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legend-collection · 1 year

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Death

Death is frequently imagined as a personified force. In some mythologies, a character known as the Grim Reaper (usually depicted as a berobed skeleton wielding a scythe) causes the victim's death by coming to collect that person's soul. Other beliefs hold that the Spectre of Death is only a psychopomp, a benevolent figure who serves to gently sever the last ties between the soul and the body, and to guide the deceased to the afterlife, without having any control over when or how the victim dies. Death is most often personified in male form, although in certain cultures Death is perceived as female (for instance, Marzanna in Slavic mythology, or Santa Muerte in Mexico). Death is also portrayed as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Death Le Mire and Oudry La Fontaine fable Death and the dying

Irish mythology features a similar creature known as a dullahan, whose head would be tucked under their arm (dullahans were not one, but an entire species). The head was said to have large eyes and a smile that could reach the head's ears. The dullahan would ride a black horse or a carriage pulled by black horses, and stop at the house of someone about to die, and call their name, and immediately the person would die. The dullahan did not like being watched, and it was believed that if a dullahan knew someone was watching them, they would lash that person's eyes with their whip, which was made from a spine; or they would toss a basin of blood on the person, which was a sign that the person was next to die.

Gaelic lore also involves a female spirit known as Banshee, who heralds the death of a person by shrieking or keening. The banshee is often described as wearing red or green, usually with long, disheveled hair. She can appear in a variety of forms, typically that of an ugly, frightful hag, but in some stories she chooses to appear young and beautiful. Some tales recount that the creature was actually a ghost, often of a specific murdered woman or a mother who died in childbirth. When several banshees appeared at once, it was said to indicate the death of someone great or holy. In Ireland and parts of Scotland, a traditional part of mourning is the keening woman (bean chaointe), who wails a lament – in Irish: Caoineadh, caoin meaning "to weep, to wail."

In Scottish folklore there was a belief that a black, dark green or white dog known as a Cù Sìth took dying souls to the afterlife. Comparable figures exist in Irish and Welsh stories.

In Welsh Folklore, Gwyn ap Nudd is the escort of the grave, the personification of Death and Winter who leads the Wild Hunt to collect wayward souls and escort them to the Otherworld, sometimes it is Maleagant, Arawn or Afallach in a similar position.

In Greek mythology, Thanatos, the personification of death, is one of the offspring of Nyx (Night). Like her, he is seldom portrayed directly. He sometimes appears in art as a winged and bearded man, and occasionally as a winged and beardless youth. When he appears together with his twin brother, Hypnos, the god of sleep, Thanatos generally represents a gentle death. Thanatos, led by Hermes psychopompos, takes the shade of the deceased to the near shore of the river Styx, whence the ferryman Charon, on payment of a small fee, conveys the shade to Hades, the realm of the dead. Homer's Iliad 16.681, and the Euphronios Krater's depiction of the same episode, have Apollo instruct the removal of the heroic, semi-divine Sarpedon's body from the battlefield by Hypnos and Thanatos, and conveyed thence to his homeland for proper funeral rites. Among the other children of Nyx are Thanatos' sisters, the Keres, blood-drinking, vengeant spirits of violent or untimely death, portrayed as fanged and taloned, with bloody garments.

In Scandinavia, Norse mythology personified death in the shape of Hel, the goddess of death and ruler over the realm of the same name, where she received a portion of the dead. In the times of the Black Plague, Death would often be depicted as an old woman known by the name of Pesta, meaning "plague hag", wearing a black hood. She would go into a town carrying either a rake or a broom. If she brought the rake, some people would survive the plague; if she brought the broom, however, everyone would die.

Scandinavians later adopted the Grim Reaper with a scythe and black robe. Today, Ingmar Bergman's 1957 film The Seventh Seal features one of the world's most famous representations of this personification of Death.

In Poland, Death – Śmierć or kostuch – has an appearance similar to the Grim Reaper, although its robe was traditionally white instead of black. Because the word śmierć is feminine in gender, death is frequently portrayed as a skeletal old woman, as depicted in 15th-century dialogue "Rozmowa Mistrza Polikarpa ze Śmiercią" (Latin: "Dialogus inter Mortem et Magistrum Polikarpum").

In Serbia and other South Slavic countries, the Grim Reaper is well known as Smrt ("Death") or Kosač ("Reaper"). Slavic people found this very similar to the Devil and other dark powers. One popular saying about death is: Smrt ne bira ni vreme, ni mesto, ni godinu ("Death does not choose a time, place or year" – which means death is destiny.)

Morana is a Slavic goddess of winter time, death and rebirth. A figurine of the same name is traditionally created at the end of winter/beginning of spring and symbolically taken away from villages to be set in fire and/or thrown into a river, that takes her away from the world of the living.

In the Czech Republic, the medieval Prague Astronomical Clock carries a depiction of Death striking the hour. A version first appeared in 1490.

In the Netherlands, and to a lesser extent in Belgium, the personification of Death is known as Magere Hein ("Thin Hein") or Pietje de Dood ("Peter the Death"). Historically, he was sometimes simply referred to as Hein or variations thereof such as Heintje, Heintjeman and Oom Hendrik ("Uncle Hendrik"). Related archaic terms are Beenderman ("Bone-man"), Scherminkel (very meager person, "skeleton") and Maaijeman ("mow-man", a reference to his scythe).

The concept of Magere Hein predates Christianity, but was Christianized and likely gained its modern name and features (scythe, skeleton, black robe etc.) during the Middle Ages. The designation "Meager" comes from its portrayal as a skeleton, which was largely influenced by the Christian "Dance of Death" theme that was prominent in Europe during the late Middle Ages. "Hein" was a Middle Dutch name originating as a short form of Heinric. Its use was possibly related to the comparable German concept of "Freund Hein." Notably, many of the names given to Death can also refer to the Devil; it is likely that fear of death led to Hein's character being merged with that of Satan.

In Belgium, this personification of Death is now commonly called Pietje de Dood "Little Pete, the Death." Like the other Dutch names, it can also refer to the Devil.

In Western Europe, Death has commonly been personified as an animated skeleton since the Middle Ages. This character, which is often depicted wielding a scythe, is said to collect the souls of the dying or recently dead. In English and German culture, Death is typically portrayed as male, but in French, Spanish, and Italian culture, it is not uncommon for Death to be female.

In England, the personified "Death" featured in medieval morality plays, later regularly appearing in traditional folk songs. The following is a verse of "Death and the Lady" (Roud 1031) as sung by Henry Burstow in the nineteenth century:

Fair lady, throw those costly robes aside, No longer may you glory in your pride. Take leave of all sour carnal vain delight I'm come to summon you away this night.

In the late 1800s, the character of Death became known as the Grim Reaper in English literature. The earliest appearance of the name "Grim Reaper" in English is in the 1847 book The Circle of Human Life:

All know full well that life cannot last above seventy, or at the most eighty years. If we reach that term without meeting the grim reaper with his scythe, there or there about, meet him we surely shall.

The "Angel of the Lord" smites 185,000 men in the Assyrian camp (II Kings 19:35). When the Angel of Death passes through to smite the Egyptian first-born, God prevents "the destroyer" (shâchath) from entering houses with blood on the lintel and side posts (Exodus 12:23). The "destroying angel" (mal'ak ha-mashḥit) rages among the people in Jerusalem (II Sam. 24:16). In I Chronicles 21:15 the "angel of the Lord" is seen by King David standing "between the earth and the heaven, having a drawn sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem." The biblical Book of Job (33:22) uses the general term "destroyers" (memitim), which tradition has identified with "destroying angels" (mal'ake Khabbalah), and Prov. 16:14 uses the term the "angels of death" (mal'ake ha-mavet). The angel Azra'il is sometimes referred as the Angel of Death as well.

Jewish tradition also refers to Death as the Angel of Dark and Light, a name which stems from Talmudic lore. There is also a reference to "Abaddon" (The Destroyer), an angel who is known as the "Angel of the Abyss". In Talmudic lore, he is characterized as archangel Michael.

