never fails. I shall uncover the truth.”

            “I have no doubt you’ll succeed,” said (Y/N), smiling encouragingly.

l

            Later that night, Wednesday was digging Garret Gates grave as her mother stood and watched. “Are you sure you don’t want to join?” she asked.

            Morticia inspected her nails. “Oh, no dear, perhaps another time. Our graves at home are much nicer, and I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

            Wednesday scoffed and continued digging.

            “So, you have made friends,” said Morticia.

            “I do not make friends, Mother,” said Wednesday.

            “What about (Y/N)?” suggested Morticia.

            Wednesday paused. “They are a partner of necessity in my investigations.”

            Morticia raised an eyebrow. “They seem to be a good partner.”

            Wednesday glanced at her mother. “They are tolerable help.”

            Morticia smiled at Wednesday. “My daughter doesn’t settle for tolerable.” She chuckled at said-daughter’s glare. “My dear raincloud, it is fine to enjoy the golden glow that comes after the rain. They are part of the same beautiful storm.”

            Wednesday was silent for a moment. “The striking beauty of deadly lightning is just as appealing.”

           Moritcia hummed in understanding. They were saying the same thing: a little light was alright in darkness. The only difference was that Wednesday knew (Y/N) more than her mother and so characterized them differently. It didn’t matter to a Morticia, though. She supported Wednesday’s happiness. And (Y/N) was that, whether as the gentle glow after a storm or the strong strike of lightning within it.

l

            “Wednesday!” said (Y/N) cheerfully. They had just said goodbye to their mom and were happy to see that Wednesday’s father was joining Morticia and Pugsley in their hearse to leave. “You did it! I knew you would.”

            Wednesday nodded. “Of course.”

            (Y/N) leaned in so no one heard. “So what was the real story?”

            “Garret Gates was instructed to poison all the outcasts by his father. He was obsessed with my mother, and in a fight as he tried to attack my father, she stabbed him, but he was already dying of the poison accidentally injected into him. My father took the blame,” said Wednesday.

            “Sheriff in Gates’ pocket?” asked (Y/N), guessing at how the truth didn’t get out.

            “Yes.”

            “I’m glad your father’s properly cleared,” said (Y/N).

            “The only thing he murders is the occasional opera,” remarked Wednesday.

            “Well. At least one mystery can be put to rest,” said (Y/N).

            “Another can as well,” said Wednesday. She held up a yearbook and opened it to a talent show page. “Weems did an impression of Judy Garland. A full-body impression.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they looked at the page. “She’s a shape-shifter. And she left the room before we saw Rowan that morning…”

            Wednesday nodded. “It wasn’t Rowan. It was Weems.”

l

            Without so much as a knock, Wednesday and (Y/N) walked into Weems’s office. She looked up in confusion and then annoyance when she saw who it was.

            “We knew it,” said Wednesday. “We knew we saw Rowan getting murdered that night.”

            Weems feigned ignorance. “Excuse me?”

            “When Rowan showed up that morning, it was just you,” said (Y/N).

            Wednesday opened up the yearbook. “When you participated in the talent show, not only did you impersonate Judy Garland, you became here.”

            “You’re a shapeshifter,” said (Y/N).

            Weems scoffed. “That’s a fascinating theory.”

            “I’m curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin feels when I tell him,” said Wednesday challengingly.

            Weems rose and leaned over her desk, showing off her impressive and intimidating height. “You won’t tell a soul, Miss Addams, Mx. (L/N). And it wouldn’t matter much if you did. Rowan’s father already knows what happened, and he fully supports my decision not the involve the authorities.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened in disgust. “Why would he agree to coverup his son’s murder?”

            Weems leaned back and stood at her full height. “Because Rowan was not in his right mind. His telekinetic abilities were driving him mad, and he attempted to murder you both twice. His tragic death allowed us to rectify the situation without casting school or Rowan in an unflattering light.”

            “I don’t who I’m disgusted in more: you or Rowan’s father. You’re both willing to put reputation above justice,” said (Y/N) sharply. Weems’s jaw tensed.

            “I did what I needed to do to shield this school from controversy and protect its students from harm,” said Weems, her voice clipped with anger.

            “By sacrificing a few?” challenged (Y/N).

            “Like Eugene?” said Wednesday, forcing herself not to hiss the words at Weems. “How are you protecting him?”

            Weems was taken aback and couldn’t respond. A sudden clamor outside took their attention, though, and they went to the window. The idea that someone else was injured or attacked weighed heavy in their minds. Weems pushed open the door to her balcony and stepped out. Wednesday and (Y/N) slipped out beside her.

            “What on Earth?”

            On the lawn below, flames burned in a deadly message:

            FIRE WILL RAIN

Taglist:

@strawberriesareprettycool

@im-making-an-effort

@champagnewitnocham

@simpcreator

@ksunoosworld

@dot-and-co

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@itsyapeepkiri

@daza1s-w1fe

@tired-writing-reader

@mary-jinx

@ognenniyvolk

@under-kitty

@colezb

@simp4natasha

@emily-roberts

@left-and-right-up-and-down

@star583

@rainbow-love4ever

@nemtodd-barnes1923

@likefirenrain

@ziro-the-null-god

@youralphawolf72

@mjoiner1136

@alexkolax

[dilatorywriting]

(Edit: I think this is the longest text wall I've ever sent you. I'm so so sorry - Reaper) so! about the selkie ask from the other anon

Funny thing is, I was clearing out my old tumblr blog a few days ago, and stumbled across that very post as I was mass deleting everything I'd ever reblogged. Unfortunately, I can't link it to you, because I misjudged how tumblr saves things in your likes. Apparently, if you like a post on your own blog, that you yourself reblogged, then delete the post, it also deletes the like. I did not know that. RIP all those posts I wanted to save, including that selkie one.

Anyway, at the time, that post gave me brainrot for an Azul AU that could maybe fit with your Monster Mayhem series? But I sat on it because: A) I have already cursed you with Rook brainrot. I have done enough damage B) I was aware that you were doing your exams this past week. I do not wish to be distracting C) I am invested in your Leona and Rook stories at the moment. On the off chance that this new brainrot would infect you as well, then I would be shooting both of us in the foot

But then. Mystery selkie anon comes from somewhere in the blind eternities and speaks about the exact post that inflicted my brainrot? I will take this as a sign from the gods to spill the Azul brainrot, for better or worse. I apologize in advance.

So.

Azul is some description of very old, very magical, eldritch horror sea beast. He was asleep for centuries, somewhere in a deep, dark, forgotten part of the ocean. And then some idiot woke him up.

Azul wakes to find that humanity has changed so much since last he saw it. The lower lifeforms (read: short-lived mortals) had flourished in a way that he and other beings like him had never expected. Speaking of others like him, he also finds that he's alone - he can't sense of any of the other eltdritch horror beings he remembers from long ago. He can't tell whether they're asleep somewhere, like he was, banished, or dead. He doesn't quite care either, it's not as if he was friends with any of them.

Instead he observes the humans. He's always been fascinated with humans. Their determination and what they could achieve despite their fleeting existence. It was a human, who'd put him to sleep all those years ago, after all.

Eventually, he's not satisfied anymore with watching from afar, and decides he wants to walk among them. To see them closer, perhaps even rise above them, have them revere him as they once did others of his kind, as they should have done to him in the old days but didn't. It's also lonely, so far down in the deepest darkest ocean depths. Not that Azul would ever admit that.

So Azul turns to his collection and knowledge of ancient magicks. Twsiting spells with odd rules and loopholes that he loves so much. The same tricky spells that the humans used to come to him for, while they worshiped the others. He chooses one that will allow him to shapeshift his body into that of a human, but it has a rather pricey trade off. In order to convert a being such as him into something so small and solid, there's a tiny issue of matter and energy displacement, conservation, and condensation and such. Very complicated things. In short, the spell requires that a physical object be imbued with his displaced essence, to maintain the human form. It's a very old and quite common shapeshifting spell, and the humans have many myths about it, not seeming to realize that it all comes from the same spell. Myths about creatures whose power is bound to an object. Dragons and their gemstones, Selkies and their coats, Foxes and their tails.

But it's a risky trade. Should another being come into possession of that imbued object, and take ownership of it, they would too take control of its true owner. Azul knows this well, he'd used that loophole to his advantage many times in the past. Considering this very carefully, he chooses his object. A trinket would be too shiny, too noticable, too easily misplaced. It must be something plain and common. Something no-one really thinks of taking, something one would normally have on them at all times as a human. He chooses a coat.

And Azul goes ashore.

Meanwhile, our MC runs modest little magic shop in the village. It's nothing incredibly fancy and their own magic abilities are nothing really to brag home about. They deal in common "entertainment" magic mostly. Talismans that change water to juice, or bread to chocolate. Little poppers that make tiny indoor fireworks. A potion that instantly makes a few daisies grow. Little things, mostly geared towards those that aren't able to perform magic. No-one else in the village is especially magically inclined and the general opinion of the little shop is that it's charming. And so is it's keeper!

Publically that is.

Behind MC's thickened with sugar customer service facade is someone who's running on 95% spite. Because here's the thing about magic users: they tend to judge other magic users on magical aptitude alone, and MC never had much of that. Being snubbed by every wizard, warlock, or elf you ever meet leaves one quite bitter. And from that bitterness came the decision to run a store, selling your "not real magic" to the masses, because it makes those wizards seethe, and seeing their soured faces as you "sully the name of magical arts" brings you so much joy.

