SORRY FOR THE SUPER DELAY, MERRY XMAS/HALLOWEEN/NEW YEAR AND WHATEVER OTHER HOLIDAYS I MISSED.

I… have been very sad for a while. Mainly because of the end of semester exams and holidays are kind of hard for me because reasons.

I'm very tired. And sad. Have I mentioned sad? But not like actually crying sad just like, lazy sad. Actually its more lazy than sad sometimes. If I had to be more descriptive I would say my mood is a large sulking house cat as it rains outside a window in the evening. Yeah.

SO. This is more filler make stuff or whatever. It isn't great. The jokes are a little flat even for me. And it consists almost fully on crossovers and such because I'm sad. And there's not enough decent crossovers in this world. Now I know some people haven't heard of Supernatural (boo) but there's also some (a lot) of Avengers stuff in here too (which if you haven't watched, double boo) and just various Alternate universe stuff I guess. Oh and a FBaWtFt crossover. Given how we all like Harry Potter I used the whole friggin movie.

Nothing here is that relevant to the actual plot so you can skip after the first but if none of these things interest you, just be aware that Death went galavanting around as his Harry Potter meat suit recovered slowly from the Pheonix tears.

If not

Enjoy~~

(NOT FULLY EDITED YET BTW BUT I JUST COULDN"T WAIT)


The one where Death traverses multiple alternate universes and (in around this order give or take a few extra things) saves two Winchesters, scares Captain America, fucks Thanos, sucks Loki, meets a little dragon, and finds some fantastic beasts

Or the one where the author indulges in her crossovers


What happens next is rather a very complicated clusterfuck if Harry would say so himself. Even he's a little confused at what happened what with being so brutally backstabbed and all, but essentially it goes something a little like this-

Scene: Slytherin's final chamber.

Harry Potter, lying splayed out on the cold floor, body cold and slowly dying from the basilisk fang still pierced through his side. A completely normal, if slightly battered, diary is loosely held on by the boy's hand. Blood is beginning to pool out from underneath Harry's body.

Enter Severus Snape. Clearly having just sprinted and was not used to the sudden need to exercise.

He sees Harry and runs to him, followed closely by most of the Hogwarts staff, the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. The majority of these people are yelling Harry's name in an incredibly unhelpful manner. Snape kneels down by the still body to check Harry's vitals. It's weak. Distressingly so. He too, ends up yelling Harry's name in an incredibly unhelpful manner.

Hermione starts to cry. The Weasleys are trying very hard not to follow. They are failing. Badly.

Madam Pomphrey has all but shoved Snape out of the way, using emergency medical spells to try slow down the poison pumping into the young wizard's veins while at the same time, stifling the bleeding. From the sweat flowing down her face she is struggling to do even that. It feels like there is something in Harry that's not responding well to healing magic. The situation looks grim.

Enter Fawkes.

The phoenix is majestic as he flies to the young boy's side. Fawkes coos and shuffles closer to the wound, flapping his wings to encourage the mediwitch to shuffle out of his way. Fawkes looks beautiful beside the dying boy, like a fiery angel.

A fiery angel that was sneering down at a dying boy.

Phoenixes, were birds that defied death. With their ability to reincarnate unto themselves, death is not a natural state they will succumb to unless forced down by another's hands. Therefore, they are one of the few species that do not care for, fear, or innately feel drawn to Death, rather it is Life that is their one and only true master they look to. Life and Magic and a little bit of Time would garner an almost equal amount of reverence but any other would be beneath a Phoenix's standards.

Phoenixes, in Death's humble opinion. Were kind of pretentious, self-righteous assholes. Sure there was the occasional good one that doesn't do that thing where they look down at you condescendingly and treat you like some cute charity case, but there's a reason why Phoenix tears were so bloody damn rare. And it's because phoenixes fucking suck.

So when Fawkes begins crying all over Harry's body like it was the end of Titanic, it wasn't because of some sentiment of grief. It certainly wasn't for any genuine wish to heal him, no. It was because it fucking knew phoenix tears burned away any traces of death. And it would burn and burn until death is vanquished and the human would be brought back to the living.

Seriously Fawkes. Fuck you.

Because of this, because of that stupid chickenshit arsehole, Death found himself forced to, metaphorically, jump off the sinking ship if you will. Leaving behind an effectively healed but vegetative Harry Potter in its place.

Death looks at the still body, annoyed at how flawless his mortal form looks now. How ironic, the burns on his skin were now gone and all it took was him being set on fire from the inside out. Even now that his physical wounds have healed, Death can still sense the flickering flames from Fawkes' tears running through his mortal's blood, effectively sealing him from his own vessel.

The entity glares at the phoenix. The fucker stares back with the bird equivalent of a shit-eating smirk pointedly bobbing his head toward something. Death looks down to where Fawkes was looking at. One of his bone white hands was slowly reconstructing itself together, an injury for not reacting fast enough when he had realised what the damn bird had the gall to do. Death takes a long, slow breath and silently pleas for strength not to smite the bird where it stood. This, this is what happens when you favour a species and give them essentially eternal life.

Of course he has his dementors and reapers but that doesn't count. He's got them well trained… sort of.

Death settles his irritation by roughly kicking the mystical bird and telling the phoenix to go die in a shit hole. Fawkes squawks indignantly at the kick, flapping his wings up into the air so the two are eye to eye before he essentially tells the entity there's no need for the phoenix to do that since Death's technically already done it for him. And then the fiery bird vanishes in a burst of fire, which was a pity because Death was just about to grab the feathery fiend and wring it by its scrawny neck, Life's protection be damned.

"I hope Colonel Sanders hunts you down!" He shouts at the empty space before gritting his teeth and glancing contemplatively down at Harry's comatose body with it's surrounding entourage of weeping wizards.

It would take a while for Harry Potter's body to fully heal from the strain of housing an entity of death and even longer for the Phoenix tears to be pushed out of the body's system, enough at least to allow his being to enter back into the body without too much strife. Death was a little bummed at that, how easily he has been thwarted. It seems living was much harder than it looks. He only made it to twelve years before he technically died, even Chaos and Magic managed longer than that, at least long enough to lose their human virginity.

Embarrassing.

So Death wallows in self-pity, if only for a moment before deciding to get over himself and take the opportunity for what it was. Another vacation... From his vacation... Again.

Being Harry Potter was hard work okay?

Plus, it would be admittedly quite nice to travel around in his usual constructed body. So much less limiting than an actual meatsuit, not to mention adaptable. He stretches his back, his neck, his arms, gleeful at the absence of pressure that he had been forced to grow used to when he played mortal. It was akin to taking off a bra, but for his whole body.

He sighs happily at the freedom, and then alters his appearance to his fancy. Nothing too drastic, just making himself older, taller. His hair, after much contemplation, is longer, mimicking a certain Malfoy's glorious hairstyle because why the fuck not? Death is immensely fond of his current eye colour so that's obviously staying for a while. And finally, he's all set to wander again. Maybe he'll even pop up over to see how his fellow entities are doing.

He nods to himself, actually that doesn't seem like such a terrible idea. Certainly better than the last few he's made at the very least. He'll regroup with his brothers and sisters, check to see if his paperwork hasn't done the impossible and killed them all, and maybe ask for some nice recommendations for universes to visit.

With a flimsy plan in place, Death takes one last lingering look at the frankly depressing scene around him before stepping into the nearest shadow and letting the darkness swallow him up.


"Brother!" Came an exuberant cry, Death looked up from where he stood to see he is back in his realm again. His office to be exact. His office with.. way less paperwork than he has seen in a very long time.

Oh my god, maybe he should just stay on vacation forever.

"Don't you dare," Life hisses right into his ear, causing the entity to jump in surprise. "I totally know what you were thinking just now, and once this holiday of yours is officially over we are going to have a good and long talk about the concept of delagating some of that simply horrendous workload of yours to your little minions of yours."

"But," Death protests, "My reapers aren't exactly capable-"

A rather tired looking Knowledge walks up to him, "I've been teaching some of your more competent reapers and motivated gods of yours to handle some of your documents. As fascinating as it was in the beginning, I am… considerably unused to being forced to read such repetitive information." She massages her forehead, her inky features are faded from overwork, "I have all the knowledge at my hand but for the life of me I do not know how one could sit here and do such dull, mindless tasks for as long as you have. It is baffling how banal it all is."

"Don't you mean- for the death of you?" Chaos says with a confident smirk as he comes into the room with a small pile of papers. Papers that go flying everywhere once he sees Death. "Brother!" He yells gleefully, rushing up to hug a now sour faced Death staring disapprovingly at the fallen paperwork. "So you've finally kicked the bucket eh? A little soon isn't it?"

"I haven't technically died." Death defended at the pitying expressions on his fellow entities' faces. Honestly the lack of faith of them. "I'm currently hospitalised because someone's favourite birds screwed me over." He glares at his counterpart who is whistling at some documents she was holding, reading them with a renewed vigour that was fooling nobody.

"I thought it was your insane diary that did the deed. You know, the guy you wanted to mark your book if you know what I mean?" Chaos wiggled his eyebrows salaciously up at Death who he was still clinging on to. Not one entity looked impressed.

"Too soon man." Life shook her head beside them.

"Also that was absolutely horrible." Death deadpanned because now that he was back at full power, he could say with absolute certainty that he's definitely moved on from it already. It still hurt, the betrayal, the humiliation, the seething black anger- but he's Death now, and suddenly the whole conflict is less… significant. Humans can cling to their grievances like children with their favourite teddy bears, and Death was sure that if he had stayed as Harry Potter he too would've held onto his resentment against Tom Riddle for what he has done to him, twisting it to make it worse than it had ever actually been like most bad memories. But once he had shed his mortal skin, Death can feel the emotions he held, so bright and vivid, slip through his hands like water, leaving the pale shade of feeling he had always had.

It was enough to make him want to go back to playing human, pain or no pain.

Of course that doesn't mean he still isn't a little pissed at the soul.

Chaos, unaware of his favourite brother's thoughts just snorted and rolled his eyes petulantly, "It's not my fault you just showed up with no warning! And besides…" The entity looked sheepish and petulant, "…all the good puns were taken in that letter."

Knowledge looks at the chaotic entity derisively, "There were plenty of decent puns and plays on words you could have used in reference to this context," She huffs, "Do not go blaming other people for their higher comprehension of the english language."

"I can if they are literally the epitome of knowledge!" Chaos hisses, "And don't say other people, I know it was you who helped out the others make the punny."

"Make the… punny." Death repeated. "It seems since I have left dear brother, your sense of humour has fled as well." Chaos pouts.

"Aw, Death, baby, don't be like that to your favourite, sexiest lil bro."

"Aw, Chaos, honey," Death mimics, "If you think you're the sexiest one out of all of us clearly it isn't just your humour that's left the realm."

Chaos hugged the entity of death tighter and shivered dramatically, "Oh, darling I do love when you get sassy with me," he groans in half-faked pleasure.

"Are-are we interrupting something?" Time asks awkwardly at the doorway, fiddling with a pocket watch while his serene counterpart just smiles behind him.

It's funny how obvious everyone's counterpart is so obviously opposite to the other in some way or form. Death is awkward and sarcastically pessimistic while Life is a bubbly extroverted optimist. Chaos and Order were pretty self-explanatory. Knowledge was clinical and hard to please in the same way Love was emotional and easily attached. The other two pairs were a little harder to discern straight away but once you looked a little closer it was obvious enough. For one, Magic had an attention span smaller than the number of teens currently happy in high school, while Fate had enough patience and determination to continue writing Bella Swan's fate. Though to be fair it did get kind of weird in the end, but hey, in another universe that story became a fucking franchise so Death really shouldn't talk. And Space, well he has always been as calm and unflappable as much as Time is twitchy and anxious.