In Hebrew scriptures, Death (Maweth/Mavet(h)) is sometimes personified as a devil or angel of death (e.g., Habakkuk 2:5; Job 18:13). In both the Book of Hosea and the Book of Jeremiah, Maweth/Mot is mentioned as a deity to whom God can turn over Judah as punishment for worshiping other gods. The memitim are a type of angel from biblical lore associated with the mediation over the lives of the dying. The name is derived from the Hebrew word mĕmītǐm ("executioners", "slayers", "destroyers") and refers to angels that brought about the destruction of those whom the guardian angels no longer protected. While there may be some debate among religious scholars regarding the exact nature of the memitim, it is generally accepted that, as described in the Book of Job 33:22, they are killers of some sort.

According to the Midrash, the Angel of Death was created by God on the first day. His dwelling is in heaven, whence he reaches earth in eight flights, whereas Pestilence reaches it in one. He has twelve wings. "Over all people have I surrendered thee the power," said God to the Angel of Death, "only not over this one [i.e. Moses] which has received freedom from death through the Law." It is said of the Angel of Death that he is full of eyes. In the hour of death, he stands at the head of the departing one with a drawn sword, to which clings a drop of gall. As soon as the dying man sees Death, he is seized with a convulsion and opens his mouth, whereupon Death throws the drop into it. This drop causes his death; he turns putrid, and his face becomes yellow. The expression "the taste of death" originated in the idea that death was caused by a drop of gall.

The soul escapes through the mouth, or, as is stated in another place, through the throat; therefore, the Angel of Death stands at the head of the patient (Adolf Jellinek, l.c. ii. 94, Midr. Teh. to Ps. xi.). When the soul forsakes the body, its voice goes from one end of the world to the other, but is not heard (Gen. R. vi. 7; Ex. R. v. 9; Pirḳe R. El. xxxiv.). The drawn sword of the Angel of Death, mentioned by the Chronicler (I. Chron. 21:15; comp. Job 15:22; Enoch 62:11), indicates that the Angel of Death was figured as a warrior who kills off the children of men. "Man, on the day of his death, falls down before the Angel of Death like a beast before the slaughterer" (Grünhut, "Liḳḳuṭim", v. 102a). R. Samuel's father (c. 200) said: "The Angel of Death said to me, 'Only for the sake of the honor of mankind do I not tear off their necks as is done to slaughtered beasts'" ('Ab. Zarah 20b). In later representations, the knife sometimes replaces the sword, and reference is also made to the cord of the Angel of Death, which indicates death by throttling. Moses says to God: "I fear the cord of the Angel of Death" (Grünhut, l.c. v. 103a et seq.). Of the four Jewish methods of execution, three are named in connection with the Angel of Death: Burning (by pouring hot lead down the victim's throat), slaughtering (by beheading), and throttling. The Angel of Death administers the particular punishment that God has ordained for the commission of sin.

A peculiar mantle ("idra" – according to Levy, "Neuhebr. Wörterb." i. 32, a sword) belongs to the equipment of the Angel of Death (Eccl. R. iv. 7). The Angel of Death takes on the particular form which will best serve his purpose; e.g., he appears to a scholar in the form of a beggar imploring pity (the beggar should receive Tzedakah)(M. Ḳ. 28a). "When pestilence rages in the town, walk not in the middle of the street, because the Angel of Death [i.e., pestilence] strides there; if peace reigns in the town, walk not on the edges of the road. When pestilence rages in the town, go not alone to the synagogue, because there the Angel of Death stores his tools. If the dogs howl, the Angel of Death has entered the city; if they make sport, the prophet Elijah has come" (B. Ḳ. 60b). The "destroyer" (saṭan ha-mashḥit) in the daily prayer is the Angel of Death (Ber. 16b). Midr. Ma'ase Torah (compare Jellinek, "B. H." ii. 98) says: "There are six Angels of Death: Gabriel over kings; Ḳapẓiel over youths; Mashbir over animals; Mashḥit over children; Af and Ḥemah over man and beast."

Samael is considered in Talmudic texts to be a member of the heavenly host with often grim and destructive duties. One of Samael's greatest roles in Jewish lore is that of the main angel of death and the head of satans.

Talmud teachers of the 4th century associate quite familiarly with him. When he appeared to one on the street, the teacher reproached him with rushing upon him as upon a beast, whereupon the angel called upon him at his house. To another, he granted a respite of thirty days, that he might put his knowledge in order before entering the next world. To a third, he had no access, because he could not interrupt the study of the Talmud. To a fourth, he showed a rod of fire, whereby he is recognized as the Angel of Death (M. K. 28a). He often entered the house of Bibi and conversed with him (Ḥag. 4b). Often, he resorts to strategy in order to interrupt and seize his victim (B. M. 86a; Mak. 10a).

The death of Joshua ben Levi in particular is surrounded with a web of fable. When the time came for him to die and the Angel of Death appeared to him, he demanded to be shown his place in paradise. When the angel had consented to this, he demanded the angel's knife, that the angel might not frighten him by the way. This request also was granted him, and Joshua sprang with the knife over the wall of paradise; the angel, who is not allowed to enter paradise, caught hold of the end of his garment. Joshua swore that he would not come out, and God declared that he should not leave paradise unless he had ever absolved himself of an oath; he had never absolved himself of an oath so he was allowed to remain. The Angel of Death then demanded back his knife, but Joshua refused. At this point, a heavenly voice (bat ḳol) rang out: "Give him back the knife, because the children of men have need of it will bring death." Hesitant, Joshua Ben Levi gives back the knife in exchange for the Angel of Death's name. To never forget the name, he carved Troke into his arm, the Angel of Death's chosen name. When the knife was returned to the Angel, Joshua's carving of the name faded, and he forgot. (Ket. 77b; Jellinek, l.c. ii. 48–51; Bacher, l.c. i. 192 et seq.).

The Rabbis found the Angel of Death mentioned in Psalm 89:48, where the Targum translates: "There is no man who lives and, seeing the Angel of Death, can deliver his soul from his hand." Eccl. 8:4 is thus explained in Midrash Rabbah to the passage: "One may not escape the Angel of Death, nor say to him, 'Wait until I put my affairs in order,' or 'There is my son, my slave: take him in my stead.'" Where the Angel of Death appears, there is no remedy, but his name (Talmud, Ned. 49a; Hul. 7b). If one who has sinned has confessed his fault, the Angel of Death may not touch him (Midrash Tanhuma, ed. Buber, 139). God protects from the Angel of Death (Midrash Genesis Rabbah lxviii.).

By acts of benevolence, the anger of the Angel of Death is overcome; when one fails to perform such acts the Angel of Death will make his appearance (Derek Ereẓ Zuṭa, viii.). The Angel of Death receives his orders from God (Ber. 62b). As soon as he has received permission to destroy, however, he makes no distinction between good and bad (B. Ḳ. 60a). In the city of Luz, the Angel of Death has no power, and, when the aged inhabitants are ready to die, they go outside the city (Soṭah 46b; compare Sanh. 97a). A legend to the same effect existed in Ireland in the Middle Ages (Jew. Quart. Rev. vi. 336).

Death is one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse portrayed in the Book of Revelation, in Revelation 6:7–8.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

—

He is also known as the Pale Horseman whose name is Thanatos, the same as that of the ancient Greek personification of death, and the only one of the horsemen to be named.

Paul addresses a personified death in 1 Corinthians 15:55.

"O Death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?"

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In some versions, both arms of this verse are addressed to death.

The Christian scriptures contain the first known depiction of Abaddon as an individual entity instead of a place.

A king, the angel of the bottomless pit; whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek Apollyon; in Latin Exterminans.

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In Hebrews 2:14 the devil "holds the power of death."

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.

—

Conversely, the early Christian writer Origen believed the destroying angel of Exodus 12:23 to be Satan. The Grim Reaper, is stated to be destroyed by the Lake of Fire that burns with sulfur.