Recently, however, you have a rival.

There's boy who comes to the market every Sunday, peddling flashier tricks and talismans than yours on a small folding table. Normally, you wouldn't mind, given he only comes one day a week, but that nonchalance ended the moment a sheepish customer came into your store a following Monday, trying to return a faulty item they'd bought from the boy to you. When asked, they'd adverted their eyes and claimed the boy said he worked for you and that you would handle all customer complaints.

Well.

You'd smiled very brightly, politely informed the customer of their mistake, and accepted the declaration of war.

You've been at it for awhile now, and your latest scheme to one up the mystery market scammer was to get a familiar to help you in the shop. A cute one. A sweet one. Something pretty to draw in customers and perform a little pest control. And what luck it is that you know a mage in a nearby town that deals in such familiars. Sure, Cater was a bit of a flirt, but he'd never snubbed you, or tried to cheat you, and would know exactly what you meant when you stormed in and said "I want something so cute it'll destroy someone."

On your way to Cater's, you stop at a quaint little tea shop. You buy some rosehip to take with you, since you don't come to this town often, and on your way out you notice a man quitely reading at a table. His coat had fallen to the floor and, without thinking, you pick it up. This catches his attention and, startled, he blinks up at you. You can't help but notice how pretty he is - it's almost hypnotic. Soft pale hair that frames his face in waves and bright blue eyes. The mole by his mouth draws attention to his lips. You smile at him, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and apolgize. You tell him his coat was on the floor, and that you're just returning it. As you do, you place it on the back of his chair. Your hand brushes his shoulder and there's a sharp jolt of what feels like static electricity. The strength of it almost makes you jump. Instead you shiver, shake your head, apologize again, and leave.

You don't think about it again until later, when Cater tries to place an open binding sigil on your arm to bond you with a cute, fuzzy familiar, and it fizzles out immediately. Three times in a row. Then Cater says that the only reason the binding sigil would fail, would be if you'd already bonded to something. You blink in confusion, and Cater goes on to say (now with concern colouring his tone) that it would've felt like a strong jolt of static electricity. Some strange object someone might've passed you, or perhaps an animal that might've wandered up and brushed-

A man, you say, thinking of the tea shop. Cater chokes.

Your brain runs a mile a minute, picking over every detail you could remember about the mystery pretty man in the shop, focusing on him intently. Cater goes through various stages of panic as you do so ("a man?!? that's not familiar binding that's practically marriage! You're telling me you accidentally got married on the way over here?!?"). Eventually he tries his scrying mirror, to find the culprit, only for the mirror's glass to turn ink black and shatter. Cater does not take this well.

Eventually he lets you go home, but only after you agree to take his assistant, Deuce home with you for the night. Deuce, the sweetheart that he is, glares at every man who walks past like he wants to punch their lights out. You, conversely, are almost completely inside your own head. You can't bind to other people with bonding sigils - they're meant for familiars or contracts, they don't work on people - so what does that mean? That the man you met wasn't human, and instead some magic creature? But why would you bind with him just by touching his coat?

Meanwhile, Azul does not immediately notice that he'd bonded with MC. He'd registered the sharp jolt of magic, sure, but simply brushed it off as static runoff due to a magic user being in close contact with him and his coat. Nothing to worry about. Nothing would ever happen from someone just touching the coat - that was ridiculous. No, in order to actually take control & create a bind, they'd have to know the correct ritual spell. The one he personally ripped up every copy of nearly a millenia ago when he was last awake.

Then he goes to the seashore, later in the evening, to return to the ocean for the night, and finds that he can no longer revert to his true form. Or to any form other than his current one.

Oh dear.

It's easy for him to trace the culprit. In in the water of a tidepool he sees MC, deep in thought, focusing intently on him as he'd appeared to them, and thus keeping him tied to this form. Azul watches, with a mixture of contempt and fascination, as it becomes clear that this human has no idea what they've done, how they've done it, or who and what he is. Well. This'll be an easy fix at least.

He spends the night planning. He settles for the apologetic approach. An "I'm so sorry, I believe you may have accidentally set off a sigil I had in my coat pocket when you picked it up and it's linked us somehow. I'm sure it's a bother - don't worry I'll just remove it" and the whole mess should be finished.

Except it isn't. Because the moment he steps foot in your shop, your smile drops like a stone and you point an accusing finger at him. You're demanding to know what he's done to you, and Azul finds a whole millenia of patience, plus last night's planning, going down the drain in an instant as he stoops to argue with this human. Because this isn't his fault, thank you, it's clearly yours.

You shout at eachother for a bit, and come to the conclusion that it's best for both parties if this magical bond is severed immediately. But it doesn't dissolve, no matter what you or Azul try, and both of you slowly come to accept that this is going to be a little more complicated to sort out.

In your exasperation, you mutter "So that's it? I'm basically married to you now?" only to see Azul's face go the colour of a ripe apple. Instantly, you decide you will only be referring to Azul as your beloved husband going forward. It's only fair, if you're going to be stuck with him. (I apologize again for the sheer length of this monstrosity. I hope your exams went well!)

-Reaper

Oh, don't mind me over here in the corner just absolutely FROTHING AT THE MOUTH OVER THIS CONCEPT FOR MONSTER!AZUL. Reaper, my friend, you have some absolutely stellar brain worms my dude. 11/10. Never misses. My brain is going brrRRRRRRRR because I had plans! I swear I did! I had sorted Azul's lil story all into a nice, internal, filing system and was ready to lay it out whenever I finally found the time. But this selkie vibe is just so !!!!!! So!!!!! !!! I want to wrap it up in my head and never let it go. Maybe I can swipe the concepts while maintaining the og plot, or perhaps a hybrid, or maybe maybe ack! This is wonderful i want to EAT it

[zarya-zaryanitsa]

Hello! I was wondering, is there a certain recipie or type of food that is related to Veles? Either as an offering or something made for certain occasions?

We know very little about Veles so it’s hard to give any definite answers based on records of his pre-Christian worship. We can make some educated guesses on the basis of later Christian folklore about Saint Nicholas (who is believed to have inherited some of Veles’s traits in the areas populated by descendants of his previous worshippers, there are also other relevant Saints but I will not discuss them here) or other folkloric entities (associated with similar concepts and often appearing in opposition to the Thunderer, who also can appear as many different Saints and characters).

In the oldest sources we find Veles referred to as „the god of cattle”

„(…) Oleg and his men swore an oath by the Rus’ religion and swore by their weapons, and by Perun, their god, and by Volos, the god of cattle, and ratified the peace.”

- Tale of Bygone years, entry for year 907, as translated in Sources of Slavic Pre-Christian Religion ed. J. A. Álvarez-Pedrosa

*So, are Veles and Volos the same? Most slavists who I saw speaking on the subject were of the opinion that „obviously we can’t know for sure but it seems very likely”.

Borys Uspensky in his „Cult of Saint Nicholas in Russia” explores the numerous connections between Saint Nicholas and Veles and gives us some ideas derived from the cult of the former. One of them is a sacrifice of a three year old bull (de facto only the best part of meat goes to the god, the rest is shared by the people of the village).

Therefore the first thing we could use is beef.

Another thing is beer and other alcoholic beverages. Uspensky mentions the tradition of offering beer to Nicholas and points out that people would occasionally refer to him as „the beer god”. He also claims that consumption of alcohol on the Day of Saint Nicholas had ritual character.

Andrzej Szyjewski seems to be in agreement, in his book Religia Słowian mentioning that:

„Another dominion of his was alcoholic fermentation, he is the god of beer, patron of feasts and festivities as manifestations of wealth.”

The next one is grain and grain products. This is also guessed from the connection with Saint Nicholas, but makes sense in context of Veles being seen as deity of fertility.

„The reapers work in such a fashion as to leave one sheaf of grain remaining in the middle of the field, there the spirit of grain dwells untill it’s also ritually harvested and preserved untill next year’s planting. Among Eastern Slavs this sheaf is called the Beard of Veles, or the Beard of Nikolai. Once the reaping is done a female reaper braids the sheaf three times saying <Bless me Lord/ May I twist this beard/ Strength for the reaper/ Head for the horse/ Beard for Nikolai>” (trans. notes: It rhymed in Polish. Sort of.)”

- Religia Słowian by Andrzej Szyjewski

Uspensky points out that according to Ivanov and Toporov an alternate name for „the beard of Nikolai” may have been „the beard of Veles”. Additionally he presents a following belarusian folk song:

„Where have you been Nicholas?/ I walked in the field, I was sprinkling the dew/ I walked in the balk, I was making the rye crop/ I walked in the forest, I was placing the hives”.

Therefore it should not come as a surprise that the next food I’m going to mention is honey. Uspensky cites Nicholas as one of the patrons of beekeeping. Not incredibly important but I’d like to add Veles seems to also be associated with the color gold and bears so I was not particularly shocked.

My last suggestion are eggs. Eggs are a symbol of fertility and according to Uspensky they feature in some celebrations of Saint Nicholas as well as in certain rites of ancestral worship, which fits in nicely with Veles’s spheres of influence.

Okay this is it for today! After nearly 10 months I am letting the post fly free. If I ever find/remember something more I’ll add it in a reblog!

Hope you’ll still enjoy dear patient Anon 🥀

[askrockandfriends]

Open Event: Halloweegee 2023

Twas a dark and spooky night. Ghouls and goblins from all over have emerged from the shadows, and now wander the streets! Some come for candy. Some come for parties. But all come for spooks, scares, and thrills this Halloween night!