Death smiles at their arrival, "None at all brothers, we are merely catching up before I leave again."

Chaos lifted his head up from where he had been rather inappropriately been nuzzling against the other's chest with a shocked, slightly hurt expression. "You're leaving so soon?" He asks a little plaintively.

The monochrome man looked at Chaos apologetically, "Apologies but knowing Fate's works, my current mortal's story is probably going to get quite busy after all this is over, I wish to take the opportunity to check out a few new universes personally."

Life snorts, "Come on Chaos, this will be good for Death. You even said yourself that he needs to learn to get some strange in his life." The chaotic man scowls and finally unlatches from his favourite brother to argue with Life.

Meanwhile Death decides to talk to Knowledge and his two eldest brothers. "So, not that I'm ungrateful that you all showed up, but where are the others?"

"Fate's taken up most of your workload currently, with Order helping her. One is clearly having more fun than the other," Knowledge states because she knows everything, "Love has… well she's trying to manipulate your love life. Apparently she isn't happy how quickly the whole Percy thing had ended and is re-evaluating the prospects." Death shifts guiltily at that, he knew Love wouldn't have liked him rejecting the whole squishy cute dating scene, he senses an embarrassing love potion in Harry Potter's future courtesy of her wrath and need to satisfy cheesy love tropes. "They all send their regards and apologies by the way."

Death waves it off, "It is fine, though I'm more than a little worried about what Love's up to than anything." He cocks his head curiously at Space and Time, "And honestly, I'm a little surprised you two showed up at all, usually you two can be as busy as me sometimes." That or Time's too immersed playing with clocks and being a recluse while Space is off galavanting around and-or getting high off the universe.

Well Space insistently calls it 'absorbing the wonders and mysteries of the world around him' but everyone else likes to call it 'getting stoned as fuck'.

Time smiles sheepishly and even Space looks a little chagrined at the reminder of being the most constant absentees in the group. "Yes, well," Time dithered, "we came to give you a little gift! So, uh, it would've been terrible of us not to have come to give it to you."

"Also you don't trust the others to take credit of your gift." Death deadpanned with a faint smile.

Space smiled back amusedly, "Precisely." Death laughed softly at the offended expressions on the other entities faces.

"That is so not true." Life protested while Chaos bemoaned how old age has made his older brothers cruel and bitter. Even Knowledge feigns outrage as she huffs, "As if I would partake in simple-minded gift giving." She retorts.

"Yeah, it's not as if you completely suck at it or anything." The chaotic entity murmurs under his breath. Clearly still hung up on the last time they all tried to exchange gifts like the humans on Christmas. Death got slippers from her. Fuzzy blue ones with purple polkadots. It's some sort of reference to a universe or movie or.. something. Death wasn't really that impressed by it but whatever, it was not as bad as what Chaos got.

"There are too many variables to take account of," she complains darkly, "Is it better to go symbolic and assume the subject would understand? Pick something personal to their interests but not personal enough that it would embarrass them if opened in front of friends and or family? Something homemade or something expensive to show the extent of your care for them? And what if you do not feel attached to the subject? The notion that I have to spend time and effort on someone who I don't even make any effort to spend time with in the first place feels rather illogical!"

There's an awkward silence among the entities after that. Mainly because they were all thinking the same thing.

Was the last bit about me?

Space coughed for a lack of anything better to do as a response. "Well," He says with his eyes averted from Knowledge, obviously remembering his own rather lacking present during the last gift exchange clearly as well, "Hopefully you will, uh, find this much less… less?"

From a pocket of space, Space reaches in and pulls out-

"Is- is that an apple watch?" Life asks dubiously. "Because those are kind of lame, like, just use your fucking phone people. Life is not that hard."

"It's actually a trans-dimensional planner watch." Time jumps in before Space could object to the criticism. "We created it just for this moment in mind so Death can take the opportunity to travel to certain points in certain universes for a specific time in order to get a full and hopefully enjoyably experience in his limited vacation."

Everyone ooh-ed impressed.

"Now that's a thoughtful gift." Knowledge acknowledged. "I'm almost jealous."

"Oh my god, is that why you two made me compile those lists?" Chaos suddenly gasps, "Holy fuck I just thought you two were finally losing it, asking me to put down fun universes to go to."

"Wha- they asked you?!" Life shouted in outrage. "They never asked me!" She turns to them. "You never asked me!"

Death narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Wait.. you knew I was going to get stabbed by a teenage diary?"

"Well, technically we didn't know per say.." Time fiddled with his glasses. "We just sort of.. assumed."

Now Death, just like his counterpart, gave them a look of both outrage and betrayal. "You assumed I was going to get stabbed by a teenage diary?"

"If it helps, Fate knew." Knowledge tells him helpfully, while less helpfully Chaos adds with exaggerated mysterious flair, "She alwaysssss knooOowsss."

Space smiled wanly, looking like he is amused at his siblings antics but giving off that sort of vibe that implied they were all two steps away from being sealed in a suffocatingly tiny bubble of anti-space. Chaos, who has experienced a total of nine Space-related punishments in his existence and has been thusly scarred from them makes a rather unmanly sound and hides behind Knowledge in an equally manly way. Even Knowledge stepped back, while never having experienced it herself, it turns out knowing pretty much everything is enough for her to never want to poke that metaphorical bear.

Life cleared her throat, "So, it's a very lovely little item eh? I'm like, super impressed brother." She says in her non too subtle attempt at a subject change. Luckily it worked and Space's smile shifted into something happier and proud. The entity squeezes his counterpart's shoulder fondly, "Thank you sister for your kind compliments," he says graciously, "Of course they would be no gift in the first place without Time here to help me construct my designs."

Time blushed and looked at his counterpart like he hung the stars and moon. Which, well, he sort of did. "O-oh, thanks.. brother."

Space smiled a little wider, his hand pointedly to leaving his counterpart's shoulder. "No, thank you.. brother."

"Ugh, just kiss already." Chaos mutters under his breath sourly. "It's not like we're actually related biologically or anything like the lower class flesh people anyway, I mean, come on, it's been ages." Knowledges jabs him in the stomach with her elbow pointedly as Space and Time immediately seperate at his words.

"Brother Chaos," Space tells him with a stern look, "Just because you lust for another fellow entity that I at least have the courtesy not to name here, that does not mean I harbour the same feelings for my counterpart. Time is just a brother to me."

Chaos looks down, expression hidden.

"Y-yeah," Time agreed, though his shoulders were a little slumped, "J-just a brother."

There's another pause. This has been a great start to Death's second vacation in a vacation he must say.

Because Death is a mature, infinitely old entity who has recently learned the proper social responses befitting a twelve year old child, he walks up into the area between Space and Time, pecks them on the cheek before snatching the watch and let his shadows wrap it around his wrist. "Well, this has been lovely. Thank you for the wonderful gift and the reminder why we almost never have reunions without at least three of our own personal minions."

Death personally likes to bring the original Lucifer and Micheal, partly because they've mellowed out a lot over the centuries but mainly because Death likes to continuously show them how petty their little fight was in comparison. His third usually is either a random individual who had captured his interest at the time or one of the deities who have been grossly, grossly misinformed about what happens up there.

It's just so funny when they realise how wrong they were.

Death backs away from the pair to kiss the cheeks of the other entities present, though Chaos- who had already jumped back from his very temporary silence- had insisted on a very long lip lock. The entity of demise just rolled his eyes and gave his chaotic little brother a soft press of the lips against his before he tapped the screen of his watch and disappeared.

Chaos sighed, half-annoyed before looking interestedly at Space and Time. "So where is he off to first then?" He asks the pair. "The wild west? Earth 616? Westeros? I don't think he'll handle Westeros, he hates learning too many names of people with short lifespans."

The pair smiled, "Well," Space says mysteriously, "Only time will tell."

"….I fucking hate you."


SUPERNATURAL (A very supernatural Christmas)


Death blinks blearily at his new surroundings, apparently all it takes was a few years in mortal body to get him to forget how to smoothly hop across dimensions and universes. It's absolutely horrible. He wants a drink. And a deep tissue massage while he's at it.

It's nighttime, which doesn't exactly help his blurry vision but from what he can tell he's in some sort of suburban area. The upper-middle class sort. And if the obnoxiously festive decorations around are anything to go by it seems he's made it just in time for this world's Christmas. Oh god, he would absolutely murder for some eggnog right now. Such a delightful drink, to swallow whole unborn embryos as they drown in alcohol is a great bliss to the entity. Death cannot help but smile, giddy at the thought of such an indulgence.

He twirls around slowly, surveying the area like he has all the time in the world before he locks on to an innocuously bland house with some rather nice if a little gaudily large christmasy decorations on the front yard. It catches his interest immediately as he recognises the sort of presence that's coming from in that building. Deities. Minor gods at best but still, gods none the less.

Curiously Death walks up to the front door, careful to avoid the whimsical snowman and other festive assortments as he crosses the yard. There's even one of those wreaths hanging on the door. Upon closer inspection Death notes approvingly that the wreath is handmade, not any of that plastic shit people had taken to using, it even smells nice. Meadowsweet probably. Someone has a sense of humour.

He presses the doorbell. As expected a rather stereotypically cheerful ring echoes the house. Death waits a few moments patiently before pressing the doorbell a second time, more firmly this time, like somehow this was going to get whoever was in the house to come faster. The moment he pulls back his clawed hand, ready to press for a third and incredibly vicious time, the door opens revealing two rather kindly looking pagan gods.

Seriously, they looked like they could have been the poster couple for Christmas in the 1950s. The man was even holding a smoking pipe.

Death gave the shocked pair what he hoped was a very polite and friendly smile. Though by the way the colour was being drained from their rosy cheeks, he was failing rather spectacularly. "Good evening." He tries, because he has spent twelve years as a mortal child and he refuses to believe his ability to socialise has not improved one bit. "Is this a good time?"

"O-oh my!" The woman gasps, "Oh fudge on a popsicle could it be?"

"Well this is certainly a christmas full of surprises eh darling?" The man jokes weakly, his eyes not leaving Death's form.

"Oh my," The woman repeats breathlessly, apparently not hearing her husband. She's too busy staring wide-eyed at the incarnation of death in front of her.

The monochrome man waits on serenely for a moment, green irises glowing amusedly as he watches as the knowledge of exactly who was on their doorstep slowly sinks in to the pagan gods' minds. Sometimes you don't have to have a grand entrance to take the stage after all, and it's certainly been a while since he's felt completely empowered by a situation.

"C-care for some peanut brittle sir?" The man stutters out sudden and stiffer than a frozen corpse.

That seemed to strike his wife out of her stunned coma as she practically jumped at her husband's attempt at manners. "Oh dearie me, you must be, uh, as cold as you can get just standing out there sir!" She says, once again the epitome of what an old-fashioned american housewife would be as she stepped a little behind the doorway with a little ushering hand gesture. "Please, come in, come in."

The minor gods shudder in a mix of fear and awe and admittedly a little bit of desire as Death smiles before walking past them into their home. "You are most kind young ones." He thanks gracefully, purposely ignoring how their eyes glaze over for a moment as they bask in such simple praise from such a powerful being. The man even gave a little whimper as a tendril of shadow inadvertently brushed him, for to such a small god, the sheer touch of power in that one wisp of shadow probably felt likepro enough for the man to burn down cities.