Death and Hell were thrown into the Lake of Fire. This is the second death.

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The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

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In Islam, Archangel Azrael is the Malak al-Maut (angel of death). He and his many subordinates pull the souls out of the bodies, and guide them through the journey of the afterlife. Their appearance depends on the person's deed and actions, with those that did good seeing a beautiful being, and those that did wrong seeing a horrific monster.

Islamic tradition discusses elaborately as to what exactly happens before, during, and after the death. The angel of death appears to the dying to take out their souls. The sinners' souls are extracted in a most painful way while the righteous are treated easily. After the burial, two angels – Munkar and Nakir – come to question the dead in order to test their faith. The righteous believers answer correctly and live in peace and comfort while the sinners and disbelievers fail and punishments ensue. The time period or stage between death and resurrection is called barzakh (the interregnum).

Death is a significant event in Islamic life and theology. It is seen not as the termination of life, rather the continuation of life in another form. In Islamic belief, God has made this worldly life as a test and a preparation ground for the afterlife; and with death, this worldly life comes to an end. Thus, every person has only one chance to prepare themselves for the life to come where God will resurrect and judge every individual and will entitle them to rewards or punishment, based on their good or bad deeds. And death is seen as the gateway to and beginning of the afterlife. In Islamic belief, death is predetermined by God, and the exact time of a person's death is known only to God.

As is the case in many Romance languages (including French, Portuguese, Italian, and Romanian), the Spanish word for death, muerte, is a feminine noun. As such, it is common in Spanish-speaking cultures to personify death as a female figure.

In Aztec mythology, Mictecacihuatl is the "Queen of Mictlan" (the Aztec underworld), ruling over the afterlife with her husband Mictlantecuhtli. Other epithets for her include "Lady of the Dead," as her role includes keeping watch over the bones of the dead. Mictecacihuatl was represented with a fleshless body and with jaw agape to swallow the stars during the day. She presided over the ancient festivals of the dead, which evolved from Aztec traditions into the modern Day of the Dead after synthesis with Spanish cultural traditions. Mictlāntēcutli, is the Aztec god of the dead and the king of Mictlan, depicted as a skeleton or a person wearing a toothy skull. He is one of the principal gods of the Aztecs and is the most prominent of several gods and goddesses of death and the underworld. His headdress was shown decorated with owl feathers and paper banners and he wore a necklace of human eyeballs, while his earspools were made from human bones. He was not the only Aztec god to be depicted in this fashion, as numerous other deities had skulls for heads or else wore clothing or decorations that incorporated bones and skulls. In the Aztec world, skeletal imagery was a symbol of fertility, health and abundance, alluding to the close symbolic links between life and death. There was also the goddess of suicide, Ixtab. She was a minor goddess in the scale of Maya mythology. She was also known as The Hangwoman as she came to help along those who had killed themselves.

Our Lady of the Holy Death (Santa Muerte) is a female deity or folk saint of Mexican folk religion, whose popularity has been growing in Mexico and the United States in recent years. Since the pre-Columbian era, Mexican culture has maintained a certain reverence towards death, as seen in the widespread commemoration of the Day of the Dead. La Calavera Catrina, a character symbolizing death, is also an icon of the Mexican Day of the Dead.

San La Muerte (Saint Death) is a skeletal folk saint venerated in Paraguay, northeast Argentina. As the result of internal migration in Argentina since the 1960s, the veneration of San La Muerte has been extended to Greater Buenos Aires and the national prison system as well. Saint Death is depicted as a male skeleton figure usually holding a scythe. Although the Catholic Church in Mexico has attacked the devotion of Saint Death as a tradition that mixes paganism with Christianity and is contrary to the Christian belief of Christ defeating death, many devotees consider the veneration of San La Muerte as being part of their Catholic faith. The rituals connected and powers ascribed to San La Muerte are very similar to those of Santa Muerte; the resemblance between their names, however, is coincidental.

In Guatemala, San Pascualito is a skeletal folk saint venerated as "King of the Graveyard." He is depicted as a skeletal figure with a scythe, sometimes wearing a cape and crown. He is associated with death and the curing of diseases.

In the African-Brazilian religion Umbanda, the orixá Omolu personifies sickness and death as well as healing. The image of the death is also associated with Exu, lord of the crossroads, who rules cemeteries and the hour of midnight.

In Haitian Vodou, the Gede are a family of spirits that embody death and fertility. The most well-known of these spirits is Baron Samedi.

Yama was introduced to Chinese mythology through Buddhism. In Chinese, he is known as King Yan or Yanluo, ruling the ten gods of the underworld Diyu. He is normally depicted wearing a Chinese judge's cap and traditional Chinese robes and appears on most forms of hell money offered in ancestor worship. From China, Yama spread to Japan as the Great King Enma; Korea as the Great King Yeomra, ruler of Jiok; and Vietnam as Diêm La Vương, ruler of Địa Ngục or Âm Phủ.

Separately, in Korean mythology, death's principal figure is the "Netherworld Emissary" Jeoseungsaja. He is depicted as a stern and ruthless bureaucrat in Yeomna's service. A psychopomp, he escorts all – good or evil – from the land of the living to the netherworld when the time comes. One of the representative names is Ganglim, the Saja who guides the soul to the entrance of the underworld. According to legend, he always carries Jeokpaeji, the list with the names of the dead written on a red cloth. When he calls the name on Jeokpaeji three times, the soul leaves the body and follows him inevitably.

The Kojiki relates that the Japanese goddess Izanami was burnt to death giving birth to the fire god Hinokagutsuchi. She then entered a realm of perpetual night called Yomi-no-Kuni. Her husband Izanagi pursued her there but discovered his wife was no longer as beautiful as before. After an argument, she promised she would take a thousand lives every day, becoming a goddess of death, as well as giving birth to the gods, Raijin and Fūjin, while dead. There are also death gods called shinigami, which are closer to the Western tradition of the Grim Reaper; while common in modern Japanese arts and fiction, they were essentially absent in traditional mythology.

The Sanskrit word for death is mrityu (cognate with Latin mors and Lithuanian mirtis), which is often personified in Dharmic religions.

In Hindu scriptures, the lord of death is called King Yama. He is also known as the King of Karmic Justice (Dharmaraja) as one's karma at death was considered to lead to a just rebirth. Yama rides a black buffalo and carries a rope lasso to lead the soul back to his home, called Naraka, pathalloka, or Yamaloka. There are many forms of reapers, although some say there is only one who disguises himself as a small child. His agents, the Yamadutas, carry souls back to Yamalok. There, all the accounts of a person's good and bad deeds are stored and maintained by Chitragupta. The balance of these deeds allows Yama to decide where the soul should reside in its next life, following the theory of reincarnation. Yama is also mentioned in the Mahabharata as a great philosopher and devotee of the Supreme Brahman.

The canaan of the 12th- and 13th-century BC Levant personified death as the god Mot ( "Death"). He was considered a son of the king of the gods, El. His contest with the storm god Baʿal forms part of the myth cycle from the Ugaritic texts. The Phoenicians also worshipped death under the name Mot and a version of Mot later became Maweth, the devil or angel of death in Judaism.

Latvians named Death Veļu māte, but for Lithuanians it was Giltinė, deriving from the word gelti ("to sting"). Giltinė was viewed as an old, ugly woman with a long blue nose and a deadly poisonous tongue. The legend tells that Giltinė was young, pretty, and communicative until she was trapped in a coffin for seven years. Her sister was the goddess of life and destiny, Laima, symbolizing the relationship between beginning and end.

Like the Scandinavians, Lithuanians and Latvians later began using Grim Reaper imagery for death.

In Breton folklore, a spectral figure called the Ankou (or Angau in Welsh) portends death. Usually, the Ankou is the spirit of the last person that died within the community and appears as a tall, haggard figure with a wide hat and long white hair or a skeleton with a revolving head. The Ankou drives a deathly wagon or cart with a creaking axle. The cart or wagon is piled high with corpses and a stop at a cabin means instant death for those inside.