Among them are Raisuke and Anzu Fukumoto. Walking through their town together in the dead of night, they come dressed with their best costumes representing the culture and history of their native Japan. Raisuke, taking some creative liberties, opted to dress as an undead shogun, adding a spook-tacular touch to centuries of Japanese history. Not far behind him, Anzu smiles, as she proudly shows off her sweet ninja outfit. Now in addition to the stealth skills she developed naturally in her adventures with her brother, she can add the finishing touch by donning the suit of the stealthy guerrilla fighters that have been popularized throughout Japanese pop culture and beyond. A natural fit for a naturally sneaky sis!

From history to mythology, we have a Grim Reaper walking the streets of town... a very crazy and- "crazy AWESOME, right? That's right, bitches, I'm the Grim Fucking Reaper, here to send any bad ghouls and boys straight to the pits of HELL! You want thrills, spooks, and scares, this Halloween? Bitch... I got that in droves! And maybe a little bit of blood..." ...I couldn't have said it better myself, Ken.

And finally, with his entourage surrounding him, we appear to have the fallen angel of Christian mythology, Lucifer! Cast down from heaven after he rebelled against God, he and Goh may in fact have a shared trait in rebelling against their fathers and being outcasted because of it. Well, at least the character fits the man...

Other characters like Yu, Gloria, and Monika can also be seen wandering the streets in costume. Overall, it's a very spook-tastic night for scares this Halloween!

@ask-ultimate-fashionista @astral-multiverse @hxpelessnurse @rockinmusician @thewriterandthekiller @despairs-memorial @dead-or-lie @ask-dark-monita @prxnce-of-chxos @pxrifiedmxniac @emxrald-cores @witness-of-fear @klumsymaid @electricea @bananabraiined @hxroic-wxlls @enigmaincrimson @paragonofvirtue @musekaiplex @linklewinklewoman @stalkerkyoko

[izayoichan]

(Premise of this mini au: Hayle, the god of the region its protector and mostly seen as an untouchable figure, watching them from his home. Chris: The reaper who sees a lonely god, and decides that perhaps he can change things.) Chris: So you never walked here? Hayle: No. He was not sure what he had expected, he had never even thought about walking among them all before he had stumbled on this reaper in his travels around the lands themselves. It had been an odd meeting, he had spotted a dying human, and being curious he had landed close by, to see if perhaps he could at least be there for this persons last moments. It was then he had noticed the person was not alone. Another was there, sitting with them, but not doing anything. He had at first accused the person for being the culprit but as he looked at him he realized he was looking at death, or more accurately one of their reapers. Chris: How come? Hayle: I somehow thought it would be odd? They don’t know me, they only know the well myth? Chris: They still only know the myth, they will never know anything else unless you want them too. You do really not look anything like their idea of you, the big dragon in the sky. He chuckled, he had seen their attempts at making him. Many times had he felt like correcting them, but oddly for a god, he had always been afraid. Afraid that if he showed them this form, they would no longer think off him as a god. Maybe as an impostor instead? Hayle: So you still think I should live among them, let them see this me? Chris: Yes, you will still be their god, their deity, but imagine knowing that their deity is there, listening and talking to them directly. No longer will someone make up what they think you want, for the first time, they will know.  Hayle: That would be nice.. these people use my name for all manner of things. Chris chuckled, he had heard some of it, and seen some of the writings. He enjoyed the company of this fairly young god, and he hoped perhaps he could guide him, to become the god he felt he was. He knew his story, left alone from a very young age in these lands, to rule them as he saw fit. Which he was still working out how to.

Chris: The only way to do this, is to become a visible god, not one hiding in the sky. Hayle: You make it sound so easy. Chris: It is always easy to say what someone should do. What is hard, is making it happen. (To be continued tomorrow)

[squishamellow]

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of twins.

The story of sisters, who were only connected by blood.

Tell me a story.

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of anguish.

The story of tangled jealousy and crippling paranoia.

Of crossed emotions and venomous words.

Tell me a story.

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of cruelty.

The story of searing heat and cold nights.

Of flippant cuts and fleeting comfort.

With harsh reality tugging at their veins.

Tell me a story.

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of betrayal.

The story of split ends and burning bridges.

Of rolling tears and dirtied hands.

With fortune’s cruel fate taking the reigns,

And god’s unforgivable mercy

Tell me a story.

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of realizations.

The story of malicious thoughts and whispered promises.

Of precarious plans and shaking bodies.

With time’s threads running short,

And death’s clicking clicking closer to midnight.

Tell me a story?

Will you tell me a story?

Tell me a story of Death.

The story of disturbed nights and deep graves.

Of grimy shovels and markless stones.

With blades hastily discarded,

And the Reaper walking among them.

Taking, taking a life to the end.

Tell me a story.

Tell me a story,

Tell me a story with a ending.

Will you? Will you tell me a story?

-8:53/April 19th

[titlemewickedwonderland]

To the Ends of the Earth

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: Blood, mention of near sexual assault, angst, near death.

It hurts! It hurts so much! I can't take this anymore! Somebody make it stop! I can't. I can't move, it's too heavy. My arms are too heavy. Somebody, please make it stop. My body screams at me to move, to try and fight, Do something. But I can feel the warmth of the blood draining from my body; tickling my ever-growing cold skin as the crimson fluid runs down my arms to the cold concrete below. The ropes were scratchy and scraggly digging so painfully into my wrists keeping me tied to this godforsaken fucking chair! I wish I could just move my body, even if just a little. If I'm going to die I at least want to die comfortably. Ah, it's pointless anyway. Soon I'll be dead. I can just feel it. What's there in the darkness? Did I see a shadow move? A soul reaper maybe? Coming to take me to my own personal hell? Or is it Death himself coming to unbind my restraints to gather me in his embrace and take me away. I'd met Death before. He wasn't as bad as half the people talk about him. But then there is the fact that half those people are liars. They don't know Death can walk among us, humans. And hey, the man likes pizza. Found that out when he ate half my large freshly delivered pizza I'd ordered for my hotel room. The bugger didn't even pay me.

Would I die here alone? Would I be missed? Did I do enough for this world to be in God's good graces? Am I going to die alone in this cold place after hours or was it days of mindless torture? I was so fucking stupid thinking I could take this one by myself. I was a hunter, I was trained by the best. But I let my big ego take control and oops here I am dying, bleeding out, and growing colder and colder by the minute in this underground bunker. They'd tricked me. It tricked me. I thought it was Dean. I thought that thing was MY Dean. So tired from the investigation the last few days chasing that son of a bitch that was taking the faces of innocent people to kill their spouses that I was so blind to not see that the Dean that I was sitting in my hotel room with was NOT my Dean Winchester. I noticed it too late. That glint in his eyes and no I don't mean that reflection shit on a camera that Shapeshifters possess. No, it was darker than that. The gleam, that look in his eye when I refused his advances. My Dean wouldn't have reacted like that; he'd just brush it off. If I wasn't in the mood he wouldn't press. But this Dean did and I fell right into his fucking trap too late to even attempt to grab my gun. So here I was. Being tortured by the face of the man that I loved. The man that I swore I'd marry someday. I didn't want to die. No, I cannot die, not today. Not ever. I must survive, surely there must be a way. How did this happen to me, what have I done wrong? I can't… Somebody, please help me. There must be somebody nearby, please help whoever you are, wherever you are. Dean, Cas…Sam, just fucking anyone for crying out loud! I don't want to die!

~

That annoying drip drop of the water falling from open pips above my head was annoying. But it kept me awake. Grudgingly kept me awake no matter how cold I was no matter how much blood I lost. If I came to think about it, it's actually quite peaceful here, I could stay here for hours. Not that I have a choice right now. No, I do have a choice. Give up or fight and I choose to fight. I will get away from here, as far away as possible until I've found help. Help, I need help to get out of here. I can't do it on my own, it's no use. No amount of prayer has allowed help to find me. My faith is weak at best. But I can still manage to reach Cas. Dean could do it and he has less faith than me. But Castiel always did have a softer spot for the hunter so perhaps it was some sort of angel thing that had him honed for Dean. Or it could be the fact there is a freaking graph of a symbol drawn in my blood beneath where I sat tied to my chair that blocked the angel's attempts to communicate or find me. Fucking shapeshifter had to tap into Dean's knowledge. Funny thing about Shapeshifters. They can tap into the thoughts and memories of those they imposter as long as that victim still lives. Maybe if I wait long enough the pool of blood will wash away and distort the image of the graph on the concrete below me. Just one drop will do…just one.

I'm cold. I wish there was somebody to hold me or something to warm me. I feel no pain, not any longer, but my body keeps shivering to warm itself up. But I'm still cold. I'm surprised I managed to last this long. I thought I'd bleed out by now and just waste away into a husk; into unconsciousness enough for my soul to leave my body. Freezing to death isn't half bad all things considering; I've seen a lot more gruesome ways to die so at least I should be lucky right? Right… The creak of the metal hinged of the bunker's doors grind on my brain like nails on a chalkboard but I don't have the energy to lift my head to check out the imposter wearing my boyfriend's face. Wait, were we actually considered in a relationship? I mean, Dean and I never actually talked about it. We sort of had this connection and boom next thing we fucking each other and spending a lot more time together than normal just friends would but no one ever complained about how it happened even if those words were not said to confirm. What are we like 13? We don't need to be asked out peh!