The woman looked both curious and envious of her partner's reaction but quickly focused back onto her very important guest like a good host. "Do you want me to hang your uh, robe?" She asks, obviously unsure of herself and clinging desperately onto the rules that come with being a good hostess.

Death shakes his head, "Thank you for the offer but it is not needed." He rolls back his shoulders and like waves, the shadowy darkness coating him ripple down his body until they settle into the form of a fetchingly tailored suit that clung very attractively to his body. The couple stared admirably at his form. As they should. Death knows he's hotter than hellfire when he wants to be. "As you can see."

"Oh I see alright." The woman murmured appreciatively, forcing her husband to pointedly jab her in the side to bring her back to the reality at hand. "I mean, let me show you to the kitchen!"

Death nodded, "That would be lovely, if your food tastes as good as it smells right now, then I think we shall be in for having quite a wonderful time."

The couple gave strained, nervous laughter. "I told you we should have set out the good China." Death heard whispered furiously behind his back. "But no woman, you said only for 'special occasions.'"

"Well how was I supposed to know Death would show up for Christmas?!" The woman hissed back, "It wasn't like he sent us a letter or one of those electronic mails!"

"Electro- honey, he's Death!" The man flings his arms up exasperatedly and Death has to cover his smile with a hand. Honestly, humans may be refreshing but he's forgotten how cute these minor gods could be to play with as well. "We're astronomically lucky he actually appeared at all!"

Following his sense of smile, Death opens the door to the homely dining room to see a nice table with candles, a sweet-smelling pie- and two rather strapping young men tied up in chairs beside the spread. Death cocked his head at the two men who immediately stopped struggling from their bindings to stare at the newcomer.

"Who the fudge are you?" The shorter one asks incredulously.

The monochrome man stares back at him surprised. Not because of their presence though, no, Death had noticed they had been there since the beginning. "Can you not say fuck like a normal person?" Death asks back, curious, "Are you one of those, ah, man-children?"

The taller of the two snorted as the shorter just glares at him for the question. Death disregards them, choosing instead to survey the table and it's contents, which, upon closer inspection, was filled more with tools that belong in a garage than any real food unfortunately. He picks up a bowl with some blood in it to look closer, ignoring whatever the two mortals are saying at the moment. He wrinkles his nose. "Is- is that a fingernail?" Inverted eyes narrow down to the two men stuck in their seats, "Is this one of your fingernails?"

Gross.

"Listen man," The tall one says, not at all answering his very important question, "I don't know how you got here but you need to go, right now."

"Yeah," Short One pipes up, "The couple here are nutters, seriously you need to leave." He struggles with his bindings for a moment before looking back at Death with a crooked, dark-humored smile, "And ah, cutting us free would be nice too. You know, if it ain't too much to ask."

"Now, now," The lady of the house chides darkly as she enters with two cups of hot cocoa. "Don't you go badmouthing us to our special guest dearies, or we'll have to sew those pretty lips shut permanently won't we?" She says with a sweet smile before turning to Death, "Cocoa?" She offers demurely.

"Madge makes the best cocoa." Her husband boasts as he comes into the room with a platter of sliced raw meat, artfully done to look like flowers. The woman, apparently Madge, giggles and preens under the praise.

"Oh Edward," She says, then loudly whispers to Death, "That man, a flatterer he is."

Death takes the hot cocoa politely, "It seems you got a good one then." He replies with a thin smile, earning himself a rosy cheeked pagan goddess looking both awed and delighted at his response. Edward seemed right chuffed as well. Death sips the cocoa, rich and boiling hot, just as he prefers. "Good cocoa, is there fresh blood in this?"

Tall One looks horrified at him while Short One tells the trio how 'sick' they all were.

"So what, is this guy your second husband or what lady?" Short One asks rudely, "Because, gotta say, he's kind of way out of your league."

Madge turns a rather furious red at the insult, either on behalf of Death or not, but Death just chuckles. The short one has moxy. He's probably what Draco would have ended up like if Draco was American. And lower middle-class. Death looks at their rather shabby clothes. Super low-middle class then.

"I'm definitely above their league if that's what your talking about." The entity smirks as he sips more of the frankly bloody delicious hot chocolate. Heh, bloody. "Anyway, what's with these two guys here? You've already got three sacrifices, five seems a bit greedy if you don't mind me saying."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Short One tacks on.

Death looks down at the pair, "Okay, it was cute the first time you spoke up kiddo, but I really can't vouch for you guys if you keep this up."

"Bite me Edward Scissorhands."

"Dean." Tall One whispers furiously, "What are you doing?! He's helping.. I think."

At the same time, the pagan gods were practically spitting in their outrage at the insult and fear as they awaited the response. "How dare-"

"-the disrespect in you whippersnappers-"

"-in my day-"

"-don't even deserve the dignity of being properly sacrificed-"

"-just gut you where you stand-"

Death looks self-consciously at his long taloned hands before willing them to a more human appropriate standards with a sigh. Everyone was a critic. "I quite like that movie," he comments idly, effectively silencing the pagans, "though I do prefer a happier ending if given the option."

Honestly, he's feeling incredibly uncomfortable in this whole situation and wishes desperately that he had just stolen some mortal shmuck's eggnog and check out Disneyland or something instead of the nearest friendly neighborhood gods. However since he's no longer playing mortal himself, there was no way Death was going to show any such weakness to lesser deities he barely knows, and instead takes on an expression of stone-faced boredom as looks at the occupants of the house. "So, are we just going to keep standing around or-?"

The couple jumped into action.

"Of course, of course sir, give me a moment," Edward the pagan god promised hurriedly before dashing out of the room like the hounds of hell were at his heels. Madge the other pagan god- and really, these names, ugh- just looked flustered and offered Death the platter of sliced meat.

"Raw heart?" She offers eagerly.

"That will be lovely, thank you." Death accepts the bloody appetiser, delicately picking a piece with his fingertips and letting his inky black tongue wrap around the heart, pulling it into down his throat like a monster dragging it's prey into an abyss. Death can practically feel the stares boring into him. "Not bad," he comments idly, "It's been a while since I've had properly prepared heart. Is that vinegar?"

"Tears of the owner mixed with lime and paprika." Madge corrects with a wide smile. Death tips an imaginary hat to her culinary skills as he reaches for another slice. Maybe he did make the right decision, awkwardness aside. Merry Christmas indeed.

Just as he's about to take a third mouthful of the chewy taboo goodness, Edward comes into the room with a rather ornately carved chair. There was streaks of actual gold that gleamed beautifully even under the artificial lights. "Here we go, please sit sir." The pagan god gestured respectfully as he placed, what could only be described loosely as a throne, across the table from the two gaping prisoners.

"What are you?" Tall One asks full of reluctant awe and genuine wonder. Death looks at the bound man curiously, using 'what' instead of 'who' was an interesting choice of words indeed, it meant these humans weren't just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They knew about the less worldly, probably was one of those self-sacrificing protector types that fought against the monsters.

He sits on the throne graceful and regal with a serene smile that hides the fact the gilded chair was uncomfortable as absolute fuck. Appearances were everything after all, and despite the reprieve from his duties Death has found he has missed being able to own the room simply by being there. "I..." He pauses dramatically, "am Death."

"Death." Tall One repeats.

"Like death Death?" The Shorter and clearly less intelligent one asks.

Death nods regally and sips his hot chocolate. "The one and only," he pauses for a moment before amending, "Well, that's not true, my son usually takes up my mantle around these parts."

"You have a son sire?" The goddess of the house asks weakly after the room had fallen into a deep and unrelenting silence, apparently even the more supernaturally inclined in this household did not know what to do with such information. "He must be, uh, lovely."

Death brightened up considerably at the topic of his brethren, "Oh he very much is," he agrees enthusiastically, now looking more like a proud father than regal overlord, "He's been doing so well managing this corner of universes I've assigned to him, I'm thinking of giving him some more, show him that I believe in his skill and whatnot." The entity then frowns and sighs, sipping his drink pensively, "However I fear that I may be giving my son far too much to handle, just a couple of universes and their respective alternates is already a lot of work and from what I've been hearing in the reports, it is time for the apocalypse to arrive here soon."

Edward and Madge pale at the casual confirmation the end of the world is coming. The two humans, while still looking confused and disbelieving, look just as uneasy.

"You're fucking pulling our legs." Short One accuses. Death shakes his head somberly.

"I am afraid not Short One-" a sound of indignation comes from Short One, "- I can feel the earth readying itself for the oncoming carnage, the wheels are already turning and the Apocalypse will not be avoided." He looks at the two humans thoughtfully. Now that he looks at them a bit closer he can sense the pair are special. And not exactly lucky sorts either what with the amount of death surrounding them. Past, present and future. Clearly there are worse fates out there than Harry Potter's. "...Though it could be stopped."

"Wait. What do you mean it can be sto-"

Death turns his back to the mortals, dismissing them in favour of the two pagan gods. The two pagan gods who looked ready to be rather severely ill as they clutched their hands tightly together. "I see you two aren't taking the news well either."

They shook their heads, looking extremely worried about their situation. Death didn't blame them. He highly doubts the godly couple was significant enough to warrant any form of protection or even notice from the higher ups. The Apocalypse was pretty much the minor god equivalent of the Great Depression. They're going to be starving, dying and possibly reduced to fighting each other in the streets over the last few places they could hide away from the oncoming destruction.

The entity looks at them, and he kind of wishes they didn't look so much like sweet old grandparents because they had fed him and gave him cocoa and now he kind of feels obliged to not let them undergo the horrible experience that is the ending of the world. He sips his cocoa and massages his forehead with his free hand before the being of death decides on what he wants to do now. Fuck, this was a good cup of hot chocolate. Finishing it with a few large swallows, Death then points at the pair with the now empty mug.

"I'm going to give you my favour." He tells them, immediately brightening the pagan gods' expression, but before they could start falling over themselves with praises and thanks he finishes with, "But in return I want the two mortals." Death glances at them. The two don't seem like the brightest stars in the sky but certainly that whole telling him to 'get out before it was too late' thing was a very nice thing they tried to do. Useless and laughable. But very nice nonetheless. Also, he liked their faces. It would be a shame to kill people as pretty as them for something as juvenile as some pagan sacrifice on Christmas.

"Um, do we get a say in this?" Short one asks annoyed. Death hushes him much like an owner hushing their whining pup.

"If you do not mind us asking," Edward begins tentatively, "what does your favour imply milord?" Madge nods in support.

Death faintly smiles. He notices there was no protest in losing the humans as compensation. Though to be fair, Death is fairly sure a lot of individuals would give up more than a few mouthy meal tickets in order to gain a boon from Death himself. "It's a generous offer." He tells them, "Four centuries guaranteed immunity from all forms of death, no need to feed, no need to try gather power just to scrape by. I might even be kind enough to give you a little power boost to fight off any undesirables once you carve out your territory."

"Holy shit." Short One whispers, because apparently this one's mouth just cannot be stopped, "Can we get that deal too?"

"Shut up Dean, oh my god." Tall One groans.

"I'm just saying-"

"We accept." The couple say simultaneously.

Death's smile widens. "Fantastic."

Then he's suddenly right in front of them, arm raised and both their throats already effectively slashed.

"HOLY SHIT!" Short One, Dean, shouts while the other one is also cursing up a storm.

"Oh do be quiet, they're not going to die." Death tells them calmly as he slices his own wrists with careful concentration whilst the two gods lay on the floor, writhing and gasping wetly in agony as they slowly bleed out at his feet. "Now drink my blood, willing given, and rise stronger then ever." He orders as oily black sludge bubbles up from his wrist and sloshes down onto the floor. In the light there's a delicate silvery sheen to it, but the appearance of his blood is still off-putting enough for the pagan gods to hesitate before licking the liquid off the floor desperately.