#death #global

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pastel-rights · 8 months

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What OCs are your favorite right now :) Who is holding up your brain space? Use this as an excuse to info dump about them 🥹

OOO UHHH

THIS ASK HAS BEEN SITTING HERE FOR A WHILE SO LIKE. FORGIVE ME BUT I THINK I FINALLY. FIGURED OUT WHAT I WANTED TO TALK ABOUT HAHA!! it's kind of long and all over the place but uh. that's what the cut is for!!

it's uh. it's au related stuff but. you know! If you guys would like, I can talk about it a bit more in a different post because there was a lot to talk about and I didn't even get to finish fr fr

okay let me just uhhh. copy paste from discord since I did talk about it there 🫶🏼

i guess i should start with :HonamiThink: the ones we DO know aka. the ones I ended up drawing :happy:

there was Kami and Kashiki :HonamiThink: who. Kami is. a trickster god of course, because they're a kitsune, which are. trickster foxes :Dancer_SuperHappy: and then there's Kashiki who's like. the human equivalent :happy: their whole thing is like. divine intervention and whatnot :HonamiThink:

Kami was also :HonamiThink: a retired general which was funny to me and they used their umbrella like a sword. they KILLED a man with that umbrella.

and then next is White Devil and Sly Angel which :prisoner_think: their whole theme is dreams and nightmares and life and death actually 😭 devil represents dreams while angel represents nightmares :HonamiThink: and their very presence can induce these like. hallucination like states.

angel being nightmares is. purposeful because angel looks like she'd bring good dreams and vibes, she's bright she's colorful shes. the "Sly Angel" so people let their guards down and often times. pay the price. angel is, well, a murderer. she hunts people down and kills them in these nightmareish scenarios. but her looks betray her and make her more dangerous.

meanwhile Devil is :HonamiThink: they're all greys and white, they're lifeless, like a doll. they're a doctor, more specifically a mortician :stressexe: they deal with death and the dead and often times their looks betray them. they look like they'd control/induce nightmares. they frighten people but underneath everything, Devil is. a good person. once people let down their guards and trust them, they flood their minds with good dreams. and when they want to, they'll protect those who give them a chance.

they're both. complicated.

and then after that is. vitas and bezerker :happy: :unseer: who, similar to everyone else in this weird byproduct of the weirdmaggedon/dd world that. i'll talk more about later on, probably tomorrow?? they share the underlying theme of life and death but they're more. directly/closely tied to the concept of the grim reaper :HonamiThink: they are. the end. the finality. they are the end of the road. once you see them, usually, it means your life is. coming to an end. even gods have died by their hands :HonamiThink: :stressexe:

they're. well their concept in and of itself is the grim reaper, the end of eras in a sense but in canon to that world, they were. well they were death but. in a bounty hunter type of manner i guess???? i don't really know how to explain it :NOOOOOO: but theyre very much so. they kill on an agenda and they have their own ways of doing things. While Bezerker is. closely related to the concept of the grim reaper, Vitas is more closely related to. the ferrysman :HonamiThink: usually taking the souls bezerker killed and. helping them pass on. or. in some cases. ship them down to hell or whatever /lh

they are aware of each other's presence and job, yes. however Vitas is aware that Bezerker isn't. completely. death itself. because they have a habit of killing indiscriminately. there's something. missing within Bezerker that causes them to. well. go bezerk! and there's also the chain and ball motif that. they're being influenced by a higher/stronger power than death itself :HonamiThink: and so it's up to Vitas to. try and help where she can. because while she is closely related to the ferryman and the river and souls in general, she can also. within her own power. reverse a soul's death which is. what happened with yabel's in universe counterpart. who uh. kind of. sort of. uh. fucking died because of Bezerker.

lmao

but uh just because she's got that. power/ability doesn't mean she can. use it without consequence. because it still. Bezerker knows when she breaks orderly balance. and uh. yeah. it's not good?

there's also :HonamiThink: the fact that Bezerker can devour rebirthed souls. which makes Vitas breathing second chances even more risky because it not only takes from her own. immortal soul but. Bezerker is stronger/more powerful in dark and corrupted places :prisoner_think: they thrive on desolate and hopelessness and the pain and suffering of others. and devoured souls know no peace. because they're his to. torment for the rest of eternity.

Vitas has only turned back time for one soul before in canon of. the world :HonamiThink: and Bezerker kind of. shredded them limb from limb!! in a. gory act of violent dominance :stressexe:

and there's also the whole :NOOOOOO: thing about how. Yabel is technically one of the souls. that Bezerker can devour. and because Bezerker is Tazai in a sense and how their whole. them getting stabbed and killed and corrupted by the devil being how. Bezerker came into existence and whatnot and ahhhh :NOOOOOO: :NOOOOOO: their theme being the grim reaper and unstoppable death is. really funny because yabel's whole thing is like. rebirth and second chances :prisoner_think: the person you love most is the one who's responsible for your demise. but it's also love that. saved you. or whatever. love wins!!! /j

and then there's. dollie and rose and. yabel ig :HonamiThink:

dollie and rosemary are. opposites in ideals/themes :HonamiThink:

Dollie's whole theming is around childhood and the innocence you have as a child :happy: she's. basically. a huge plush doll to be played with and dressed up and toyed with. she lives inside a giant dollhouse with other dolls, like herself, in bright colors and big clothes and tons of accessories. however, the owner of this dollhouse is no one other than. Bezerker. :prisoner_think: :stressexe: Dollie is the manifestation of a childish joy/wonder, and is childish herself. naive. gullible. she believes her dollhouse's owner is a kind person, unaware of the death and destruction she brings. and while inside the dollhouse, things are. relatively within scale but Bezerker is. HUGE since. to him. it's just a dollhouse. and everything inside is for him to move and toy with. and Dollie is, in her own way, based on Yabel herself, although closer personality wise to the 14 year old version that Tazai first met :happy: since, this is before. Tazai had the chance to meet the real current day Yabel i guess :prisoner_think: or rather, they got to meet her, fucking lost and just murdered her instead /lh

while rose is more the. loss of that innocence. the personalification of adulthood and how much it SUCKS. /j she drinks wine, a drink only adults can have. she's decked out in a fancy wedding dress, yet that dress is stained in the blood of the abuser who didn't truly love her. she doesn't believe that good things can happen beyond a certain point in life. she, for a lack of better wording, hates that she grew up. because the world isn't the same place she thought it was. it's cold and grueling and nasty. so she drinks the pain away and. kills others before they can reach that point of. no return. she is a rose with. many hidden thorns.

and then there's yabel :NOOOOOO: or uh, as yabel appears. a rebirthed soul. similar in appearance to that one image i sent eariler she's very. almost ethereal in her own way. or heavenly. she wears all white because she is pure. her theme is rebirth, purity and second chances. :HonamiThink: she is killed unfairly in a world she doesn't belong to and is given a second chance. and she has to fight her way through this odd land, partly created by the weirdmaggedon mixed with malek's intervention/him fucking with an already messed up sub-dimension :happy:because he finally got one of those souls who has been defining him and he now wants the other one, and if he can trap them both in this dimension he controls then. that's it :prisoner_think: he wins. because all his most powerful constraints on Tazai/Bezerker are tied to the power of the Weirdmaggedon. but if the seal on the weirdmaggedon is broken, which can only be done from within the bubble (where Yabel is) then he loses control of Tazai and their soul completely :KanadeRunningBackAndForth: and he succeeds at first when Bezerker does. end Yabel's life. he would have won if Vitas didn't. grant Yabel, or as the world called her, Mist, that second chance. of course, if Bezerker caught Mist again, he could just. devour her. and they'd both be trapped by Malek for forever! which! shit. /lh

but Mist is determined to break the weirdmaggedon and free herself, but more important, to free her friend, and everyone else that demon has trapped inside. because everyone there besides. Kami and Devil iirc were other human souls. :stressexe: and mist herself does have her own. themes with death since. well. when she is given that second chance/that rebirth, she wakes up in a glass coffin lined in gold framing filled with white and gold flowers, that that :prisoner_think: with Vitas herself put together or Bezerker put together which. while the dream didn't say which one it was, i think either or is very interesting to think about 😭 and uh Mist. like :prisoner_think: canonically speaking she isn't able to cycle but. in that dream i had, she was. kind of able to? like, whenever she would die, and i would have to restart or retry, i'd come out of that same coffin 😭 and shit i died a few times, especially when Bezerker would chase me because they were. fucking FAST and they would also like. pierce their nails though my chest when they'd catch me. which really really hurt :uuu: and then they'd devour my soul or whatever and i think they also tried to drown me once.