A rough hand grasped my face and jerked my head up just for me to stare into the shadowed face of a very pissed-off-looking Dean. But this isn't my Dean. I've already gotten good at noticing the differences. That curl of his lip and that glare in his eye was definitely not my cocky Dean. Because I knew this wasn't the hot supernatural hunter I was wishing for, I didn't mind gathering the combination of blood and saliva on my tongue and spitting it at his face within the next second. But that quickly backfired when my face exploded in pain as the fucker backhanded me hard enough for me to spit out a glob of blood. He'd knocked me over in the process too; my head had hit the pavement below with a loud crack that made my vision sparkle behind my eyelids. I groaned but what could I do? I couldn't move. Opening my eyes I realized I was lying near the edge of the graph on the ground and I chose one of two things. Fight or Die. I chose to fight. Given the opportunity that I had, I rubbed my head against the ground quickly; my hair was a mass but worked well like a mop to wipe and smudge the imprint of the blood on the ground. All this was done while the shapeshifter had his back turned; too busy studying his trays of torture tools off to the side of the room. Closing my eyes I pretended to be passed out and inside I was pleading; screaming, crying, anything that would get Castiel's attention to find me. I need his help and I didn't have much time or energy left.

I felt it then. That mind thing that telepathic creatures and beings had abilities of. Like a gentle caress on my mind. It wasn't intrusive but I could definitely feel the worry that the feeling projected. But I knew, I fucking knew he heard me and that very notion made a sob escape my chest. He'd heard me and he and my boys were coming to find me. I just needed to hold on a little bit longer; that's all I needed to do. But that relief washed away quickly as I was yanked back upright and I saw the glint in the corner of my eye. Fuck, what's one more slash to the arm to bleed out some more huh? I was going to make it. I knew I was, I just had to hold onto the little ray of hope. But my body rejected that idea. My mind was stronger than my body; I was only human after all so I wasn't surprised. Disappointed if anything when my vision began to get blurry and dark as unconsciousness crept from the corner of my vision. The sounds became muffled and far away like underwater. But I had enough feeling left in my limbs when the ropes were cut free and my body was flung to the ground only to be covered by a warmer body. My eyes fluttered open in time to see that silvery glint in the shapeshifter's gaze as his hands began tugging at my blood-stained clothes. I panicked, I could feel my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Was he seriously going to use my body?! I didn't have the energy to fight back; pins and needles in my cold limbs made it painful and hard for me to move my appendages. But that didn't stop the tears. I sobbed. I sobbed so hard I couldn't breathe. But you know what? My nightmare was over. Over in a bang; literally.

Blood splashed onto my face as the body on top of mine was blasted to the side and fell limply on the concrete beside me. A pair of strong hands grasped me and I screamed trying to fight but when I opened my eyes Sam was cradling me against his chest and stroking the blood from my face. The look of utter relief and horror on his face was evident as he held me tightly to him while looking over my head towards where Dean stood; his face was so terrifying that I almost thought it was the shapeshifter all over again. He stood there with a face like thunder like he was going to murder someone; which well technically he had. But he looked so fucking pissed as he stood over the shapeshifter's body. His hand rose and the gun held tightly in his grasp went bang. He fired the gun straight into the monster's body. Once, twice, three times before he turned looking serious as all hell. Seeing my terrified expression as I lay limply in Sam's grasp made him turn back around and unload the rest of his clip into the dead thing's body before he could even attempt to look at me again.

Was I that ugly? Was I that broken? My lip trembled and I buried my face against Sam's shoulder. Holding onto his arm for support as I didn't want to be alone right now. Dean crouched in front of me just then and I felt his hand brush my hair from my face and I couldn't help the flinch I gave at his touch. When I look at him I saw that conflicted look on his face. He was going to withdraw from me. I knew that look. But I didn't want to be afraid of him. My Dean never hurt me, I needed him to realize that. So as he began pulling away to rise I launched myself from Sam's arms and straight into Dean's. Burying my face into the familiar scented shirt and holding for dear life. No words needed to be said as his arms wrapped around me and held me tightly to him. He was never good with words anyway. The presence of his strong frame against my own was enough for me to soak his T-shirt in tears. So relieved. So happy. Just so…thankful that I had men that would go to the ends of the world for me. I pulled away far enough to peer up into his green eyes before I yanked him down by the collar of his jacket to press his lips to mine. Kissing him for all he and I were worth because frankly. I never thought I'd ever have the chance to feel him against me like this. Drawing away when we needed air I rested my forehead against his and smiled shakily.

"I knew you'd come for me." my eyes trailed off to the figure standing behind us in his signature tan-colored trench coat.

"Thank you."

[cherryblossomsandhydrangeas]

Sk8 Rewatch Ep12

You know, if Adam vented by dance skating in the rain more often, we might not have the problems we have now.

God the animation of Adam’s shadow as he dances is so fucking good.

Imagine being this poor fucking tailor man. It’s early in the morning, it’s a fucking monsoon raging outside, and then a lunatic in a matador costume bursts talking about making him a suit.

Sketchy is so cute~

Langa, it is not your job to fix that grown ass man.

Kiriko’s search warrant and subsequent raid on the Shindo household was completely erased from the narrative. Like, she had the warrant and never used it?

Miya asking Shadow about his injuries when Cherry probably cracked his skull in at least two separate places, had an arm and leg in a cast, probably some- at least- cracked ribs, among other things. Listen, if the founders are actually gods you can go ahead and reveal that, but at least acknowledge that Cherry’s injuries were far worse than Shadows.

If season two never finishes up Cherry’s hangups with Adam I will riot.

Imagine going to S, seeing a whole ass tombstone at the finish line and not turning the fuck around to go home.

Honestly, I love Adam’s second costume more than his first, but actually imagine being Langa, walking all the way up there and seeing your opponent dressed like the grim reaper talking about it’s your day of departure.

Langa using Cherry’s move to dodge Adam’s Love Hug Full Swing Kiss Combo. 😍🤩😭

The Zone is just Adam’s way to not feel any pain- something he’s experienced a lot of in life- as he completes his child murder suicide.

Oliver I feel like you could have visited your son long before now.

Adam: So I never had...an Eve to begin with, did I? No, no you did not.

Adam: There’s not...anyone at my side Okay, now who’s fault is that?

While I agree that adults can learn something from children. This 100% should not have been on Langa’s shoulder (thought narratively I understand why it was).

Adam says friends will ultimately betray you, flashing back to the “I have no opinions” scene (which lol ok), but we never get a scene from where Cherry and Joe supposedly betrayed him, showing that that they never did and that Adam left them first.

Adam: Nobody understands me! They never could! No one in this world can read minds. You actually have to tell your loved ones what’s going on with you. And also, Cherry’s repeated asked you what was wrong and you tried to kill him.

You know, in previous episodes, when someone got knocked down, it was an immediate win for their opponent. But when Langa gets up from him and Adam knocking each other down, and Adam was still struggling on the ground, the match is still on. Bullshit.

This show is trying to make me feel for this man, but it’s just not possible. Like, yay, you remembered the fun you used to have with the guy you treat like shit. Good for you.

Adam almost killed Kaoru, Hiromi, Miya, Carla, and Sketchy with that parachute.

Tadashi as his boss goes to sexually harass a minor again: UWU

I want Koyomi to attend S in season 2.

Don’t worry shadow, they weren’t shown kissing, that could just be her brother or cousin for all you know!

The end scene tries to play Adam letting Tadashi believe he was going to go to jail for weeks as a positive “aw, he cares” scene, but Tadashi really believed that his life was over and Ainosuke is just like “Yeah, no, you’re stuck with me, dog.” Like, that’s a fucking threat coming from this man.

“You’ll be my dog for the rest of our lives.” Listen, have a pet kink if you want fandom. This is still an abusive relationship between a boss and his subordinate. Adam signs his paycheck, owns the house he lives, and could literally do anything he wanted to him. This is not sexy.

Knowing Reki’s and Langa’s luck, they tied.

[skxrbrand]

The Bloodthirster dwarfs him by physical dimensions in this form, but something feels bigger, denser about Azriel Saarenzkhar as his great, crimson-flashing black wings bring him to the sand. That he stands the height of a mortal man does not stop him from walking as if he is three times the size — and perhaps for good reason.

He is clad in his armored war-gear, dark metal plate shielding his chest, back, shoulders and the leading edges of his forward wings. He has traded his hood for his skull-like crown-mask, and most of this black, red and white ensemble is splattered with daemon blood. He reeks of it.

Four skulls, stripped mostly of their flesh, dangle over his gauntletted forearm by the stiff ropes of severed vertebrae. These he casts at Skarbrand’s feet when he finds him, and they thunk heavily into the sand, where they comically resemble the heads of baby birds — only eyeless and toothed and horrid.

“I had intended to stay out of your affairs, Spine-Crusher; this is not my home and I owe none of its gods my allegiance. But it seems we share an enemy.”

His eyes, somehow a brighter, colder blue than before, tick past the Bloodthirster and into the sky where something that glints golden and red circles high above them.

“Consider my approaching you first your due for your previous…gift.” The daemon heart. Azriel’s motives could be unclear, even more so in a place in which he has no personal stake or conflict, but the corrupted celestial shares at least that common thread with daemons — his hunger.

“I shall lend you my claws and my teeth and my power against this…Anarchy-Beast, should you have them.”