"And I thought sealing a deal with a kiss was bad." Tall One comments with no small amount of disgust at the sight.

"A mere demon's deal would not be able to accomplish what just a lick of my blood could do mortal." Death boasts smugly, "It is not as favoured as Life's blood of course but it does have it's perks."

Madge gasps, her hair has gone visibly darker and her skin had lost her rosy vitality in exchange for something smoother and paler. She still looks old, but younger than before. The slash on her neck is still bleeding, but sluggishly now. "Oh my," she breathes.

"I feel… great." Her husband laughs disbelievingly, he is in a similar state of changed appearance. "No, better than great, I feel powerful again!"

The two look up at the entity, awe and respect and gratefulness colouring their eyes as their thanks and praises spill from their mouths. Death takes it all with awkward grace, he's never been great with receiving praise after all. Like, language was not made to respond to that sort of positivity. He raises his hand, silencing the newly improved gods.

"I am glad you feel so.. strengthened." He tells them, "I suggest that you both should probably pack up and leave to somewhere less… suburban. You may be invulnerable to death but I didn't grant you enhanced healing or anything." Then quickly he adds, "And if you have the chance, try and save as many people as you can."

The gods blinked, clearly confused. "But," the woman begins tentatively, "you're Death."

"And I have to oversee every single death, yes, it's exhausting." Well, more like this world is under his Horseman's reign, not his, and he would like to minimise as much work as he can for his son. Apocalypses were a lot of work after all. The amount of paperwork and documentation put into one of these events is probably the absolute worst thing anyone could go through during an apocalypse. Just the worst thing. Like, he could not think of one single thing worse that could happen. "It's not like I don't already have immeasurable power compared to any of you sorts, and not to be rude, but I'm fairly sure your Apocalypse is pretty damn boring compared to most others."

"Oh, well, gee." Short One snarks, "So sorry the end of our world is so goddamn boring for you."

"Dean!" Tall One hisses.

"Sam!" Short One, Dean, Death's going to start needing to remember their names, mimics back. "He's mocking us!"

"He's recruiting help for the worst possible situation! How is that mocking us?"

"I-I don't know, it just feels mocking. I mean..." Dean whispers like he wasn't in the presence of those with supernatural hearing. Or normal hearing. Or even slightly worse than normal hearing. "He kind of seems like a dick."

Tall One, aka Sam, started trying to kick Dean repeatedly despite them being tied back to back. Death and the deities just watched the whole thing for at least thirty seconds.

"Are, are you sure you want them?" Madge asks. Death sighs.

"Well, at least they're still pretty."


HOGWARTS


"I just don't understand." Madam Pomphrey says frustratedly, "The boy should be, for all intents and purposes dead- his lungs are barely moving, his heart beat is erratic, sometimes it stops altogether even, and I'm fairly sure there is little to no brain activity going on in there."

Dumbledore's face is unreadable but there's no doubt he is as confused as the mediwitch in front of him. "But he's not dead?" He asks, clutching onto the one part of the sentence that brings hope.

The woman's mouth thins, more perturbed than happy at the news, "His heart is technically beating Albus, but nothing else is. It doesn't make any sen-"

"Well that's wonderful news!" Dumbledore says relieved, "Harry does have an odd way of recovering but I'm sure the boy will bounce back eventually then."

"Albus no, that's not how the human body works." Pomphrey groans exasperated. The headmaster may be one of the most powerful wizards alive but like most wizards that don't train in the medical fields, the man knows near nothing about even basic anatomy. Personally the woman blames their failing education system because this stuff was important.

"This is marvellous, simply marvellous!" Dumbledore continues, and if he wasn't so genuinely relieved and happy, Pomphrey would have bashed his lemon drop dish onto his head. Of course she shouldn't be too hasty, the day was still early after all. "I SIMPLY MUST INFORM EVERYONE OF THIS WONDROUS NEWS."

"ALBUS. NO."

Reaper number DUMBASS- because Mistress Knowledge has assigned him as thus after finding out what he has done- makes a soft breathy sound, something akin to a sigh really as his hand gently squeezes Harry Potter's heart to mimic the act of it beating. It's been weeks of tirelessly just sitting by the bedside, squeeze, release, squeeze. Sometimes it zones out, the sheer mundane repetitive boredom making even the task consume his every thought even while it's hand goes slack. Only when the magic spell the nurse woman had cast beeps frantically does it jolt back to reality and try not to frantically overcompensate by accidentally exploding the soulless child's heart. It's already made the mistake of killing the boy once, it's certainly not going to do so a second time.


SOMEWHERE SUPERNATURAL


Death sips his drink. It's Autumn where ever he is now and pumpkin spice has become quite a popular fad in many earths. Death sips his drink thoughtfully again before standing up and going over to the nearest homeless person and passing it to him.

"It's pumpkin spice." He warns the hobo seriously, but the dirty man just smiles gratefully and takes the drink while Death tries to hide his pitying disgust. At least someone enjoys the taste.

"Father." A deep but quiet voice says behind him. Death turns around, surprised at first, but now with a pleased smile.

"Son," he greets, "How kind of you to drop by to see me."

Death the Horseman smiles back, they had the same slightly crooked tilt to their smiles, and hands him a cup of something hot. "Though you might enjoy this."

He doesn't even hesitate to take a mouthful of the concoction, considering that the Horseman had been made from brought into this world with a slice of Death's own eternal flesh, it is unsurprising that they both share many traits. Their sense of taste and gluttony is one of them.

Death let's the dreadfully sweet hot chocolate concoction run down his throat, enjoying the faint sizzle that would have burned his Harry Potter body to the point that the inside of his throat would've matched the outside. "Delightful," he compliments admiringly, "It tastes like melted gingerbread."

"It's a white chocolate ginger snap latte, extra chocolate, extra hot." The Grim Reaper tells him as he takes a long swig of his own. "I heard from my Reapers that you've met the Winchesters."

"I have." Death agrees, "Cute kids. I see Fate and Life have not been very kind to them."

"That is the life of protagonists isn't though?" His son muses, the Horseman looks young, a lanky goth teenager in a suit instead of one of his usually preferred dapper gentleman forms. "Life's always hard and never fair, and Death will always visit more than once." The Grim Reaper looks almost shyly to his primary creator, his father, "Well, that's what you used to tell me."

"You're first real protagonists," Death sniffled a little, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He's only half joking, because Death junior was his little boy and protagonists were hard work to deal with if you're not careful (Hercules punched him in the face when he tried to wrangle the man into the afterlife, and he may be more powerful than any god could dream of but that had really fucking hurt) and it's, it's just a big deal okay? It just is. "You're... really growing up."

The Horseman smirked, it's touch to dark to be amused and a little too bitter around the edges to be humorous, "I didn't think we were capable of growing up."

"Growing up isn't something ruled by a lifetime," Death says carefully, he steps closer to his son and squeezes his shoulder sympathetically. He remembers a period of time where he had felt resentment in who he was, in how easy his fellow entities had it compared to him. It was.. it was a dangerous time, and not one he wishes to see in his heir. "It's how experiences molds us and and it's how we learn what we are here for."

"I already know what I'm here for." His son points out, his irritation expressed by the sharp twist of his mouth. "I'm here to pick up what you cannot."

"You are here to lead." Death corrects vaguely annoyed at the attitude. A small part of him promises to try spend more time with his favored Horseman if this is truly the belief he has harboured in terms of his existence. "You are here because there is a system in this vast multiverse upon multiverse and not even I could stay on top on. You are here to reign in the other Horsemen, you are here to make sure every soul has paid its dues and that none shall lose their places." Death's hand on the younger entity's shoulder slips down to clasp the Horseman's own hand. "You are here because I needed help, and most of all, you are here because I wanted a child to call my own." He squeezes the other's hand tightly, "And I am so proud that I got you."

"F-father." Death junior chokes out moved. If he could cry, he probably would.

"Well," Death coughs and shifts uncomfortably because he has no idea what to do now when figurative tears become involved. "Hopefully those Winchesters won't be too much to handle, I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

The Horseman, pulling himself together easily just smiles fondly at his maker and raises his drink. "Hear hear."


HOGWARTS


Severus watches the still body like he has been for days. Weeks. He feels hollowed out and worn down as attempt after attempt made to awaken the boy from this stasis he has put himself in works to no avail. There's only so much even the top mediwitches and wizards in Britain can do, let alone a potions master such as he. Dumbledore and even Lucius Malfoy have sought out connections around the globe to ask for help- a shaman from the desert, a herbalist from the East, the best and brightest that American medimagic has to offer, are all heading to Hogwarts to diagnose this one child.

But Harry's not just one child. He's the child. He's the Boy Who Lived. He's Harry bloody Potter. He's... breaking Severus' heart every day he fails to awaken.

"Come on Harry," he whispers to the comatose child. His voice feels painful and cracked. "Come on you selfish child, don't you dare leave me now, not after twisting my heart so cruelly." The man wipes the slowly accumulating grime and dust gently off Harry's forehead with a cool damp towel, a task he had insisted he do for lack of anything else he was capable of helping. "I don't know what is worse," the professor murmurs sadly, "seeing the woman I'd love die because of me or watching her son slowly waste away while I do nothing but wish I told him I love him when I had the chance."

God, he is such a fucking mess.


MCU Avengers


The moment his feet touch the ground he knows this world was Trouble. Capital T. And that sort of recognition only came to worlds with one of two things; zombies, and other general undead species overrunning the planet like rats in the sewers, or-

A robot of red and gold came shooting through the sky, followed by what looked to be a massive mechanical flying alien whale. In their wake were many falling buildings.

-Superheroes. He's in a world with superheroes. He's probably still in America too, because of course he is.

"Ah fuck." Was all he very eloquently said. Another building fell somewhere close by. It's all the worse because he knew exactly which hero-verse he's ended up in. There's an infinite amount of universes out there but there's only a handful that had a flying red and gold robot as well as a giant green angry man.

"Uh, excuse me sir you need to evacuate underground." Death turned to see the concerned face of Captain America behind him. Damn the man was gorgeous. In a completely objective way. It was such a pity Life had claimed the man, Steve Rogers would look great as a frozen decoration in one of his office.

Actually, thinking about it now the uniform kind of clashes with the general color scheme of his realm. In that the uniform has color and everything in his realm as a general rule does not.

That suit of red and gold though...

"Sir? Are.. are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," Death huffs as he waves the man's concerns off irately, impatiently. He knows the watch is meant to let him experience various universes in a short time frame but his fellow entities knew of his distaste for goody-goody spandex clad heroes. He has a vague feeling this is payback for leaving them with his paperwork. "Now what are we dealing with here? Aliens yes? It's clearly not a robotic invasion so it's probably alien-based or magic."

Seemingly taken aback but the sheer attitude the entity is projecting, Big Blonde and Beautiful in Blue just kind of stares for a moment. "Um."

"You know what? It really doesn't matter, I've got a few hours to kill anyway." Death decides because what the hell. It's a vacation. He can literally stab Captain America right there and then and there would be no consequences. No… Consequences….

"Uh, why are you looking at me like that?"

"What's it to you handsome?" The entity purred, leaning seductively over a thrashed burning and overturned car. Because even he wants to have a crack at Captain America given the chance.

Of course, maybe this was not the time to do some serious flirting with an American icon. Captain America must think the same because he was trying not to look like he was shuffling backwards and away from the crazy person. The blonde winces suddenly and touches one of his ears, Death's gaze flickers to it and realized the man has some sort of earpiece communicator on.