mist is constantly going through it :NOOOOOO: that girl can not WIN when it comes to Bezerker and the other villains /lh I wish I could say that was it but like. Those were just for the people I drew :unseer: there were MORE

if you guys want to. see/hear about the additional people then!! please ask as you can see I'm so normal about this 😇

#( they're all very interesting to me tbh :intense thinking: )#( would probably. make a fun mun/muse au thing tbh :pumping my arms: )#( if you guys are interested in that then. let me know I guess?????? )#sona information

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missazura · 2 years

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Philip doesn't hesitate to reply. "Of course. We humans have to stick together after all," he says, quoting her own words back to her again. He can always betray her later if need be, but her allyship would be a great asset and give him greater strength against Death if something did go wrong. "He's more of a ferryman than anything you know," Philip adds, trying to be reassuring. "He doesn't seem to have any control over when it's 'your time'."

Something about how lost she sounds seems to echo within his own heart and he can't help but feel for her. Human connection is something Philip has always lacked. He went to church and was part of his community, but people in his town didn't really see each other much outside of work or worship. Not that Philip had ever really felt much of a kinship with any of them anyways. He does his best to conform but the longer he spends away from his town the more he's beginning to realize that conformity doesn't equal connection.

"So when... my family died- it happened because it happened, and not because he killed them?"

With a sniffle she wipes her tears away, getting a little tense with the lingering thought. "I don't know what kind of sick trick god's playing on us for the grim reaper to show up after we lost our families." There's a tint of rage as her hands curl up into fists. What Philip couldn't have known was the many times she blamed death itself for the loss, unprocessed grief turning into vengeance against something, someone to blame. An answer. How helpless she felt that her life had turned upside down simply because of a human error.

"I don't know if I can trust him after all the pain I've been through, honestly," she sighs and closes herself up once more. "But at least he was kind enough to let you speak to your brother again."

#WALKER YOU KEEP PULLING MY HEARTSTRINGS #me: aw he's such a poor meow meow i wanna be his friend #''he can always betray her later if need be''#me: FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF #belos anon

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fieryartemispublications · 2 years

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Death is Merely A Waiting Game (A Critical Role Fanfic Snippet)

Started writing a Laudna-centric fic. Why is it that Marisha Ray's characters always grab me by the throat? Anyways, here's a snippet of the oneshot that I'm currently word vomiting.

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“She always was a bitch,” muses a gruff voice. The light returns as the tall, willowy man dressed in black and a mantle of raven dark feathers steps back from her.

Laudna blinks, trying to get rid of the dancing spots in her vision. “Otohan?” she asks in confusion.

The man laughs a little, his smile visible underneath the black bird halfmask he wears. “Sure,” he says as he reaches down a hand to Laudna.

With very little hesitation, Laudna takes it and lets him help her to her feet. She’s dead. There’s no denying it. No pretending that she’s anything other than gone from the world of the living. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. However, what is unfamiliar is this man in front of her. Now that she’s upright, Laudna can see the stark white fungus jutting from his shoulder that looks almost like antlers on a deer. “I uh… I don’t remember you from my last time crossing the veil,” she tells him.

That brings another laugh out of him. “No, I imagine you don’t. Our paths did not cross in this manner the last time we met but trust me when I say that you left a lasting impact upon me.”

“Is that why you’re here now? My own personal ferryman for the river Styx so to speak? A grim reaper?” The thought brings a smile to her face. It’s morbid but so much of her second life was so, so very lonely. Travelling and living alone until the villagers chased her from whatever meager scrap of land she was able to carve out and make her own, for however little time she had it for. The idea that some herald of the Raven Queen has come to walk beside her to wherever her final resting place lays is strangely comforting.

The reaper folds Laudna’s hand into his arm, like they’ve known each other for all eternity. He looks warm and comforting especially for someone who makes the planes of death his home. “I didn’t like being alone either. It was unnatural for me. But come. We’ve got a bit of a ways to go.”

#critical role #cr 3 #laudna #vax'ildan #bells hells #cr #crit role #critical role c3

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death-in-shift · 1 year

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The Role of a Psychopomp

A/N: I have done research on Charon and Grim Reaper for the past few days so I hope to not make many mistakes. If I happen to do so, I will happily go back and fix it. Hayden is inspired by these two beings with a hint of Cheshire Cat. This is partially proofread so there may be grammatical errors.

From Greek mythology, you may have heard of Charon.

He is depicted as an unkempt ferryman of Hades and the Greek World. He’s known to carry the spirits who were given funeral rites across the waters to Hades within the underworld. His fee is paid by his coins, obolos coins, which are either placed inside the mouth or on the eyes of the corpse, or next to the urns of the cremated. Those who cannot pay the fee to the ferryman or who were not given funeral rites were left to wander amongst the Earth or the waters of the Underworld.

Within the modern-day we all definitely heard of Grim Reaper.

Although it is the personification of death, some believe that it is an evil spirit, but it does not kill the living. It simply visits the victims before they die, taking their soul, and guiding them into the afterlife. Unfortunately, it’s out of its control of what happens to and where the soul will go. Depending on the region one comes from, there are different origins of the psychopomp itself.

Then you have Hayden Stoker.

Hayden is a psychopomp who plays a similar role as the two. He wields a scythe like the Grim Reaper, he is spotted rowing his boat across the rivers of his realm similar to the Charon. In the end, he guides the soul to the afterlife, just like they do. Between the three of them, there are a few things similar along with a few things that are different.

A few days before the victim’s death, Hayden tends to stalk them. He takes note of their emotional and physical state along with what is happening. When he takes out his pocket watch, the little arms of the clock stop at the certain time the victim will die.

He will never know the day, he just knows the time is ticking.

Six minutes before the victim dies, Hayden reveals himself to them. He towers over them with an intimidating yet comforting aura. He chooses to remain silent, yet there are times the victim will hear slightly audible whispers, comforting them that they’re ok and that they’re entering another phase of the life cycle. If he were to carry the soul into the Judgment Hall within the middle realm, they should at least have coins placed inside their mouths or placed inside the urns. That’s to pay the fee for the ferry ride. If not, he will see the victim’s souls wandering within his realm for some time until they can receive the proper burial or funeral rights. Many had stayed there for an eternity.

While Hayden is peacefully rowing his boat, he’ll create small talk with the soul. He guides them through what he does, where they go, and assures them that they’re ok. He will answer any question the soul has to the best of his ability.

He has a sister who is a personification of life. Her name is Madeleine Stoker. Spring is her strongest season as fall and winter is Hayden’s strongest season. When Hayden’s pocket watch doesn’t reveal a time the victim dies, it’s a sign that they have another chance of continuing their lives. That’s the part where Madeleine comes in. She also reveals herself before the victim, holding their hand or cupping their cheek as she gives them a small boost. She tells them to not give up, to continue living, to stay strong.

Both of the siblings play a major role and have some control to an extent. They have their likes and dislikes about their jobs but this is something they’ll have to continue forever.

Unfortunately, this is what they have to do whether they like it or not.