It's not uncommon these days to see lesser or even Greater Daemons at the border of the Blacksands. Skarbrand has been told it's some devisement of the Horned Rat and his children. The Chaos Moon, Morrslieb hangs larger and brighter in the sky than ever before, saturating the world with it's malign magics. Daemons cavort freely; the cities and townships of men are caught in the crossfire as the Powers of Chaos, New and Old, duel for supremacy.

The Reaper has forgotten about Azriel. Or, perhaps he assumes the other dead, killed in the upheaval. Wizards are not known for their durability, after all. Yet Azriel comes before with a warriors plate and a warriors bounty. Skulls which he spills at the daemon's feet...

" The War between the Powers has roused you from your comfortable study." He does not follow Azriel's gaze, keeping his own eyes fixed firmly on the man before him. Dimly, he remembers the Daemon heart and makes a considering sound. Wizards were not known for their honor, so for Azriel to return to favor.

Especially, as Skarbrand still suspected, some distant kin to Tzeentch himself. The Reaper snorts. Had the situation been different he wouldn't have entertained it, but now...

" The Blacksand desert does not have a comfortable library to hide within. It is flensing sands. Hungry daemons. And hungrier foes lurking the borders." The Reaper rumbles, " If you can accept that, Aethyr-wielder, you may reside here among us daemonkin."

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

Worldbuilding Rambles pt.1

hello and how are you?

Thank you for the open ask, @cherrybombfangirlwrites! Her post is here, asking about Death and its Culture, and we instantly wanted to answer this one! c:

We are just going to break this down with some of the points that the lovely Anna provided in her post!

But onto Death, The Dragon, and The Reapers!

Tag List (ask to be added or removed) @lockejhaven, @midnights-melodiverse, @jessica-writes22

What are the most common and uncommon beliefs about it? So, for throughout the entirety of the Storyverse, the most common belief of Death is that once it comes to claim you, your soul will be met and cared for by the Reapers, Beings of the Dragon of Death! Most believe the Reapers to be benevolent Beings, who care for those who no longer walk among those who live, guiding the Dead to the Dragon so that they may be held in peace and love, before passing onto their next lives. There are a few rumors of Ghosts and Demons and Monsters born from the souls of both good, evil, innocent, and guilty, but most do not hold those rumors in any sort of high degree.

Is there fear surrounding death or something else? There is not a lot of fear surrounding Death itself, but many people always live in fear of ever crossing paths with the Dragons of Death. It is said that those who behold the existence of the Dragon are destined to the Fates of Death, and many take it as an omen of ill will or destructive prophecy. (This is not true. The Dragon does not hold any animosity to any of those who hold Life through their veins. They are simply who they are, entangled with their counterpart, and the Ancient is honestly known to show themself to those who are in need of the freedom of grief and mourning.) There is also a fear to those who hold the Sight that give their eyes the vision of Death and its like. Most tend to tie the Sight to Misfortune entangling herself within people, though it is not such an obvious Curse. It is simply a Blessing of the Ancients, to be able to lay witness to Death and the Dragon and its Reapers.

Are there any gods of death and how to people in your world feel about them? There are not much gods so much as Ancients! And our Ancients were created in pairs, to help hold the Balance, so Death and Life were created together, holding the forms of the Dragons of Death and Life Incarnate. They are more Beast than Beings, both keeping themselves more than entangled within one another and giving blessings of the other Ancients to both Life and Death of the Worlds. The Dragon of Death is more known and seen, being the more prevalent one to hold witness to the Deaths of the Worlds, and Life hides among its scales, eyes, and fire, pure white and blue flame and potential. They are both so entangled to the point that the Dragon of Life Incarnate is no longer widely known throughout the Worlds, and the Dragon of Death Incarnate, honoring its counterpart, has faded their names from the History of the Storyverse, more than content to be more fantasy than Reality.

Is there an afterlife that people believe in and how does it work? (or more than one?! if so please share) Most hold the belief of Reincarnation. It is a theme that is held in such high regard that many people tend to wander and wonder about what form and Life they will be given once Death visits them. Death is also viewed as a simple passing; something that comes and brings forth both a closing and an opening. It is seen as the passing of a Life that brings forth another. So most tend to see Death itself as simply as date to know but not quite fear.

What rituals and practices are there in regards to the dead (burials, mummification, burying them with important objects, burning the body, rituals/spells to live a long life, etc.) Throughout most of the Storyverse, burials are common. The rituals involving most of them are simple and graveyards are common but also held in high regard. It is where Death and its Reapers reside, so many do not respect the grounds. Most bodies are buried with flowers and things that will not harm the ground, though Humanity has fallen from such respect of the Lands and the Earth, and tend to bury them with things that simply sit in the ground without much meaning.

Within Tempkinhand, there is a special ceremony for the dead! Those of Tempkinhand do not hold graveyards or cemeteries. Instead of that, most Tempkins, once presented with their Death, choose a Tree they would want to become. Herbalists tend to hold a gentle and small ceremony for those who are awaiting Death and its Dragon, in which they help their bodies become one with the Lands, transforming their old vessels into another Tree that will help grow and protect the Forests of their country.

Are any deaths considered cowardly while others are considered honorable? Within the Storyverse, not many hold certain deaths in honor or disgust. There is a lot of Death among the Worlds, and most tend to just hold it in the same vein as other things among its umbrella. There is only one Being among the Worlds that hold Death in any certain like and it is from the Shifters of the World, Sheania! The Shifters hold Life as the most honorable way to hold oneself. They think to die, especially by your own means and for the purpose of your own demise, is cowardly and disrespectful to your Family and those who hold you dear. Their beliefs are held in surviving and thriving, even when Despair and Misfortune try to drag you into the Void.

This post ended up being very long and we loved every part of answering this! Feel free to ask for more or anything else, we looove discussing things, even if it doesn't seem that way. (≧∇≦)/

[soulsjudge]

hel (death) // original character

yeah you read that right. death. not like, a reaper or anything but death itself. you know, the pale rider, head honcho grim reaper, etc etc

no, she is not going to tell you when you're going to lose the spice of life so don't bother asking

decided to chill among humans around the 14th century and made itself a human form to do so, so they look like everybody else to the average person

comes from a world where the supernatural and legends are known among humanity, living together with them

genderless, but chose a femme form to walk among humanity with

is very, very, very old but appears mid 30's in their human form. to put it one way, they were riding the big bang

isn't too fond of gods and deities mostly because of how arrogant they can be, but will be civil. most of the time

can you point them to the nearest place to eat, there is a hamburger pizza calling their name--

there is this weird disconnect when it comes to how they show mimic human emotions but she's doing the best she can

[autolovecraft]

Being without superstition, he did not care to imagine.

God, what a rage!

It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? Birch, in his ghastly situation, was now too low for an easy scramble out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket.

Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to drain from the weakened undertaker every least detail of his horrible experience.

The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; so that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon.

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside.

He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Birch still toiling. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he vaguely wished it would stop.

He could not walk, it appeared, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb.

The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. The tower at length finished, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was not far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. An eye for an eye! What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? I'd hate to have it aimed at me! Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. Perhaps he screamed.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry.

An eye for an eye! He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man.

Why did you do it, Birch?

[children-of-epiales]

Whumptober 2023

Prompt No. 07- "Can you hear me?"

When she reaches up and touches her cheek, the pads of her fingers press deep into her skin. It’s not until she feels the bone that Rouen reaches further, feeling wetness dripping from her ear canal. She looks at her hand to confirm that it’s blood. 

The soldier notices light on the floor and looks up at the tv in the room ahead of her. A commercial goes on, all the bright lights flashing and people speaking-speaking but not making a single sound. 

Rouen cannot hear a single sound. 

It’s gone, the brunette thinks. Oh my god it’s gone…It was real.

She chokes on a gasp, the adrenaline giving her the energy to stand. Reaper stumbles backward, shutting her eyes as she hits the wall; when she opens them, the soldier sees the pool she had previously laid in and the thought of how long she’d been there struck her. If she passed out while running from it, then why hadn’t it found her? Or did it find her, and not kill her? 

Fear washes over Rouen, gluing her to the wall for a moment. Where is it where is it where is it

Eventually she shoves away from the wall, running into the corner of the door frame in front of her, smashing her face against it. The world spins, colors take over her vision, yet the soldier continues into the room with the tv. 

Hel..lo?

The struggling to say the word stops Rouen in her tracks. This time it sounds just like her, having any conversation with her family or the love of her life. Tears blur her vision, run down her cheeks, it takes everything she has left to turn her head. Just barely able to see behind her, the dim light and pool of blood are all that occupies the vacant room she awoke in. 

No one’s there, she tries to convince herself. No one’s there’s-it’s not there. None of it is true, the fact is enough for her to continue outside, climbing through one of the broken windows and jumping out into trees, weeds, and other things the soldier can’t see. Things she can no longer hear. 

She doesn’t know what’s waiting for her, yet she takes off. The soldier runs into the waiting woods, pushing away vines and branches that block her path and try to grab at her to keep her company among the isolation. 

Hel-lo? 

Rouen’s pace quickens until the branches start to leave cuts on her. It must be her mind, she’s lost all that blood and has been stressed and scared since the evening prior-it must be her mind cracking. It’s all she can do to convince herself. 

She trips onto a road and continues on her hands and knees across the hot pavement, a red shape in the distance giving her the incentive to stand up. The closer the vehicle comes, the more she waves her arms and screams as loud as she can imagine she’s able to. 