"What's the hold up Cap?" Someone is asking through the device, Death immediately straightens himself at the voice and schools his face into something more serious. Inwardly he sighs, it seemed there's not going to be any red, white and blue in the future for him. At least in this universe. Which was a right pity, because, well, supersoldier strength.

"-civilian, think he hit his head-" Death heard him whisper into the earpiece in one desperate hiss. He's heard snakes less snakelike. Still, Death thinks he's heard quite enough from what he's gathered. It's a little insulting to see that his blatant attempt at flirting had been interpreted to head injury but the entity was magnanimous and willing to admit that he wasn't exactly the top of his game in that moment. And even then his best game was more instinctual attraction from the other party than any real work on his part. It's probably why every entity prefers humans who are so blissfully ignorant and arrogant of the big picture, these people make them work for what they want.

"My name is Death." Death offers kindly with a crooked smile as Captain America glances back at him. It's clearly the wrong thing to do because the man's expression gets even more perturbed. He's so distracted he doesn't even notice one of the grey soldiers running up to them with some sort of.. thingymabob.

Raising his hand at the offending creature, Death summons the thing's own shadow up from underneath it and encircles it like a very determined little tornado of darkness. It tightens around the now shrieking grey alien soldier, just enough to lift the being off the ground before Death makes a sharp clenching gesture and the screams immediately stop with a sickening final crunch. The now mangled, very dead creature lays messily strewn on the broken road, it's fellow comrades staring at their fallen soldier with something akin to absolute fear. And they weren't the only ones though.

"Holy- Jesus." Captain America says faintly. He looks a little sickened at the absolute twisted mess Death had made, and more than a little horrified. Death silently crosses out any chance of bedding Captain America today. Which was a damn shame because that man has the shoulder to waist ratio of a fucking corn chip triangle.

"No, I'm Death." He corrects blithely, "Jesus is currently trying his hand at engineering a river of wine for some ancient Chinese emperor or something." It's actually pretty cool, the trees are supposed to be golden and have fresh meat hanging off the branches, the king is obviously going to be overthrown in like a year but still. You could steal some river wine when no one's looking. You could also get executed for getting caught but it's not like it's not a pretty sweet gig overall. "Look Captain, why don't you go... help out with that giant portal, while I go clean up this place."

The alien creatures screech in fear as they realized the immensity in which they were screwed. The ones that had the ability to fly were already dashing back into the portal while others settled for running to anywhere but there. Death, because it's been a while since he's personally committed massacre and he's not going to let such a nice opportunity slip by his face, snarls at the retreating warriors, "Cowards!" He yells, "Come and be sacrificed like the cruxtiens you are!"

"Cruxtiens are the English equivalent of pigs." He tells Captain America, "But violent ones. With elephant sized tusks and blood that tastes like applesauce."

"Okay.." Captain America says before frantically whispering into his comm. Not wanting to interrupt a conversation, the entity busies himself by grabbing as many aliens as his shadows could- Chitauri, that's what they were, Chitauri- and cracking them open like freshly cooked crayfish. Some of the yummier looking souls he brought toward his person to personally consume.

Overall the Chitauri taste pretty darn good, there's the base of something earthy and copper like blood soaked mushrooms roasted over a fire. Which is great because the thing about mushrooms is they do well with balancing out flavor and enhancing the whole umami of it all, the spice of a rebellious personality is mellowed enough to truly savor the adrenaline from its time on the war zone, the creaminess of a milder soul tastes delicate and full of untapped potential, and the few drops of salty tears as they took their last breath perfectly seasoned the whole thing.

Freshly prepared hearts then souls straight from the battlefield? It's like a delightful culinary adventure.

He's onto his fifth Chitauri soul before Captain America deigns to look at him in the eyes, he looks incredibly disapproving about the whole 'eating your enemies' thing Death has going on.

"Alright... Death." The blonde starts off dubiously, "Is there anyway you can help with closing the portal with your, um, abilities?"

Death cranes his neck upwards and squints at the crack in the sky. It's not exactly his expertise- that sort of task definitely was a Space thing than anything else. "Is there some sort of power source behind it? I could probably destroy that easily."

There's a bit more talking in the comms before Steve turns back to the entity to confirm, "Black Widow's on the top of Stark Tower with the machine powering the portal. There's some sort of barrier protecting it."

Oh god, please say Black Widow is a code name and there isn't a giant spider on this team. Death is so sick of giant spiders right now. "And Stark Tower is-?"

Captain America grins, it's breathtaking. Death had to stagger back a little.

"The tall ugly one."


The Marvel Universe... IN SPACE~


Death throws his head back and hisses at the feel of his body stretching to accommodate the large girth of the male before him. Thanos grunts as he forces himself to stay unmoving on his throne as the entity had ordered him to be. Death gives the purple skinned conqueror a sly, mocking smile. Jagged and sharp like the finest blade. "You've been rather busy since I'd last saw you." He hisses as he lowers himself a little lower onto the other. "Such a violent, terrible man."

"All for you," Thanos groans, his hands clenching hard around the armrests of his chair. He's been told not to move, not to touch, its torture for the mad titan but he wants to prove himself to the entity, prove his title, his worth. "It's always, un, for you."

"Well, can't say I'm not flattered," Death admits breathily, his legs are spread wide across thick thighs and his upper body is half plastered onto the much larger torso of the alien, dark shadows wrapped loosely around his body in a teasing manner as they just barely hid his nudity. The incarnate of death slowly, cruelly allows more of Thanos' length to enter inside him, almost halfway there, and god, Death's fucking Champion indeed. If he had a fixed form, Death's sure that he would have been legitimately ripped open by the sheer size of the thing.

"Please," The conqueror pleads in a manner Death is sure no other but he has ever heard. It's that clingy neediness and blind worship that both attracted the entity and drove him away, though right now he was far more inclined to feel the former.

Death smirks, a row of jagged black teeth under thin lips as he looks mockingly down at one of the most feared beings in this universe. There's just something about over-powered psychos that lights up his inner god-complex and sadism that he usually doesn't indulge in. "Beg." He commands, "Tell me what you want me to do to you, how much you've wanted this."

The entity can feel Thanos below him shift, shallow thrusting upwards into him despite his orders, unable to control himself. Death has to curl his sharp talon-like fingers into the nook of the other's neck to re-steady himself from the unexpected rush of pleasure from the stimulus. It's nothing like the vibrant firework of color he could feel as a mortal, something he thinks he shall always mourn when he finally has to bid farewell to playing Little Boy Potter, but it's still pretty great nonetheless. Still, he's not fond of being disobeyed in this headspace, so reluctantly he pushes himself up from Thanos' gigantic prick and in a demonstration of strength, adjusts himself so that the legs wrapped around the purple warrior effectively pin him to the throne. Completely immobile from the waist down.

Death tutted disappointedly, "Did I tell you to move Thanos?" He asks, to which Thanos, destroyer of worlds, shakes his head looking meeker than any kitten. "No, I didn't," Death answers for him, his eyes go completely, soul suckingly black, "I told you to fucking beg."

And beg he did.

"Death, my master, my everything," Thanos breathes sharply as a satisfied entity positions himself so the conqueror's cock is just barely brushing up against the monochrome man's entrance, "I want you to let me worship you, to prove I am your greatest follower. I've waited so long for you to come back to me. I've killed billions in hopes that you will answer my call, to notice me once more, only your attention is what I most desire."

Death blinks as he looks down at Thanos. That had been... unexpectedly sweet of him. It wasn't really the begging he was hoping for but it was certainly enough to effectively stroke his ego. As a reward Death leans in and kisses the being, it's hungry, violent, and much like many of the planets that had the misfortune to come across Thanos, the other had practically crumbled under such a sudden attack. "Such a sweet darling," Death murmurs into the kiss that the alien was frantically if a little clumsily trying to reciprocate, "you'll never betray me would you?" And okay so maybe he lied and was still a little miffed about the whole Riddle thing, sue him. The fucking diary stabbed him, he's allowed to be miffed.

"Never," The purple skinned being hissed as if the idea of doing so hurts his very soul thinking about it. The entity hums, pleased with the answer.

Letting one of hands travel downwards, Death guides his proclaimed champion's dick, hard and wet with arousal, to his entrance. With a confident, sultry look the entity kisses Thanos passionately before impaling himself fully onto his erection. He devours and savors the sudden shout of surprise and pleasure, letting his long inky tongue down the other's throat, lightly choking the larger being, stimulating him further.

It doesn't take long, not with the way Death bounces himself on his champion's dick with the enthusiasm of a child on a trampoline- or with the enthusiasm of some other simile far more appropriate given the context. Thanos shudders, rolling his hips up against his love, his god, and causing Death to arch his back at the friction in a beautiful arc. The conqueror, unable to help himself anymore, reaches up to hold the entity in place and begins thrusting into the tight body of death incarnate with desperate ferocity. Death keens at the sudden shift in dynamics but quickly adapts with a small amused bark of laughter.

Thanos was never great at playing the submissive pet for long.


SOMEWHERE MAGICAL


"Rawr."

Death stares down at the tiny chubby baby dragon. The crimson creature blinks, lazy and curious before trying to take a swipe at a stray tendril of shadow curling out at him. It disappears like foam under tiny claws, seemingly entrancing the little thing.

"What the, why the fuck was I even sent here?"

The dragon looks up at him in response and yawns. Death blinks as he realises there was an imperfection on the little thing's tiny scaly head. Intrigued and with not much else to do in the empty meadow, he picks up the dragon and coos. "Now what do we have here little one?"

Squinting, Death sees it's a rather odd scar. The design was weirdly familiar… and then it hits him.

Death almost dropped the dragon in surprised.

"Funny," Death mutters once he gets over the surprise, "Real fucking funny Chaos."

Harry the Hungarian Horntail licks his face.


SOMEWHERE ASGARDIAN


"You know," Loki says rather conversationally for someone getting his dick sucked, "when I was forced into imprisonment for trying to take over Midgard, this wasn't what I expected I have to admit."

Death pulled his mouth from the God of mischief's aching erection, much to said god's displeasure, and grinned cocky and sly. "Well I didn't expect to end up in Asgard's prison chambers with you either but I've always found a way to make lemonade with what I've got. It was either this or eating your soul," He lets the tips of his sharp teeth graze the skin of the other's arousal, flickering his tongue lightly against the warm flesh pointedly, Loki groaned at the sensation, "and I rather like to think I've made the right choice don't you?"

"Yessss.." Loki hisses, his head banging onto the wall of his cell as he holds the most powerful being he's ever seen's head down to swallow his cock. Forget ruling a planet, this was the biggest power trip of all.


Marvel Universe. Again. Just. I've really planned this out wrong okay?


When he steps out, he's inside a way too familiar glass tower building. When he turns around, he sees the Avengers staring back at him. The archer has popcorn falling from his mouth. Death cannot suppress his annoyance any longer.

"What the actual fuck, why am I here, and why is it always these fucking characters?! This is getting repetitive, and they are getting dull!" He yells into the ceiling, because this isn't even the fourth time he's entered the Marvel multiverse now. This is the sixteenth. And the only times that were actually memorable was when he lived through Tony Stark's childhood as his imaginary friend, when he actually lived with the Avengers for two years after the Battle of New York and had a weird but interesting time dating Fury, and that one time he actually did go supervillain. Death's not gonna lie, it was kind of stupid easy. They. Always. Fight. He didn't even have to bring out the medium sized guns, with the exception of when he got double teamed by the Hulk and Thor. That was, that one kind of hurt.