#death in shift #oc #hayden stoker

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prettylittlebxch · 5 months

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Ok SO!! I want to start a new Draco Malfoy x OC fanfic on Wattpad, but I GENUINELY need to pick between these ideas so PLEASE help meeee!! There's gonna be fluff, smut, and angst, so yeah!

Okay so idea 1: What if Harry Potter had a more psychotic twin sister (Wednesday vibes tbh)? She goes to Hogwarts and stuff after being expelled from Ilvermony, and she meets him, it's gonna have more of a darker feel to it bc in this one, the fmc is morally gray and stuff

So the second idea is a PJO crossover-ish, the fmc is a daughter of Ares but she gets a prophecy, saying she needs to make sure Voldemort doesn't start aiming for the demigod camps by keeping Harry safe from a distance and stuff, but then she meets Draco and they HATE eachother, and then she gets possessive, he gets possessive, and all they want is eachother bc Aphrodite decided to mess with their minds, so then the trope here is the "fuck destiny" one!

The third one is prolly the least used one, it has more of a gothic feel in it. So the fmc in this one has rly strange powers, like her backstory is that she fell in a frozen lake and basically died for ten minutes, her brain scans aren't normal but she's perfectly fine, and the thing is she has nightmares about the grim reaper/ferryman, bc she accidentally got a spirit latched on to her and now she has powers of either blood or shadows and she's considered dangerous, and ANYWAY bc she sees things she was sent to a mental hospital, but then ofc the Wizarding world got a notice of that and Dumbledore decided to recruit her for Hogwarts and she and Draco meet, they hate eachother but then they gradually fall in love so like ya

OK HELP ME CHOOSEEE

#draco malfoy fanfiction #poll #writing ideas #fic writing #pls help #help #story ideas #fanfic

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 10 months

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Bound, Part 17

Previous part

The change from regular waters to that of the Styx was so gradual that she had almost missed it. Her eyes had skipped right over the strange way the waves seemed to cling to the sides of the boat and the tiny, whirling faces hidden in the ebb and flow of the water. Even if she hadn’t been – weirdly tired recently, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

If she hadn’t noticed the Ferryman, they likely would have traveled right past the tiny opening hidden amongst the rocky shores without being any the wiser.

Of course, they weren't an easy ‘person’ to miss, thanks to the long staff they held, topped with a lantern that danced with a strange blue fire.

She stared at the wooden staff for a moment, wondering why it felt as if someone had grabbed her brainstem and started frantically rattling it back and forth.

“Marinette?” said Tim.

“They’re there,” she said. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted a hand to wave at the being on the shore. They did not wave back, but she could tell they were looking at her regardless. “That’s the Ferryman.”

There was a quiet shift as the boat changed course, and she felt Tim come to stand beside her, digging through his satchel until he found two coins. He offered one to her and, however, reluctantly, she joined him in placing the currency beneath her tongue.

Their boat bumped against the dock and promptly stopped running. Marinette might joke about even the battery dying once it came in contact with the Underworld, but she’d rather not think about the implications of that at the moment.

Besides, she had much bigger things to worry about.

Quite literally. The Ferryman was tall, taller than any normal human could ever hope to be, and clad all in black. Their hood was pulled low over their head, casting it entirely in shadow, and making her wonder whether they even had a face at all. They stepped aboard, and she did not entirely appreciate the way the boat did not dip in the slightest at the introduction of what should have been a rather large weight.

Slowly, their hand reached for her.

It was skeletal in nature. Idly, she wondered if it had always been that way, or if the Ferryman’s depiction had been affected by stories of the Grim Reaper.

She opened her mouth, and tried not to cringe when she felt a bone knock against her teeth on the way in.

Slowly, they withdrew their hand, twirling the golden coin within their fingers before letting it disappear, seemingly into thin air.

And then turned to Tim for his turn.

Tim… was too busy looking at the place where the coin had disappeared. It must have been a peculiar sight for him, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the mildly perturbed expression on his face.

It was because of this that she entirely missed the Ferryman reaching for Tim, only noticing when they stopped cold, visibly confused by the lack of response. Their hood turned to look at her for a moment, before turning back to Tim.

They pressed their hand to his forehead.

For just a moment, Tim’s eyebrows started to knit in mild confusion, and then his pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks as he realized that there was a thing looming over him.

Many things happened in very quick succession.

Tim immediately tried to sink his fist into the thing’s face, but the Ferryman did not have a face, and his fist sailed through until it hit the back of the being’s hood. He recoiled immediately, horror beginning to genuinely make itself known as he realized that he couldn’t fight them.

Marinette, her heart leaping up into her throat, immediately stumbled backward. She did not have much room to do so, unfortunately, not on a boat as small as this one, and her back hit the edge. She might have toppled overboard if it were not for the staff that came to hook itself in the front of her shirt and drag her back to safety.

Despite this show of care, and the frankly terrible odds, Tim did not seem particularly calmed by this. He gave a quiet yelp, the coin tumbling out of his mouth as he rushed to stand between her and the deity. He seemed reluctant to look away from the Ferryman, but his hand fumbled behind him in search of anything he could use as a weapon.

Marinette did not have one for him. She grabbed him by the hand, and this seemed to surprise him enough to make his panic subside just slightly.

The Ferryman paid this all no mind, simply scooping up the coin on the ground. This, too, disappeared into the ether.

Paid, and therefore satisfied, the Ferryman made their way over to the steering wheel.

After a moment, a captain’s hat appeared to sit atop their hood.

She smiled, lifting her hand to do a mock salute.

The Ferryman didn’t respond. They dismissed the wooden dock with a languid wave of their hand, letting it crumble away into ash, and the boat began moving once again. Not once did the vessel whir to life like it did when the engine was running, and Marinette tried not to wonder whether she had accidentally killed them both the moment they had entered the Underworld.

Regardless, they were floating downstream, and there was no turning back now.

Honestly, the boat ride was a little awkward.

Tim was not hiding his distrust of the Ferryman. He had dragged Marinette to the exact opposite end of the boat and sat down with her, eyeing the being warily. The Ferryman did not particularly care about this, but they didn’t have a mouth (or a face at all, really), so they didn’t make for stellar conversation, regardless.

Normally, it would fall to Marinette to fix this, but she was… distracted, it seemed. She kept staring at the ceiling of the cavern, her lips pursed into a thin line, waves of mild annoyance and discomfort just barely making themselves known through their bond, and he wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t vocalizing any of her thoughts, not even when Tim asked her outright what was wrong, which was… weird. Usually, her enchantment forced her to do whatever he wanted, and he was careful to not abuse this, but he wanted to help her, why wouldn’t she let him?

He squeezed her hand lightly.

She gave him a brief, halfhearted smile before her eyes trailed upwards once again.

He tipped his head to the side just slightly. And then he, carefully, pulled his hand from her own.

She didn’t notice.

Tim narrowed his eyes at her.

The boat came to a stop, and the Ferryman rose to their feet. Within a few languid ‘steps’ (Tim had yet to see any proof that they had legs), they were before them, offering them a skeletal hand to help them get to shore.

Tim snatched Marinette's hand before she could take it and dragged them both off the boat without the help of the being. Marinette only seemed mildly amused by this, sending the Ferryman a wave over her shoulder.

The soulsand crunched beneath their feet as they made their way to the gates. They ignored the withering skeletons poking out of the sand, limp hands still outstretched towards the gates they had not reached for… well, certainly for a reason.

Cerberus stood tall at the entrance, each sharp tooth wider than they were tall. And, considering there were three mouths full of said giant, wicked sharp teeth, and each of its legs was about as thick and certainly just as heavy as a small house… well, the chances of them being able to run away or sneak past it were not stellar.

Which meant they had to get on its good side.

Preferably sooner rather than later, when its shock inevitably wore off.

Tim dug through his bag for the cake Marinette had made, but Cerberus didn’t seem particularly interested in falling for that one again.

Okay. Plan B. He pulled out a package of meat that he had bought. Cerberus did not seem to care about this when there were two much larger hunks of meat standing right in front of it.