Hello? Oh-

The truck slows so it stops right next to her, only for the soldier to freeze despite watching the woman’s lips move. It’s there. It’s there with her. It never left; it waited for her to wake up, so it could find her again. 

There you are.

Rouen walks over and opens the door to the passenger seat. She slips in and slams it before telling the woman to drive. She doesn’t try to blink away the tears that overwhelm her again. 

Hello? Can you hear me? Hello? There you are. Can you hear me?

She shuts her eyes. “ Get-Get us out of here.” She repeats through grit teeth. The soldier turns and opens her eyes, the reflection in the window blocked by another reflection of herself, smiling brightly at the deafened woman. 

I see you.

[albertfinch]

DIVINELY ORDAINED FUNCTION

2 Timothy 1:9, "God...who has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace which was given to us in Christ Jesus before time began." The term "holy calling" could also be interpreted as "sacred DESTINY." The Lord considers it a sacred thing for us to enter into the divinely ordained Christ calling that He has destined for us. The prophet David once said, "Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them." The same blood that purchased your salvation also secured a DESTINY for you as an individual.. Get ready for God to move you out of the confines and limitations of what you have experienced in the past. God has put a passion for His Kingdom inside of you, and it manifests to the world through the work you are CALLED to do.

The awe of His power thunders around you as you find yourself walking in the fullness of His purpose for your life (your Christ calling), carrying this authority to release the realm of Heaven on earth.

THE WORD OF GOD BECOMING FLESH AGAIN

The end-time generation has an even greater mandate placed upon it. The Bible points out that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses involving those who have gone before us and saw the prophetic destiny of this generation but were unable to live in it (Hebrews 11). It is a great honor that has been placed upon those living today, to be the generation that sees the consummation of God's Heavenly plans. Matthew 13 declares that those living at the end of the age will be the harvest generation and will work cohesively with Heaven's host. The Lord has planted wheat into the field of this world, and He is looking to harvest "sons of the Kingdom." Jesus Himself said:

"The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man, and the field is the world; and as for the good seed, these are the sons of the Kingdom....the harvest is the end of the age; and the reapers are angels" Matthew 13:37-39. The "sons of the Kingdom" are merely the word of God becoming flesh once again. John 1 declares that in the beginning was the Word, and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. That same paradigm will be pertinent for the "sons of the Kingdom" present on the earth during the end-of-days confrontation. God's word will be manifested in a body of people who do the works of the Kingdom like He did (John 14:12).

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[eliz-elai-rigel-star]

Gods in my head (Work in progress)

1. Lore about the stoopid Gods I made. (I don't have a damned title for this)

I'm going to start from the most important (or powerful) to the least powerful.

💙 Grand Creator (Story writer) any/all pronouns

This dude was the first God, basically created all the gods and deities after him.

He decides the 'story' of everything. All of history within this world is planned and managed by him.

He has control over all things occuring but has limited control over souls (humans and gods).

Sort of like the Christian God.

She doesn't have a form or a voice of her own, if you want to represent her in a physical way you'll just use the other gods for example.

They move in mysterious ways, unpredictable af. They are supposed to be like the author of the story. They do care, but they also won't hesitate to torment you to have a good story.

"I am the world, and the world is me. Every voice you hear is mine, and my voice is all that there is."

💕💕 2. Principles of the Universe.

These are angels that govern the world, and have direct communication with god.

They are basically God's officers, they do what He wants, they govern the natural world (including gods).

They have a cosmic 🌌 theme and have powers based on shit like time, space, reality and all them bs.

They do not have the privilege of creation. They cannot create lifeforms, or rule over humans.

They can be considered archivist, police, messenger, guide, and manager.

💙 Principle of Death. (Grim reaper?)

it/its pronouns

This is the angel of death.

His main job is to take all the human souls that have passed away and put them in the afterlife.

But he can also completely delete things (and people) completely out of existance.

There wasn't an afterlife at first, but they kinda felt pity for the humans, and wanted to give them a place to rest and reincarnate.

As much as the creator can make things, he can also destroy them in an instant.

He supposed to represent loss. As long as something exist, there will be a time where it wouldn't anymore.

Death is very calm and solemn, he is not aggressive. He is not a 'destroyer'.Things always come to an end.

He is depicted as a really old dude, who walks slow, is quiet, and doesn't really give a f. (chill mysterious grandpa)

I would describe his presence like a very warm faint gentle breeze.

Death moves slowly, but it never stops walking. And it may just show up in your doorstep without you noticing.

"Among the principles of the universe, truth, order, justice...only death always remain certain."

💙 Principle of truth. it/its pronouns.

This girl knows EVERYTHING.

She is aware of everything that is happening.

Every action you make, every word you say, EVERYTHING.

She knows the absolute truth, you cannot make up stories in front of her.

She also can peer into your mind to see what your exact intentions are.

She knows everything that is happening on the outside and has memory of it, but she can't know what everyone is thinking. She can only do so in real time and only brief.

She basically a cctv camera, and your search history.

She is also serious and chill like Death, almost same personality but more soft.

"Humans have debated on what good and bad truly is, but they have no idea that the absolute truth bears no weight in moral."

💙 Principle of Faith It/they

God assigned them to make sure that humans and Gods follow their designated stories.

They are sort of like a director or manager, and God is the boss/writer.

They know what God's plans are and the only one who could perceive it.

You can say they are an oracle of some sorts.

But they like...keep a catalogue of papers, dictating God's plan for every single individual.

"Hmph...humans try to change their fate, but everything is already set in stone according to the Creator's plan."

💙 Principle of Order. They/them

Kinda like a president?

God communicates them the laws and rules that have to be followed, and they execute it.

"The laws I present, are the laws the Creator himself have given me. Everyone must fall in like and obey, including all humans, gods, and angels."

💙 Principle of Justice they/them

They go after those who have broken the law and have offended others.

They can be considered as a punisher, or police. But of course they are fair and square, and don't tolerate injustice or corruption.

They are sort of scary and grumpy, they can and WILL punish you if you did something wrong.

"Injustice and corruption are the things that I firmly despise, and humans have done them more than I could ever count."

💙 Angel of purpose. They/he

He is the one mostly communicating with humans about God's plan and terms.

Sort of like those angels in the bible, bringing message to humans.

He tells gods and humans, what their purpose should be and what is their role in life.

He is very approachable, and just really really nice. Humans are not scared of him or hate him, they completely adore him even.

The other deities have mixed opinions on him, some say he barely acts like how an angel should. While some just respect him as he is since it's part of who he is.

"Everyone has an importance on this world, everyone has a role they play. Humans may be weak, but you cannot deny that they are meant for great things."

Fun fact, the angel of purpose has actually been replaced once. The original angel of purpose was stripped of his title and power, and was replaced by another angel that is *almost* a clone of him (they made him a bit different but he basically does the same thing.)

As to why the original Angel of Purpose was replaced, that's another can of worms. But basically he's 'fallen'.

[miriael-the-cozy-witch]

Fear the Reaper, Part 2

This is part 2 of how my WoL made their pact with their voidsent, and became a reaper! I hope you enjoy it! Click here for part 1! Click here for part 3! Click here for Part 4!

I didn't like Ul'dah much.

I mean... It was fine... As someone who grew up in a bloody cave, you'd think I'd love it's stonework and crowded streets. But no, for numerous reasons Ul'dah sat like an unpleasant taste in the back of my throat.

Firstly, it was hot. Stupid hot.

I flapped out the folds of my overcoat, trying to get some breathable air into it, leaning further into the shade. Even in this isolated street corner, the very air simmered in temperatures above what I could tolerate, feeling moist and sticky all over my skin.

How people lived here I had no idea.

Secondly, was the wealth.

Not that there was wealth, no, that wasn't surprising. This was the golden jewel of the desert after all. Getting rich here was something of a national pastime.

It was the division of it that didn't sit well with me.

Much like the city's walls, there was a very clear divide among people who had wealth, and those that did not.

It was a difference I recognized. Gridania wasn't always accepting to Duskwights. Once their walls were meant to keep people exactly like me out.

Thirdly, it was the site of one of my greatest failings.

The Coup in Blue, the Parting Glass, the dinner of the poisoned chalice.

That infamous night had many names, and Ul'dah was never the same after it. There were still wild conspiracy theorists in the streets to this very day, declaring that Nanamo had really died, replaced by someone in illusion magic or a long lost sister. That I really had killed the Sultana that day. That the Syndicate was really in charge of the city, using 'Nanamo' as a puppet queen.

If they'd met Nanamo since, I'd imagine they'd quickly revise their theories.

I wanted to laugh, but the memory of that night still tasted sour. Because of the scheming of this city, I'd lost one of my first friends in this life.

Papalymo.

I breathed out a heavy sigh, full of grief and longing for my mentor from so long ago, wondering what he'd think of my predicament.

Because here I was, slinking through the alleys for someone I wasn't even sure existed. 'Ul'dah' and 'Drusilla' wasn't exactly a lot to go on.

Pearl Lane was a bit quieter than Ruby Road, but not by much. Here men and women of all races eyed each other up like prize fighters. Who was a threat, who wasn't? I could almost see the silent considerations at each guardsman and mobster considered the other. Who was a rival, who was a ally, who was part of a competing crew for that contract? Who was a new arrival?

And as much as I tried to stay in the shadows, when one of their practised eyes spotted me silently evaluating them in the darkness of my shade covered corner, they very quickly looked away. All it ever took was one glance.