"No, please," Tony Stark called out sarcastically, "continue standing in my tower and insulting us."

Death pauses and looks at the group embarrassed. This is certainly one of the worst first impressions he has made. Not the worst worst but pretty up there. "Apologies, let's just say I've been running into you guys a lot lately."

"Funny," the archer replies dryly, "I don't remember seeing you anytime in my life."

The entity huffs, "Look, I don't mean any harm nor do I feel inclined to interact any further with-" he pauses, "Is Captain America gay and single here?"

Captain America turned bright red and glanced at Stark for a second before looking pointedly at the ground. Ah, so it was like that. Death sighs defeatedly. The window of opportunity seems to be nonexistent in regards to this man, it's either Stark or that Bucky character or that weird thing with his first love's niece or whatever. What a bummer, and here Death thought that he could possibly be the third entity to, as his more chaotic comrade says, 'tap that'.

"I see." He says flatly, ignoring the sly looks on the two superspies, the embarrassed flush on the super soldier and the confused but calculating look on the super genius. "Well I don't suppose you'll just let me leave and allow me to hang around a Starbucks until I have to leave?"

They did not.


HOGWARTS. AGAIN


The healers were baffled. The shamans perturbed. Harry Potter wasn't healing. Harry Potter was barely classified as alive. One spiritual doctor straight up accused Dumbledore of necromancy.

"At best the magic does nothing to the subject, at worst it damages the patient's body and sets the healing process even further back."

"The Phoenix tears seem to have caused this adverse reaction in the boy, this is the first time I've ever seen this response in a wizard, heck, in any living creature."

"Survived the killing curse when he was a babe eh? Think that has something to do with it?"

"Fascinating, simply fascinating."

Severus hated them all. He stood in the corner, glowering and glaring like Harry's own personal gargoyle at these esteemed strangers putting their hands and spells over the comatose boy. He hated how they just swanned in here, so assured that they would cure the Boy-Who-Lived. He hated how he has to spend at least forty-five minutes explaining the situation, reliving how they had found Harry, dying from basilisk poison because some fucking bastard had stabbed him, how Fawkes' tears had closed the wound but hadn't truly healed him in the end. He hated how at least half of them just hmm-ed and nodded and subtly prodded for more information, what they have tried so far, did anything work, anything go wrong. He hated how over half of them looked at him like he was useless and incompetent and clueless despite him being one of the best potions masters in England. He hated how the other half tried to be sympathetic at his distress, at Harry's plight, like by listening to a forty-five minute story has suddenly made them emotionally connected to Harry on some deep and spiritual level. One traveling monk actually had the gall to pat him on the shoulder and tell him 'Not to fear, darkness always passes and light always finds a way.'

Merlin he fucking hates them.

"These imbeciles are all quacks." He hisses to Madam Pomphrey as he watches some Swedish mediwizard, with what is clearly Arthur Weasley's love for muggle objects, try scanning Harry's brain with something called 'X-rays' while an Australian witch and a South African mystic argue about some ingredients nearby. Oh how he hates.

The Hogwarts mediwitch was eyeing the odd clunky contraption the Swede was using warily as she replies exasperated to Snape, "Okay so maybe this batch don't seem to be prime examples of the height of medimagic but I hardly think it fair to call every wizard here a 'quack,' Severus. What about Joseph Bollhorn?"

The Head of Slytherin glowered at the fighting mediwitches harder, "Bollhorn made some interesting theories." He grudgingly admitted, "But they were hardly useful in helping Potter."

Joseph Bollhorn was a quarter veela French mediwizard who has dabbled in necromancy and minor dark lord-ship in his more tremulous youth. Like everyone else, he had been drawn in by the allure of saving the great Harry Potter from his curious condition but unlike the others, he had been a little less orthodox in his investigations.

"No one as we know other than Harry Potter has survived the killing curse, obviously there must've been some repercussions to surviving such an ordeal or at least a reason for said survival." Bollhorn had once calmly explained as he peered closely at a thin patch of flesh he had sliced off Harry's forearm when no one had been looking. Even Dumbledore was pretty upset at that, so you could imagine how furious Snape had been at the time. "From what you've told me, and from what my more esteemed colleagues have summarized, I find myself believing that Harry Potter's soul has somehow assimilated the killing curse into itself and has adapted to rely on its power to continue existing."

"That's..." Madam Pomphrey had looked dubious at best at the idea but had been too polite to say it to a stranger they themselves had invited over for their opinions.

"Preposterous." Snape had finished bluntly for her because he has no such reservations.

"The theory is a little far-fetched I'll admit," the mediwizard admitted, "But you must admit it is the only half-decent explanation we have got so far for Potter's strange inability to process healing magic, recovery potions and apparently Phoenix tears."

"If that was the case," Dumbledore began thoughtfully, "If Harry here really is, 'dead' in a sense, or has adapted to accept such dark magic, it would make some sense that his body and soul could have mixed up their signals and mistake light and healing magic as a threat to its health."

"That makes no sense." Snape growled, "Harry's gone through a number of injuries and has suffered through abuse from his relatives, I hardly doubt even the Boy-Who-Lived could survive such sustained damage without healing."

"Severus is right." Pomphrey backed up, "While your theory, outlandish as it sounds, does allow some things to be explained," The potions master mutters something deeply uncomplimentary at that, "It falls rather flat when we account all the other times Harry has healed."

"Ah, but Potter hasn't exactly healed well has he?" Bollhorn says knowingly and smug, the Hogwarts' professors clenched their jaws and looked away, clearly unhappy at the slight jab to their failures of protecting one wizard savior. "No, he has exhibited stunted growth, slow healing even in muggle terms and a high resistance, even to the point of an allergic reaction to medicinal potions, light-affiliated magic and muggle drugs."

"Interesting concept." One of the previously fighting mediwitches observed, both apparently drawn to the conversation. "So what if, by assuming that Potter's soul is supported by dark magic, we can attribute his slow natural healing pace to his own magic fighting against the foreign magic-"

"-Which would possibly restrict the amount of magic Harry had needed to maintain a normal healing rate for his body!" The other witch finishes excitedly, the two grin and high five each other. Clearly whatever hatchet they had been swinging has been buried. God Snape hates them all.

Even Bollhorn looked a little irritated at his deductions being interrupted. As a former dark lord, he probably enjoyed long winded smug monologues more than he enjoyed sex in Snape's opinion. "Yes, well," The mediwizard coughs, "As mediwitch Janice and healer Cavadash said, I believe Potter's magic, his own pure magic, is what truly allows the boy to continue living. His magic, as powerful as it is, must have sustained some sort of symbiotic balance between his body and the death curse. By tipping that delicate balance by injuring Potter, his magic probably would have to work overtime just to try maintain that balance and prevent the latent curse from overtaking him, physical healing would be a secondary focus."

"Great." Snape says, not looking at all as impressed as he was secretly feeling, "So do you have any way to prove this half baked theory or are we just stringing together tales by the campfire?"

Bollhorn didn't. Nor was he able to provide much in the way of aid to help in Harry's little problem other than the useless advice of the boy needing time for his magic to reestablish the balance. The Slytherin potions master had been so enraged by the shite advice he had practically thrown the man out of the castle with his barehands.

"We should ask him to come back."

"Absolutely not." Snape immediately says because he has done a lot of horrible things in his life, having to apologize to people he doesn't like is definitely one of the worst, right alongside experiencing the cruciatus curse for the first time and about four steps below witnessing Lily Potter's death.

Pomphrey rolled her eyes, "Oh do man up Severus, Bollhorn is a perfectly nice chap-"

"He used to call himself the Skull King, Lord of Despair." Severus deadpanned.

"-a perfectly nice, reformed chap," The mediwitch repeated through gritted teeth, "and he and I have exchanged many letters updating me on his further research on Harry's status in his lab-"

"Evil lair."

"-his lab. And Bollhorn actually has made some strides that he thinks may speed up Harry's recuperation."

Snape gnashed his teeth as pride and jealousy fought against his concern and need for Harry to stop being in a goddamn coma. Obviously the latter won out but not without some serious side eye from the older woman as he took his sweet time trying to force the agreement from his lips. "...Fine. But if he starts monologuing again, not even Merlin himself will be able to stop me."


FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM


"Hm." Death looks around unimpressed by this new place. He's definitely gone back in time, nothing too far for earth standards but enough to know that there's little chance of him going to buy a hazelnut frappicino around here anytime soon.

He's in front of some sort of bank this time. It's a nice bank. For well, a bank. There's a crowd of people gathered right in front of it and a rather angry looking woman with some thin youths with flyers leading them all. It seems this era is the time when witch hunting became a thing.

Does this count as irony? Probably not.

"You friend," she points, thankfully not at him but at some startled red headed twink of a man with a rather nice blue coat, "are you a seeker? A seeker after truths?"

"I'm ah, more of a chaser actually," The man replies with a secretive twist of his mouth, and suddenly this world has gotten far more interesting. Death immediately zoned onto the wizard, and wizard he was. It seemed this world was going to be rather more intriguing than he had thought.

He blends into the shadows, shifting through the crowd as he tries to locate the red headed wizard, as he moves, Death casually adjusts his appearance to fit his surroundings. Instead of the usual black, the shadows on his body shift to a nicely fitting suit of the darkest shade of grey, his talons become well manicured nails and his long shadowy locks recede into something far more militaristic and slicked back. Once he finally makes his way to his target, Death looks more like one of those arrogant corporate douchebags than the all powerful entity he is.

"Didn't peg you for a quidditch player sir," he murmurs, startling the already skittish looking man. Death grins toothily at the reaction. The redhead's gaze flickers at his face before gaping rather rudely at his mouth. Death frowns at that but quickly realizes he's made quite the error when he had been shifting shape, he may have whitened his teeth but they still had retained their shark like appearance. "Fuck," he mutters, hiding his mouth with his hand as he quickly resolves his mistake.

"What are you?" The wizard breathes, completely fascinated and far less twitchy after seeing the interior of his mouth. Which was odd since usually people get twitchier when faced with rows and rows of wickedly sharp teeth. "Vampire? No, no, you have the pallor but you seem completely unaffected by the sunlight, not to mention those weren't fangs, but it's the best I can come up with right now-"

Death narrows his eyes at the blabbering, it's very cute but probably not the right time considering they were in the middle of a crowd full of scared magic hating people. "Let's take this somewhere else shall we?" He asks, the wizard looks down abashed before his eyes flicker somewhere else and gasps softly.

"Ah bugger," Death tracks the other's gaze confused until he sees a small little platypus like creature on the steps of the bank.

"A niffler?" He asks baffled. The young redhead actually looked just as baffled as he did, but for a completely different reason.

"You know what a niffler is?" The wizard asks amazed, except this really isn't the time because the niffler is heading into the bank.

"Of course I do," Death snaps, "I also know that putting one of them nearby a building made solely for keeping shiny valuables is a disaster in the making, now come on man!"

It's frankly a mess what happens next. Apparently the redhead 'owns' the niffler and had been very remiss in his locking charms- something which Death rather thinks should have been considered priority number uno if you keep magical creatures for a living. They bump into some muggle almost as overweight as Vernon Dursley but far more friendly and down to earth. Still a muggle however, and last time Death had checked, them finding out about magic had been a big no-no.

So of course that totally happened.

Seriously, who the fuck just accidentally leaves a magical creature egg the size of a large fist and doesn't notice? That guy.

"Hey! Mr English guys, think your egg is hatching!" The large man calls out from across the bank as Death and the redhead were trying to stalk a niffler.

"Is that your possibly very magical egg?" Death hisses angrily, "Are you bloody serious right now?"