Great. The Ancient Greek myths had screwed them over.

“Told you that we should have gotten a rubber ball,” Tim muttered, biting his lip, glancing back where they had come. Their chances of getting away were miniscule, but at this point maybe it couldn’t hurt them more to try.

Unfortunately, the broken silence finally seemed to snap the beast out of being stunned by their sheer audacity – humans coming to the Underworld despite being perfectly alive must not have been entirely common, especially now that belief in magic was far less widespread. It snarled a low, growling sound that made Tim feel like his skeleton was going to rattle its way right out of his body and make a break for it.

There was no doubt in his mind: Cerberus knew that they did not belong here, and it was going to make them.

Tim made to push a quiet Marinette in front of him and hopefully get her running, intent on making a break for it with her and hoping that at least she could make it out of this alive, but she dodged out of the way with ease.

And then she grabbed the nearest skull, lifting it high above her head. “Hey buddy!” she yelled.

Panic that was only somewhat his own increased tenfold, and Tim helplessly looked between the beast and his soulmate, who were locked in a rather intense staredown.

But then… Cerberus paused. All three of its heads tilted to the side.

“Good, good,” she said, giving a thin-lipped smile. “Wanna play?”

The beast’s tail wagged, stirring up sand with the sheer force of every swish of its giant tail.

She nodded once, mostly to herself.

She whirled around and threw it into the water.

“Go fetch!”

Bulky, lumbering paws skipped past them, and the Guardian of the Underworld rushed to catch the skull before it could travel downstream.

Tim and Marinette stood there in silence for a second, both more than a little shocked that that had actually worked.

And then Tim grabbed Marinette by the hand and dragged her through the gates. They didn’t stop until the tall, wrought iron clanked shut behind them, and even then they ran for a few moments more just to make sure that the beast wasn’t following after them. The new cave they had entered was, logically, far too small for Cerberus to fit through, but they were taking no chances.

Finally, when they reached the doors to a large, marble building, they slowed to a stop. Marinette leaned against the marble, the possibility of being smited for daring to dirty the white with her sweat be damned. Tim doubled over, his hands on his knees.

It was silent for quite a while, save for their labored breaths.

“Rick Riordan I will feed it your head next,” Marinette murmured, clutching her chest as if that could still either of their hearts. Honestly, the fact that neither of them had had a heart attack yet was a miracle. “This is why I’m a fucking cat person.”

Tim couldn’t help it. Despite the fact that he had very little breath to spare, he couldn’t help but wheeze out a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

And, despite her own exhaustion, she tipped her head back against the wall and laughed with him.

They stepped through the doors to the judging chamber, much to the three judge’s surprise.

This was fine. Marinette and Tim were also surprised by the more literal appearance of the three judges. They had known, intellectually, that they were once humans, but they had expected something more… more. Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus were supposed to be all-knowing, all-powerful beings who decided on whether you went to the Ancient Greek equivalent of Hell, Heaven, and a kind of Limbo. These were just… guys. Guys in big, fancy robes, perhaps, but still average-looking Ancient Greek men.

There was a beat of awkward silence as the judges took in the two sweaty, definitely alive people in front of them. They exchanged confused looks.

“You here to see Lord Hades?” one of them guessed.

“No, actually, we’re looking for the Fates,” Tim said.

Strangely, the three of them seemed relieved by this answer.

“Great. Lord Hades would have been insufferable about it. All ‘oh my Me, I say maybe to a guy named Orpheus one time and now no one will leave me alone’,” the second judge groaned, slumping in his chair.

“Huh,” said Tim. “I guess even immortals have to deal with annoying bosses.”

“Tell me about it.”

The third judge snapped his fingers, and a door opened up on their left. There was yet another seemingly never ending cave system, though this one wasn’t entirely horizontal, instead steadily creeping upward, toward a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Trickling along the left side was a river, pale white waters rushing along infinitely, only to spill over the side of a cliff that went down, down, down so far that Marinette couldn’t see the bottom.

“Walk along the river for… I don’t know, an hour? Maybe two. Their door will be on the right. It’s hard to miss, you’ll know it when you see it on account of all the…” they waved their hand vaguely. “Well, you’ll know.”

Tim smiled. “Awesome. Thanks.”

He turned to leave, but Marinette made no move to follow. She stared at the string connecting her to Tim.

She…

It…

She pushed her hair out of her face with her hand, scowling. She was frustrated, and she didn’t even know why she was frustrated, which only served to make her more frustrated. All she could think about was that she was forgetting something. Something important.

She looked at the Red String. It wasn’t quite red anymore, nor did it look entirely like a string. Instead, it looked far closer to a line of flesh connecting the pair of them, as if their hands were actively melting into each other.

It was a disgusting sight.

It bothered her.

No it didn’t.

She wanted to be with Tim. Wasn’t it better that they were physically connected? Maybe one day they wouldn’t be able to leave each other’s sides, too fused together to even pull apart. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Her stomach turned at the thought.

This was… wrong.

Right?

Yeah, was it right?

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

There was something missing. Why couldn’t she hold onto her thoughts? Where were her memories?

There was a hand on her shoulder. Tim was gently shaking her, trying to get her attention, but she couldn’t let that happen. If she let herself look at him properly, would she forget again?

What had she forgotten, again?

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice was high with fear, but whose? Hers? His own?

“What’s… what’s wrong with me?” she parroted, almost pleading.

His eyes widened just slightly. He hesitated.

“Do you remember?” he asked.

Her head started to pound in time with her heartbeat, steadily getting faster and faster and fast –.

She dug her palms into her temples, trying to block out the noise, but how could she do that when the sound was already in her head?

“No, then,” Tim mumbled.

Tears built in the corners of her eyes.

She couldn’t remember much of anything. Why didn’t she remember anything?

Why were they here?

Why could she see magic?

Hell, what school did she go to?

“If it’s memory problems you’re struggling with…” the third judge piped up. “Have you tried the Mnemosyne?”

Marinette fell to her knees and screamed.

Tim rushed through the halls, a writhing Marinette clutched close to his chest. He – he couldn’t think. Not around the unnatural headache that had bled over from his soulmate, the head splitting pain, the knife sinking deeper and deeper into his skull with every step he took.

“StopstopstopgoBACK!”

The waters of the Lethe river rushed alongside him, milky white in color. Every step on the slippery stone beneath his feet, every jerky convulsion Marinette made, threatened to send them into the deceptively pretty waters that would erase every memory they had ever earned – everything that made them, them.

“T-TimTimTim!”

It felt as if his brain was melting in his head. Is this what it felt like to be smited? He had always thought it would be quick, so instantaneous that you wouldn’t even have enough time to realize that it was happening. A flash, bang, and suddenly you’re gone. But he supposed that it was supposed to be a divine punishment, and why would beings with no understanding of mortality ever think that something as simple as ‘death’ was punishment enough?

“PleaseithurtsTimplease!”

He could see the grotto that would contain the pond that belonged to a Titan, the ‘goddess’ that presided over memory, Mnemosyne. It was said to be the counterpart to the River Lethe, and if there was anything that could help Marinette regain her memories, it was this. The dugout room glowed with an inviting, yellow light, tiny water particles just barely glimmering where they danced in the air like fairies. It was the kind of place that only existed in stories, in myths.

But it was in front of him.

They just had to… get there.

“Fuckyoufuckfuckfuck!”

This was fine. Just like he was trained. Get the civilian to safety, the civilian is always the priority. He could collapse later, right now he had a job to do.

He should give up. He was only causing her more pain.

“I fucking hate this!”

He should turn back. He had tried it, just once, and the pain had lessened to something almost bearable, clearly pushing him that way. Away from the Mnemosyne. Who – or what – ever had cursed Marinette, they weren’t going to allow this to happen without a fight, and Tim had been in plenty of fights over the years, but never had the odds ever been this bad. There was more myths than he could count, but the amount that allowed people to win against gods with no consequences were… few and far between.