The ears marking me as an Elezen. The eyepatch over my left eye. The odd looking sword at my hip.

Not once did they approach me, instead usually moving to put a malm or two between me and them.

But I still didn't know what I was looking for. I writhed in the heat, cursing my luck. What was I doing here?

At least the weather made it all but impossible to consider the memory of Zenos and Fandaniel. It was hard to even think about being cold in this heat.

"Well. Fancy meeting you here."

Gods damn it, I hated when people walked in my blind side.

I turned my head up and left, and was surprised to Thancred, kneeling on the roof just above my head. I didn't even know he'd left Broken Glass. The fact that he was here beside me, of all places in the world to be, spoke of my friend's wanton to meddle.

He'd probably heard about my outburst at Estinien.

I said nothing, hoping my pained expression was doing enough of the talking.

Thancred nodded, as if I'd said something poignant, or graced him with a hello.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he said, raising his hand to his brow to squint down the alley.

I let out a small hushed laugh, hoping he was joking, wishing I had a bucket of water to dump over my head.

"What are you doing here Thancred?" I asked, a bit more ice in my voice than he really deserved.

"Well, since your... interesting reunion with Zenos, Urianger and I have been trying to track down an ancient Garlean order."

I felt my one eyebrow rise, since the other one was just dead muscle. That was... not the response I expected.

"Oh?"

Thancred jumped off the roof, not enough of a fall to really bother him, landing neatly just a few feet from me. The surprise of his sudden appearence still startled a few passerby, but disappeared when he leaned against the wall beside me, his eyes beginning to scan the crowd. "In helping some of the refugees at Broken Glass, a few of them made passing mention of 'the reapers in the hills.'"

My arms stiffened, my hand almost on instinct reaching for my blade, the image of a scythe cutting through the air... Reaching for Alisae and G'raha...

I shook my head free of the memory, still feeling that horrid sword leaving my rotting hands to dispel the creature that had erupted from my body.

"What's so special about these 'reapers'?" I asked, more out of the desire to get myself back in the present moment, and not remember the cold snow and dead fingers.

Thancred shrugged. "The locals said they made pacts with Voidsent for starters."

If I was tense before, I was a chain pulled taut now.

"I'm thinking that Zenos picked up a few old habits from his forebears." Thancred said it with a smile, but upon seeing my face, turned his gaze to the people passing us by, the smile slowly disappearing like a plant starved for water.

Silence stretched between us for some time. Thancred never questioned why I spoke so little. I would speak when I was good and ready, yet another artifact from growing up in the caves of Gelmorra. You only spoke when absolutely sure nothing would hear you down there. Sound bounced malms when trapped underground, so whatever you had to say had to pretty damn important.

And Thancred enjoyed the quiet, or seemed to, just as much as I did. It was one of the things I appreciated about him.

I chose my next words with care. "So... You think remains of this ancient order are... here. In Ul'dah? And that they could tell us about Zenos and his new abilities?"

He nodded, crossing his arms as his eyes continued to dart between passerby.

"Word is there's a jump in Voidsent activity outside the walls, and a new mercenary group making waves called the 'Lemures'. Doesn't sound like much, until you convert that odd word to the Garlean tongue."

His eyes finally shifted to mine, as he said his next words with gravitas.

"It means 'Spirits of the dead' in Old Garlean."

As dread pooled in my stomach, I was beginning to think I was in the right place.

"You there! You two! Yes you!"

Both me and Thancred turned in alarm to see a flustered Hyur making a beeline towards us. He looked to be an a merchant, or attendant to a greater merchant, his coat made of some heavy green fabrics of high quality.

"I'm so sorry to bother you sirs, but the pair of you look like quite a cut above the rest of these ruffians on the street, and I'm wondering if you'd be interested in making quite a bit of coin..."

I could almost feel the exasperated sigh echoing from Thancred.

I wasn't too thrilled about this either, but it was exactly the kind of request I thrived in doing. I elbowed Thancred gently.

"Don't we only have a few more days before the assault? Why don't you go back to Broken Glass, I'll take care of this and keep an eye out for your missing cult."

Thancred mouthed a silent 'thank you' before beginning to step away, but the attendant wasn't having it.

"Really? Just you? Don't get me wrong you look fearsome, but the pair-"

Thancred's laugh was boisterous and humorous as he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Oh good sir, I quite assure you, she will be all you need and more. Trust me."

The merchant looked confused, about to say something, but Thancred turned on his boot to walked down the lane. He waved over his head, his voice already distant as he said goodbye.

"See you at Broken glass Miri."

I wanted to curse him as he retreated in the direction of the aetheryte. Turning back to the merchant in annoyance, I waited for the moment of recognition. The moment where he put the pieces together what 'Miri' could possibly be short for and recognized who I was, who exactly he was about to hire.

But it didn't happen. Some people just didn't listen to the news, too willfully ignorant.

"Oh, your name is Miri? Wonderful! Please, follow me while I tell you about my employers troubles..."

It was so normal, it was nearly bland. At least normal for Ul'dah. A merchant being accosted by some thugs, some extra muscle was needed. A 'threat' of violence to offset more violence.

Tale as old as time. Not that it ever worked.

Most likely, this would turn into a small skirmish that I could handle easily. I'd done it a hundred times, and I'd do it a hundred more. Even if my opponents recognized me, they ended up assuming that despite my fame and glory, knowing I'd thrown gods into the dirt, that just because I was one woman and they were two dozen, that numbers would overcome quality.

And it never did.

I felt... better. It was good to be strong. That despite everything that had happened, everyday people would need strong protectors. That I was still me. Still undoubtedly the strongest woman in this city, if not the entire damn continent. I felt that comfort settle about my shoulders like armour.

I meet his employer, a Lalafell high merchant named Jijilyo, who for a moment wondered if I'm part of the very crew that's after him. It's only once his attendant tells him that I'm the hired help that he warms to me.

Walking behind the merchant and his retainer, I do my best to ignore both, keeping my weathered eye on the lookout for both the gang I've been hired to counteract, and the Garlean cultists.

"... unsavoury group known as the Lemures." I near stumbled half a step, suddenly latched onto Jijilyo and his attendant with my full attention.

"Their leader demands my master part with some of his considerable wealth, or... Well, I'll just tell you they call her the 'Reaper,' and leave the rest to your imagination." The attendant's speech was touched with the bite of fear, a mix of respect and terror.

It seemed Nymeia had set me on an interesting path today.

"Rumors abound of their origins. Some say they are the detritus of some barbaric nation. They flout our laws and threaten their betters with impunity." Jijilyo said with barely held disdain.

I was beginning to like these Lemure's already. I nodded along, saying nothing as we walked down the crowded Ruby Road. Locals who knew better gave us the right of way. The others who didn't got one glance from my eye before moving. Jijilyo kept talking as if he wasn't in a crowded market.

"They're led by a dead-eyed killer who draws her scythe at the smallest slight. Refuse their payments of coin, and she takes her share of your lifeblood instead. Rubbish, I say 'the Reaper' is naught but a toothless bandit."

"... Interestin' theory you have there. Care to test it?"

Where?

I dashed around in a half circle, my eye finally spotting the speaker, leaning up against the corner of a wall. I hadn't noticed her with my attention so focused on Jijilyo and his attendant. Her moment was picked perfectly, reminding me of a Scorpion in ambush, sitting in it's dark burrow waiting for it's unsuspecting prey to walk past.

For it was exactly what she'd done.

I felt the handle of my blade in my hand while Jijilyo cursed some spitting remark, but I didn't care. I'd found what I was looking for.

Thancred's cultists. Jijilyo's bandits. The name spoken in the depths of Amdapor.

Drusilla. I'm sure of it.

"Hirin' more help while our ledgers remain unbalanced? You wouldn't be tryin' to wriggle your way out of payin' us for a job well done, would you?"

That little rotten bastard. Gods, do I hate Ul'dah.

I wanted to see if I could kick Jijilyo over the city wall, but I didn't take my eyes off the woman, the unknown threat that she was.

She looked to be an older Hyur, but if she was Garlean... The circlet on her head would perfectly hide the gem that marked her people. Her clothes were purposed for long treks, but could've just as easily been tailored for the smoothness of motion required for combat.

But most terrifyingly, the scythe on her back, it's black metal a promise of carnage.

Unable to take my eye off of it, for suddenly, it felt like I was back at that damn dinner table in the tower of Babil, breathing cursed breaths with half useless lungs that wern't mine... Looking at Zenos and that cursed looking weapon on his back.

That wasn't me. I'm here. Feel the stifling heat, the familiar grasp of your sword. I'm alive. I'm alive damn it.

The oversized gardening tool on her back suggested multiple things.

It was a complicated weapon to use. I'd known it's grip ever since Fufucha had put one in my hand to learn the Forest's bounty. I'd tried using it as a weapon for a lark, and found it serviceable, but difficult to master.

But the one on this woman's back, was for one thing, and one thing only.

It's harvest was blood.

Paying attention to the conversation once again, I realized that the conversation had moved form Jijilyo's interesting take on debts payable to mercenaries to...

Me.

"Hmm. One does wonder how you found yourself with a bodyguard of such uncommon mettle."

The woman was staring at me. Her weathered gaze examining every tension of my body, and I knew she was gauging my prowess.

"Aye, not an onze of fear in that gaze, and not a mote of puffed-up arrogance, either. This lass, my dear Jijilyo, is the genuine article. What we in the mercenary trade call the 'killer instinct.'"