The redhead hesitates for a moment before grabbing Death's hand, pulling out his wand, summoning the egg with the muggle fucking attached, and apparated down some nearby stairs. Stairs which are still in pretty good view of the general crowd if any cared to walk over into that area. Before Death leaves this universe, he is going to deck the man. Hard.

And then it turns out the egg is hatching. It's admittedly quite a beautiful moment. Until Death realises its an occamy egg and probably cannot be explained away so easily to the non-magical human.

"Wh-wha-wh-wh-" Said non-magical human stutters after he gets over the moment. He peers up from the stairs to confirm where he had been previously standing before ducking back and looking for all intent and purposes, absolutely gobsmacked. "I was, I was just there, and now I'm here." He says faintly.

Death makes a suitably sympathetic sound and pats the poor man's back as the redhead walks down the stairs and out of view, presumably to put the newly hatched creature into that daft suitcase of his. "Look sir, you're kind of in this now? Might as well see what blue coat over there's gonna do next."

It really does say something about how shock can make even the most stubborn of people quite compliant to suggestion as the American wordlessly nods and begins walking towards the direction the other had wandered off to. As expected, the redhead was squatting over his slightly opened suitcase and murmuring soft words into it. The muggle, who must have decided Death was the normal one of the two (and isn't that a laugh?), gives him an incredulous look to which Death just shrugs in response. "Don't look at me mate, I've only met him like five minutes ago."

The large man looks like he very much wants to say something to him but then the redhead suddenly stands up, facing a vault with a determined and slightly annoyed look on his face. "Absolutely not," he says and for a moment Death feared he was in the middle of some incredibly poorly thought out bank heist before he remembered there was a niffler on the loose in here. The thought was.. not better exactly. Blue Coat takes out his wand again and points it at the large vault door, "Alohamora." He incants, opening it easily.

"So you're going to steal the money huh?"

All three of them spin around and see some guy in a suit, a banker presumably, and not a happy one at that though that wasn't entirely unexpected. Before Death could even move, the banker hits some alarm button and the redhead hits the banker with a petrification spell of some sort. Still too late as the alarm bells ring throughout the halls in a rather deafening manner Death's enhanced hearing really rather not hear.

The American muggle whimpers what is presumably the banker's name and woah, it is a good thing Death didn't react or he would've totally killed the guy on instinct- and he would feel really bad if that was the thing that broke the poor muggle's sanity instead of whatever nonsense the redhead had pulled so far. Seriously, Ron and the other Weasleys' have never given him this much trouble before. Well, unless you count Ron's part in turning him into an extra crispy Pottersticker or Ginevra technically bringing a Dark Lord into their school which effectively released a giant basilisk, but they're like ten. Ten year olds get at least a pass for one incredibly dangerous and stupid thing they do. And something tells him that this particular redhead has used up all of those passes and more.

Blue Coat practically leaps into the vault and snatches the niffler up into his grasp. Death rolls his eyes and follows after him. The man at least knows what he's doing as he tickles the upside down creature who's now unloading a large amount of trinkets and shiny things from it's inter-dimensional pocket flap things. "The guards are coming any minute now," Death tells them both, he looks the thieving creature in the eye, "Unload everything. Now." He commands, and the niffler immediately obeys, the rate of stuff coming out of it much faster now.

The redhead looks amazed, "How did you-" he begins to ask before the muggle calls at them worriedly.

"Uh, guys?" And oh yes, the security detail has come. A little tardy in Death's personal opinion but this was a time before google so he will not criticise. Everything was slower without google. Now it was Death's turn, he grabs Blue Coat and American muggle and lets the shadows immediately envelop them and shift all three outside the building. Luckily he's fairly sure no guard saw them disappear. Fairly sure.

"That wasn't apparating." Is the first thing out of the redhead's mouth, it's a little accusing but not in an angry way, just curious and assessing like when he had saw his teeth.

"You're still holding the niffler." Is what Death replies back with, because it was true and the little, admittedly cute creature was looking rather star struck at him. "Please put him in your little briefcase of yours."

The thin man looks like he wants to press further on Death's true identity but decides against it in favour of scolding the niffler and shoving it back into his case. As he locks the bag, he looks briefly up at the muggle apologetically, "Awfully sorry about all that." He says.

"W-what the hell was that?" The muggle pants wide-eyed, which was a completely normal reaction all things considering.

"Look, we really shouldn't compromise you anymore on this situation so maybe- woah hey, where are you pointing that wand pretty boy?"

"Unfortunately you have seen far too much, don't worry sir this will all be over in a jiffy." The redhead says, and gets hit with a suitcase for his trouble.

Death watches the fat man practically make skid marks with how fast he ran around the corner. He doesn't do anything of course, partly because he was a little surprised at the attack in the first place but mostly because the entity kind of thought the response was totally warranted. Plus, you know, power to the muggles and all that jazz.

"Ow, Merlin that hurt," The blue coated man muttered. Death snorted.

The entity grinned, not even bothering to hide his rows of razor sharp shark teeth. "No offense sir, but you could've at least tried to obliviate the man subtly." He chided playfully. The red headed man glared at him for a second before it flickers away. Such a nervous little human. Twitchy but oddly resilient and clearly unafraid of bank robbery, Death's charmed by the contrast. He wonders if the man would make a better meal or a pet. The being was this close to reaching out to ruffle the man's fluffy looking hair.

And then some lady burst in only to apparate them both away.

"Who are you?" She demands as Death inhales and exhales noisily through his mouth. The nausea that hits him, hits fast but thankfully not long. Still, ugh, wizarding teleportation sucks.

"Uh, Newt Scamander." The redhead, Newt, tries to give something like a disarming smile. "And you are?"

It is not effective if the frown on the woman's face is any indication. "What's that thing in your case?" She hisses.

"Oh, that, uh, that is my niffler."

She frowns, confused and clearly wondering why whatever wizarding god she believes in is so cruel to her. Instead of continuing her interrogation with Newt- which was smart because that way may lead to madness- she turns to face Death, fierce and questioning. "And who are you?" Death in turn lifts his chin up, looking for all sorts and purposes like a defiant lawyer sneering down at his opponent.

"My name is really none of your business ma'am." He retorts haughtily, his voice dripping with the cold disdain of nobility. Inwardly he despairs. This definitely seems to be the same universe where Harry Potter resides in, what with the level of sheer inconvenience they both share.

"Well, it doesn't matter," She sighs, "I'm taking both of you in. Honestly, this could not have been a worse time for you to release a creature out here, we're kind of in a situation you know?"

Of course they are.

Newt does not look at her face, "I didn't mean to let him out, you see he's incorrigible and shy and wheneve-"

Death cuts him off, "Wait. When you say take us in do you mean..?"

She fishes out a wallet from her pocket and thrusts it at him triumphantly. "Magical Congress of the United States of America."

Aw, shit.

Death stares at the identification of Porpentina Goldstein who works presumably as the magic police, then he stares at Newt in what he hopes accurately conveys his worry and pointed accusations. Newt, clearly more comfortable with him than the woman actually did look at his face and see his expression, his own freckled face twists apologetically before he looks back at Porpentina. He doesn't exactly meet her eyes but it's enough to tell he's trying. "Look, this man hasn't done anything, he was just trying to help me." Newt explains pleadingly.

The police witch is unmoved, something Death secretly finds amazing because Newt has some serious earnest puppy dog eyes there. However in the end it doesn't take long for her to look distinctly uncomfortable under the weight of that expressively pathetic gaze and tucks in her identification back into her bag just to have an excuse to look away, "Please at least tell me you took care of the no-Maj."

Death and Newt both look at her blankly.

"NoMaj?" She repeats, before clarifying exasperatedly in a way that clearly outlined what she thought of the two men's intellect, "No magic? Non wizards?!"

The pair gave a soft 'ah' of understanding. "That's a very boring way to classify them." Death criticised.

"We call them muggles across the pond." Newt adds helpfully.

"I don't care!" The woman hisses, before looking intently at Newt, "You wiped his memory correct?"

"Uh," Newt stammers as Death makes a humming noise with his mouth. Neither are looking in the direction of the increasingly incensed lady.

There's a stifled angry huff of air before the woman turns to the redhead. "That's a section 3a Mr Scamander, I'm sorry but you and your friend are coming with me." She reaches to grab both of them and Death barely had time to blink before the woman apparates them away.

"Ughhhhhh." Death groans. Fucking wizard teleportation. He has this numb ache at the base of his skull from behind he just knows is going to linger like a bitch.

"Come on," Goldstein tells them both, practically dragging them by their elbows to a large building.

Newt looked possibly even more reluctant then Death to follow her. "Uh, I do have things to do you know?"

"Well you are going to have to rearrange them now don't you hm?" The woman answers, unrelentingly firm. "What are you two doing here anyway huh?"

"My family sent me here for vacation." Death hisses annoyed, "They are probably laughing themselves sick right now." Goldstein at least gives him a pitying look, she probably has a brother or sister too then.

"I-I'm here to buy a birthday present, some Appaloosa Puffskeins. There's only one breeder of them in the world and he lives here in New York."

They finally arrive at somewhere called the Woolworth building and Goldstein wasted no time murmuring to one of the doormen about their current predicament before bringing them in. "And by the way," She says casually as they walk in, "We don't allow the breeding of magical creatures in New York, in fact we shut that guy down a year ago."

Death shot Newt an arched brow. Newt just shrugged. This man. Seriously.

The inside of the Woolworth building was pretty damn amazing in the entity's humble opinion. All polished, classic and tastefully done in one set theme of ebony and bronzed gold. The giant poster of the woman he assumed was the boss around here was kind of gaudy in his opinion but every design has some flaws. Some bigger and more self-absorbed than others apparently.

The only magical creatures he could see were house elves, and ones with far more sass than those back in Potter's time. But then again they also didn't have tailored clothing. He feels like there's some sort of significance for that but that sort of information isn't really in his jurisdiction.

Death blinked at the unusual sight of a house elf in a suit working the elevator. "Well, that's new."

"Hey Goldstein." The house elf greeted.

Goldstein pauses a bit, it's clear that she is not Suited House Elf's biggest fan. "Red." Is all she curtly replied before nudging Death and Newt into the elevator. Upon seeing the entity, the elf's ears immediately twitch upwards as his jaw moves downwards.

"Wha-wha-wha-wha-" he says rather stupidly.

"Do you two.. know each other?" The British wizard asks curiously.

Death winks down at the creature and presses his forefinger to his lips in a shushing gesture, "In a way." He vaguely answers the wizards.

Goldstein coughs, "Yes well, that's all very nice and all but we're heading down to the Major Investigations department if you will?"

The house elf, Red, pulls his eyes away from Death to look at the woman confused, "But I thought you was-"

"Major investigations department." She repeats firmly, "I've got a section 3a."

Red stares at her like she just told him she had a contagious STD. "With, with him?!" He squeaks in a very high pitch as he points at the entity, "Y-y-you can't be serious!"

The auror frowns, "Why, yes, of course I'm serious." But she looks less sure, thrown off by the near hysterical reaction. Newt was also staring at Death assessingly. "Major investigations department."

"Sure, sure, it's your funeral." The house elf replies darkly as he complies, closing the elevator door.

Goldstein leads them to interrupt what looked like a very solemn and important meeting between some incredibly stern looking wizards and a dark-skinned blonde woman who Death recognised as the lady from the gigantic fucking portrait hanging out in the main body of the building. They all turn to stare at the three disapprovingly.

The woman and a very handsome man walk out of the meeting circle to greet them rather icily. "We made your position here quite clear Ms Goldstein." The woman says.