“I fucking hate you!”

Except… there was the person in his arms.

Marinette, who had once been snarky and playful and honestly a bit of an asshole, but who was undeniably a person, with her own thoughts and experiences. Who had had that all stolen away from her when she was asleep, when she could only literally dream of fighting back.

Marinette, who had yelled at his parents when he had expressed mild discomfort at their appearance.

Marinette, who would be pissed at him if he dared to let that god win.

And so, he put one foot in front of the other, over and over again, creeping closer and closer to the Mnemosyne in the hopes that they might be granted help. If the god was fighting them this much, this determined to keep them out, their chances had to be pretty good.

They.

Just.

Had.

To.

Get.

There!

He half-stumbled over the threshold.

It was as if he had stepped into a bubble. A slight pressure just barely passing over him as he stepped through the doorway, and then he was inside.

The pain increased tenfold.

A high whining sound he later realized was them screaming echoed in his ears.

His vision burned white.

And then it was over, the pain disappearing so quickly, as if it had never been there at all.

Marinette gave one last twitch before she fell limp in his arms.

He would fear that her heart had finally given out under all of the stress if he didn’t feel tears begin to soak into the fabric of his shirt.

They had made it.

Slowly, he sank to a kneeling position, every muscle in his body finally relaxing. Except for his hands, which continued to hug Marinette close, his fingernails digging into her back so hard he could feel their ghostly pinpricks even through the fabric of her shirt.

For a minute, the only sound was heavy breathing interspersed with noises they would never admit sounded dangerously close to sobs.

“Are you okay?” Marinette said, her voice raspy and on the verge of breaking from screaming.

He exhaled shakily. “I’ll… I’ll be fine. You?”

She drew back just slightly, enough to look him in the eyes. He wasn’t sure what she saw there, but something in her expression softened, the remnants of tension melting away. Trembling hands came up to hold his face, touching him like he was something precious. Something she was scared would break. “I’m okay,” she assured him, her thumb ghosting along one of his cheekbones. “Thank you.”

His forehead tipped forward to rest against her own. “Yeah?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate.

She smiled. It was weak, and shaky, and he was pretty sure she had bitten her tongue at some point because her teeth gleamed red with blood. But it was real.

“Yeah.”

And, if tears finally managed to spill over, leaving tiny tracks in the thin layer of sand that had been stuck to them since they had entered the Underworld… well, they weren’t going to tell anyone about it.

It took longer than either of them would ever admit for them to notice the woman in the pond. She was laying in the water on her stomach, like she was sunbathing, even if there was no way light could reach them so far underground. Her forest green dress clung to her frame weirdly, as if it wasn’t quite solid. There was no distinct end to the fabric of the dress, instead it bled into the waters, staining it that same, deep green. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in lazy waves, and despite the fact that the ends of it had certainly dipped in the water at some point, the light brown locks showed no sign of being wet.

The woman watched them, her chin propped in her hands, her lips playing into a strange kind of smile.

Marinette slowly drew away from Tim, lifting her hand in a wave. She should really start having better initial reactions to deities beyond her comprehension, but they were beyond her comprehension, and she thought it was more than natural that her reactions were slightly awkward because of it.

“You must be Lady Mnemosyne.”

“Why, of course,” Mnemosyne said. “No one else is allowed to be here, you know.”

The pair of teens glanced at each other briefly before scrambling up onto shaky feet, bowing to show their respect. You can judge them for showing the backs of their necks to a person who had just implied they were very much not welcome, but it wasn’t as if they could simply turn back now.

She laughed, a musical kind of sound. Slowly, she got to her feet, walking across the surface of the water.

(This was not her gimmick, but Marinette wasn’t going to say that aloud.)

“Don’t worry. You are both… interesting cases.” She came to a stop in front of them. A little closer than social niceties often allowed for. Neither of them were intending on calling her out on this, though. “I’m glad you came.”

She circled them both in slow, languid steps, taking in every bit of them. Tim stood stockstill, as if he was scared that she would smite him on the spot if he dared to ‘mess up’ her examination of him. Marinette, on the other hand, spun to follow her with her eyes. This tiny difference seemed to be endlessly amusing to the goddess.

Finally, she stopped behind Tim, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him around so he, too, was facing her.

She clapped her hands together once by her head.

“Timothy.”

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, his lips pressed into a thin, anxious line.

“It seems that your memories have not been suppressed, but instead made ‘unimportant’ by removing the emotional weight attached, moving them away from being at the forefront of your mind. Interesting. You know, I’ve been wanting to give Nooroo a piece of my mind for a while for messing with my domain, but I will admit he was clever.”

Tim did not nod again. In fact, save for the slight pallor of his face, he didn’t show any signs of hearing her at all.

“Oooooh, you even remembered after the fact, researched and reasoned your way into re-discovering that your soulmate was Ladybug (and who ‘Ladybug’ even was, of course), and that was quickly taken –… oh, it was repressed. By you. I see…”

She hummed a single high, pleased note, before turning her attention onto Marinette. She searched her eyes for only a minute before squealing in delight, rushing to get closer and cup her chin in her hand.

“I see. They wanted to make it so your string would finally take effect and make you ‘fall for’ Timothy here, but in order to do that they had to delete all of your negative experiences pertaining to your soulmate… which is basically everything.”

Marinette frowned just slightly. Tim winced, and that suggested this was likely somewhat true, but she didn’t think…

“You must have really annoyed Artemis and Apollo, if they’re still trying to reach you when you’re so far away from their domain…” Mnemosyne giggled. “What did you do to annoy them?”

Marinette could only stare at her blankly.

Mnemosyne seemed disappointed, but hardly surprised. “I’ve never understood why people will take away memories of what had originally annoyed them. Do they want repeat offenders?” She took Marinette’s chin in her hand and leaned closer to her face. “What did you do to annoy Artemis and Apollo?”

She hadn’t noticed how light the woman’s voice had been until a physical weight had been added to it. It pressed down against her, digging into her ears, as if it was determined to worm its way into her brain and find out the answers.

It succeeded. Words spilled from her lips, unbidden:

“I didn’t want to join the Hunt.”

“Ahhhhhh,” said Mnemosyne, rolling her eyes. “That makes sense.”

Marinette wasn’t sure it did. It seemed like a disproportionate punishment. But what did she know? Not much, apparently due to Artemis.

Mnemosyne took Tim’s face in her hands as well, and then pushed the pair of teens closer together, until their cheeks were smushed against each others’. Neither of them were particularly pleased with this development, but the goddess’ grip was far stronger than it should have been, digging into their jaws, hard enough to make their bones creak under the pressure, and they were still somewhat scared of being smited for trespassing.

“Well, I suppose, since you have been so fun to examine, I can give you your memories back,” she said.

Her smile took on a more mischievous edge.

That was all the warning they got before they were shoved backward, into the water.

Ultimately, they only took a step into it, just barely dipping their toes in before they caught themselves.

This was all it took.

The water looped itself around their ankles and pulled, dragging them kicking and screaming beneath the waves, but there was nothing solid to kick, and all screaming did was allow the water to worm its way into their mouths. Marinette choked on the liquid shoving its way down her throat, desperately clawing at her own neck, as if she could physically tear it out, if only she could open up a place where it could exit.

Her fingernails caught on the edge of the Red String.

The one that had manipulated her long before Artemis had.

The one that they had traveled to the Underworld to destroy.

The one that had ruined her fucking life.

(The one that had led her to someone that made her want to trust again. And wasn’t that the most heinous of its crimes?)

Just as abruptly as she had been pulled under, she was thrown out onto the shore, coughing up the water that had tried to make a home out of her lungs.

She collapsed against the unforgiving stone beneath her, groaning. She heard Tim do the same somewhere nearby.

“You know what. I liked mythology better when it was myths,” Tim complained.

She could only grunt in vague agreement.

~~~

Next part

@laurcad123

#bound #maribat #timari #timinette #timmari #i feel you #shutterbug #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin

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