My good eye squinted at that word.

Oh she wanted to talk about death? I'd killed. I'd killed plenty. The bodies of dragons, the tempered, corrupted, Ascians and gods both. My blade knew the blood of many.

The woman seemed to almost smile at the expression on my face, turning one final time to Jijilyo beside me.

"How's this? For the sake of our long-standin' friendship, I'll make it simple. Allow me to take this adventurer off your hands, and the debt is forgiven."

I raised my eyebrow as Jijilyo stated some surprise at this offer. It was a good offer.

But I was beginning to think it meant I'd be paying some price in his stead.

In an instant, Jijilyo wasn't a complete idiot, the offer was taken. the merchant and his attendant put big steaps between them and the scythe weilding woman, Leaving me alone with he despite the crowds still shuffling around us.

Her smile was filled with a promise of malice. "As for you, adventurer, it seems you've been made a free agent. But if you're still inclined to put those instincts of yours to use, come and visit our headquarters in Pearl Lane." She winked, somehow threateningly.

"The door's open."

I said nothing, staring at her with my hand still ready to draw my blade as she slunk down the street, and around the corner.

Suddenly alone, both none the richer and none the wiser for my troubles, I set off to follow her.

Pearl lane was not small, nor did I have Thancred's tracking skills. I thought for a moment that I'd lost her, never to see the old woman with the scythe ever again, before a swordsman standing guard over a sturdy door caught my eye and motioned me urgently towards him.

"You're the adventurer? The one who just had a dealing with that Jijilyo character?" He looked better armed than most, a sturdy shield on his back, a sword at his hip, a cap hiding his forehead.

A Garlean.

Thancred's cultists indeed, it seemed.

I nodded.

He motioned me to the heavy door, knocking in a series of rapid fire starts, a code of some sort to whoever was inside. A moment later, and I found myself inside a small office, where the woman sat at an oversized desk, the giant scythe leaning against the high backed chair she sat on.

"Boss, the guest of honour's arrived." The guardsman beside me intoned.

I locked my gaze with the woman once again, wondering how this was going to go. I didn't even know what I was here for. All I could hope was that she had answers.

Her sly grin made me want to beat those very answers from her. Something about her... just reeked of violence and evil. As if she was a blasted voidsent herself. "Ah, I knew you wouldn't pass up my offer. Got a hunger for somethin' more tasty than a pile of coin."

The words almost seemed perfectly poised to slide like a dagger under my defences, my heart lurching in my chest with hope.

"The Champion of Eorzea herself, appearing before me. Never thought I'd see the day."

Ah.

The guardsman did a double take beside me, his hand reaching for his blade, but the woman held a hand to stop him, her gaze not leaving mine.

"Aye, I've heard all about you. It's hard not to in this line of work. The stories paint you as ferocity incarnate, a force of nature few have survived."

It sounded for a moment like a challenge. My hand griped my blade in readiness. I'd had too many tests of my skills over the years, would-be mentors assured of themselves to be my betters. But her eyes glistened with mirth.

"Peace, friend. I've no desire to put the killer to the proof personally. I don't have a death wish. You can call me-"

"Drusilla." I said quietly, the first word I'd spoken in her presence.

Silence stretched between us for a moment, but if anything, her smile got wider.

"You... know of me?" She asked, leaning forward on the table to rest her chin on her hands.

I nodded, taking a single step forward, my hand still on my blade.

"I've heard your name." I said quietly, my voice a knife through the silence. "Once." I recalled the voice in the darkness perfectly, as if it's breath was still on my skin.

She was silent, staring at me for something I didn't recognize. "Leave us." Drusilla intoned a breath later, her eyes not moving from mine, but the command obvious to who it was to.

"Boss." The guardsman nodded, before stepping out the door we'd come, leaving me alone with Drusilla.

Once the door was closed, she picked out a small black stone out of her pocket, sliding it over the desk to a rest in front of me.

A soul crystal.

It sat there ominously, with all the subtly of Dalamud falling from the sky.

"I did have a job for you in mind. But you have... somethin' you need to sort out before you do anything for me."

I didn't know what she was saying, what she was insinuating, but I took another step closer.

"What are you?" I asked, the feeling of threat still not leaving my body. The aura of her very person felt... wrong.

"A Reaper." She stated, as if this answered anything. The look of my face must've showed my confusion, because after a sigh, she explained.

"Years ago, I made a pact with a voidsent... For power. For revenge. For... all the stupid reasons someone does. All of them noble, but yet it still put me on the path of blood."

She pointed to the soulstone.

"That, is mine. It allows us to make the pact. It belonged to the grandmaster of the Lemure before me, and the grandmaster before him and so on. To pick it up, to attune with it, is to become a Reaper like me. To know the call of the void. To meld with a hunger that you can't ever separate from."

She flicked her gaze back to me, as her words settled into my bones.

"And that's just if you're made of the stuff I think you are. That's not even talking about the pact."

I took another quiet and tentative step forward. Unsure if I was stepping towards my doom.

"What is the pact?" I asked, my voice somehow not shaking despite the terror I felt in my gut.

Drusilla shrugged. "That's between you and the particular voidsent you make your pact with. Some just want to be fed the souls of your enemies. Some want to experience life here on the source. The pact gives them the gift of gab, as it were. Well, that and then some." Drusilla smiled as if I was in on some joke.

I was increasingly feeling like I was being the butt end of that joke.

"And what do you gain from a pact?" I asked, taking one more step. The stone was within reach now, I could just take it.

Drusilla's eyes clouded over, as she looked far away to something long ago.

"Power." She whispered.

I breathed in, tensing as my fingers finally left the hilt of my sword, reaching for the stone. The desire to save my world, my friends, my family... All from the madness of Zenos and the inevitability of the Final Days.

It was here for the taking.

I paused in mid-air, wondering.

Fury, is this what you want of me? Hydaelyn? Nymeia?

I asked all of my protectors, my gods, if this was what was fated for me.

The Fury, the patron I'd had since birth. I invoked her with my spear, yet she'd failed me. I'd lost an eye screaming her name bleeding in the dirt of Rhalgar's Reach.

Hydaelyn, who claimed me as her champion, despite never having made the choice to enter her service. Sometimes I felt more her tool than her child, and her silence ever since the ship entering sharlayan harbour... The secrets she still kept... It tested my patience.

Nymeia, the goddess of fate. She guided us all, did she not? What would stop her from fating me to this path, or from it? Did I really have a choice? Did it even matter?

All of this to take up my enemies bargain once more, to spite him. To adopt his weapon, take up the same bargain that he'd made, so that maybe this time, I would be strong enough to end him once and for all. And then, have be strong enough to save the gods damned world from the Final Days.

"And gods, what power you could wield, with everything you have on offer I wonder." Drusilla intoned, a hand rubbing at her chin. Seeming to speak to my exact hope as if she'd read my mind. "You could be the best of us."

My fingers were just an ilm from the stone.

My gods had no answers for me.

I brushed the face of the stone with the tip of my finger, suddenly filled with a yearning I could not deny.

I picked up the stone.

Drusilla watched me as I held it in my hand, It's metal cool in my palm, a balm against the stifling heat, my eye taking in it's black onyx, the carved symbol of yellow in it's face.

And slowly, that breath of fresh coolness settled into my skin as not my memories, but the muscle memories of a dozen or more masters of void and scythe settled into my muscles. Suddenly I could feel how my grip in holding a scythe when I'd tried using as a weapon so long ago was just wrong.

That I knew that spinning it just so would throw weight into a cut. That a wide arc was some of it's most powerful attacks. That a sudden stop and pull was violent and messy, but brutal and effective.

And that once paired with a voidsent in a pact... That sycthes were perfect for combat.

All that aether and blood spilled, was perfect food for pactmates.

Pactmates.

I shuddered as the word became familiar in my consciousness.

The coolness settled into my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps up my back, and I could've swore the cursed temperature dropped a few degrees. The heat suddenly not so stifling...

And there, just barely audible... Was a quiet whisper in my ear, the trace of teeth on my earlobe.

Good... Come back.

I looked around, trying to find the source of the whisper, a sudden lurch in the pit of my stomach pulling me towards the door. I needed to follow that feeling. It was like a slow tug across space and time. I eyed the door greedily, as if it were my next meal and I a starving pauper.

That was how needy this... this tug felt.

"That's it. I knew you had what it takes."

I turned my gaze in alarm towards Drusilla, who no longer reeked of threat. Now... She felt like a kindred spirit. A friend. I knew the movements of her body in combat as if I'd practised beside her my whole life.

Standing in a sudden rush, she did not reach for her weapon, but instead walked over to to a tall cabinet, opening it to reveal an aged and pockmarked scythe, it's age not betraying it's deadliness.

"This was my grandfathers. And now, it is yours." She plucked it from it's hanger, the weight while looking stupidly heavy, looked light as my own blade in her grip. She held it out to me, as if a present on my name day.

The soul crystal was still in my hand, and much like the others in my collection, now felt... a part of me. Separating from it felt like throwing away a limb. I pocketed it for now, determined to find a spot for it in a necklace or bracelet, now looking towards my new weapon with excitement and dread.

"Go. Find your avatar, make your pact, and then come back to me." Drusilla said quietly, placing the scythe into my waiting hands with all the grace of a mother placing a untenable burden onto her child.

Little did I know how true that metaphor would come to be.