"Madam President," Goldstein replies anxiously. Death idly wonders why she would go straight to the president of the damn country for a section 3a. Surely this was not that big of a deal that the president had to be called in to this personally. "I-"

"You are not an auror anymore Goldstein." The President cuts in, her voice is quiet but cold, like the first winter frost that slowly cracks on your window.

It's super awkward.

Goldstein looks down in shame, "No, but Madam if you-"

"Goldstein."

"But there's been a-"

"This office." Madam President interrupts in a tone which heavily implies this will be the last time she will do so again, "Is currently concerned with more.. major incidents." She turns her back to the group, ready to go back to her meeting, though not without looking back to the ex-Auror, "Please get out."

"Yes ma'am." Goldstein immediately answers. She's trying hard to not look hurt and embarrassed by the exchange and pushes her two not so convicted criminals out of the room. Death tilts his head back to look at the handsome gentleman who hadn't said a word, just stood there and looked intimidatingly pretty.

The entity wonders briefly what the man's true appearance was.

The next floor they arrive on is far more familiar to Death than he would have liked. Paperwork everywhere. Ugh. This place should come with a warning sign because he's certainly triggering some PTSD just looking at the endless desks filled with documents.

Goldstein leads them to a desk with the words WAND PERMITS labeled neatly on top. Seems like someone had a very depressing downgrade in their career. "So you got your wand permits?" She asks sullenly, "Every foreigner must have one."

"I made a postal application weeks ago." Newt informs her, setting his luggage down by his feet.

"I, uh, yeah, same." Death tacks on lamely. "Postal application. Totally did it."

The woman, who was in the middle of writing Newt's name down in some book gives Death a look.

"I am going to need your name you know?"

Death hesitates, he's done many things but surprisingly enough he's never gotten in trouble with any form of mortal government law. Well, that's certainly not true. He's never gotten caught getting in trouble with the law is a better way to put it. Newt looks nervous for him, probably because he's aware that at the very least he is not exactly human.

"My name is... Harry." He finally settles on, because he hardly thinks it would be a good time to declare who he actually is in this world. Humans were always disbelieving and judgmental, wizards surprisingly enough were probably even more so. "Harry uh, Mortimer." Hah, Mort-imer. God he was funny.

Goldstein squints her eyes at him like that could suddenly suss out his lies. Death does not feel too worried about her calling out his bluff, magic or not paperwork was a dull tedious task that could take ages to accomplish if you were any less than enthusiastic. The moment they realise there was no Harry Mortimer, he would probably not even be in the same universe anymore, or at least time period.

"I don't see your name here."

Oh fuck, turns out magic was less useless than he thought.

"Okay, fine, I didn't send an application because…" Death wracked his brain for an appropriate excuse, then suddenly it hits him, "I don't have a wand."

"You don't have a wand." Goldstein repeats flatly.

"I prefer wandless magic," Death tells her not untruthfully, "And this was a very impromptu holiday for me, I was going to try doing things the muggle way and figured that there was little chance of me getting arrested by the magical authorities around here." He side eyes the British redhead not a little un-accusingly.

The woman looks like she wants desperately to question him but turns to Newt instead.

"And you were just in… Equatorial New Guinea?"

"I've just completed a year in the field and I'm writing a book on magical creatures."

Goldstein looks a little bewildered at that, "Like an extermination guide?"

"No," Newt says quietly but very judgingly at her, "It's a guide that will help people understand why we should help protect these magical creatures instead of killing them."

"OH MY GOD." Death suddenly shouts, startlingly both of them. "You wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them!"

The wizard looks absolutely gobsmacked, "Tha-that's the working title of my book, but how?"

"Fuck, okay, this just got way better." Death says excitedly, whilst he tried not to rub his hands together gleefully. When he was Harry Potter and greatly injured he had a lot of reading time. That textbook was certainly one of his favorites to pick up. "Your book is so great, even I learned some things about creatures that I hadn't known before." Seriously there was some stuff in there about Dementors that he had never even thought to try to discover about his little creations.

"But-"

"GOLDSTEIN?" A male voice shouts somewhere which causes the woman in question to dive under her desk. Death nudges the confused magizoologist and whispers a quick "I'll explain later. Probably. Don't hold your breath though." to him before watching the unfolding show.

"Where is she?"

A short but immaculately dressed man walks up, he looks irritated and unimpressed, much like everyone else in this building actually. It must be a government worker thing. "Goldstein."

Goldstein slowly arises from her paperwork covered desk. Death has to look down to hide his bemused smile at the sight. She looked like a scared meerkat coming out of it's hiding place. The short man takes a long inhale of breath, "Did you jut butt in on the Investigation team again?"

She says nothing.

"Where have you been?" The man presses on.

"..What?" Apparently it isn't just Newt and he that made awful liars.

The short man looked like he was going to say something to her, probably something cutting or lecture-y, but instead turns to Death and Newt, "Where did she pick you guys up?"

They look at Goldstein for guidance. She just shakes her head subtly. They look back at the man. "We…" They said slowly in unison, like somehow syncing up their voices would save them from messing up, ".. weeeeereee.. aaat… theee… strrr-" This was possibly the first time Death had gotten such intense eye contact from the British wizard. It seemed they were at a stalemate here. In the corner of his eye the entity can see Goldstein contemplating death by table corner. "-rreee-" He has no idea where this is going. "-eeep club." The pair looked horrified at each other and what they had managed to come up with. This was the worst thing ever. And Death had once watched a chained human woman be lowered down into a whole chestful of cockroaches to be used as an incubation chamber and nutrition for the offspring.

"Strip club. We, uh, were at a strip club." Death concluded lamely.

The short suited man just looked at them like they were idiots before turning back to the ex-auror, "You've been tracking them New Salem-er's army again haven't you?" He accused.

Goldstein glared at the pair. Death just shrugged. Well, they did try. Technically. "Of course not sir." She lies.

And then the handsome gentleman from before shows up. God, he looks so good in that suit.

"Afternoon Mr Graves, sir." The short man greets.

"Good afternoon." The man greets back stoic with a little rough edge to his voice that makes Death swoon a little on the inside. Even his name was dashing. "What do we have here then?"

"Mr Graves sir," Goldstein says, stepping out and away from her desk, she looks at Newt and Death pointedly, "This is Mr Newt Scamander and Mr Harry Mortimer. The crazy creature in Mr Scamander's case got out and created havoc at a bank."

Graves glances at Newt's case and then back to Tina, "Let's see the little guy then."

Tina smiles smugly and takes the case before Newt can react, placing it on a clear table space. Graves and the short man follow while Newt and Death linger a bit behind. "Well this isn't good." Death murmurs to the redhead, "How important is that case of yours?"

"All my creatures are in there, it's worth more than my life." Newt replies immediately.

"Bullocks." Death mutters, "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see then." Newt just agrees with a soft worried sound as Goldstein proceeds to unlock the case. Not one to build tension, the woman opens up the top of a case quickly, revealing..

"Is that?" Newt whispers as they creep closer to what is clearly not Newt's case.

"Fucking buggering shit." Death swore vehemently.

That poor fat muggle.

So the muggle's apartment exploded. Everyone thinks it was a gas leak. Death kind of wishes it was as he runs after a surprisingly nimble Newt Scamander up the staircase. He would've felt bad for ditching Goldstein but to be fair, she really should've been keeping on eye on them. That's just bad policing really.

The whole wall facing the city in the muggle's apartment is gone. It's actually rather impressive.

"I'll start repairing," The entity volunteers, "You should probably take a look at the unfortunate sap." Newt nods gratefully before going to check up on the guy.

"Thanks for, uh, well, sticking with me." The redheaded man finally says as he kneels down to examine the unconscious man's wounds, "You didn't have to really."

Death snorts, "Please, what are friendly strangers who just met in a bank for?"

He barely takes any time to repair the building, maybe a bit longer than if Newt had done it but Death was never strong with reparations anyway. Once done, he turns to see Newt already staring down into his opened suitcase. The moment he re-shuts it Goldstein finally arrives, a little out of breath.

"Was it opened?"

Newt makes a little chagrined but darkly amused twist of his lips, "Just a smidge."

Tina seems deeply unhappy at the news, Death wasn't feeling so great about it either.

"That thing's on the loose again then?"

"Might be." The magizoologist replies rather evasively. Death narrows his eyes suspiciously at him while Goldstein frets over the muggle.

"Oh god, he's hurt, wake up please Mr No Maj, pleas-" The woman screams as what looked like a really fat cross between a naked mole rat and a porcupine attacks her. Even Death shouts in surprise. Newt however just grabs the creature easily and calmly. "Mercy lewis what in Merlin's name is that?" Goldstein gasps.

Death tries hard not to stare at the wriggling flaccid tentacle-like spines on it's back with disgust. He fails. Ugh.

"Do not worry about that," Newt tells them both, "That is," He closes the case a little to cheerily for any occupant in the room's taste, "a murtlap."

"…What else have you got in there?" Goldstein asks, connecting the dots and finding the end result to be a most unpleasant picture.

Newt just smiles awkwardly. Thankfully for him, he was saved by the muggle regaining some semblance of consciousness. The muggle manages to introduce himself as Jacob Kowalski and after a bit of a verbal scuffle where Goldstein pretty much tells Newt off for trying to obliviate a key witness and injured victim despite the fact the whole problem stemmed from the British wizard not obliviating the man in the first place.

"It's not that serious," Newt dismisses a little too blithely, "I mean he's showing a slightly more severe reaction than I anticipated but if it was really serious then," he falters at that. Goldstein of course catches that and stands up from where she was kneeling and comforting Jacob.

"Then, what?"

The redhead looks at Death for help but Death just shakes his head furiously. He is very aware of what a serious reaction of a murtlap bite entails and he is not going to be the one to tell the angry ex-auror.

"It's, well, the first symptom would be flames out of his anus-" Jacob slowly sits up just to stare disbelievingly at Newt. Death quite likes Jacob. Jacob was funny. Ignoring what sounds like an escalating argument between magizoologist and a magical government worker with a no nonsense attitude toward the law, the entity decides to try his hand at comforting the muggle instead.

"Hey sir- Jacob was it? Long time no see." He greets with a smile. Jacob just glares at him too.

"Yer.." He slurs a little. "Yer with.. him."

"Kind of yes." Death agrees. "It has been quite a little adventure so far, well, not really. We just went to a magic government building to watch Goldstein, that's the cranky lady over there with Newt, get talked down to by like, three of her superiors."

"Sounds.. Fun…"

"More cringe-worthy than fun but it did have it's perks." Death tells him conversationally, "The interior design was beautiful, I may replicate a few things in my own offices. Also, I swiped a doughnut from your suitcase, hope you don't mind, it was delicious." Jacob smiles widely at that, very pleased at the praise.

"Thankss… Uh..."

"Name's Harry."

"-I know that you guys have some backwards regulations regarding non magic people." Newt is meanwhile telling Goldstein.

"Hoo boy," Death murmurs. He can't see the woman's expression but he's sure she's not exactly making goo-goo eyes at the man right now.

"You can't befriend them, can't marry them- seems mildly absurd to me." Newt continues.

"Well who's going to marry him?" Goldstein shoots back, irritated.

Jacob looks deeply offended. Death pats him on the back.

"Ugh, you know what, you're all coming with me." Goldstein says.

"I don't see why I have to come with you." Newt replies back rather shortly, it seemed the whole day had finally taken it's toll on the British man and the beginnings of actual annoyance was seeping into his mannerisms.

Death rolls his eyes, "I think I should be the one saying that what with all things considered and all."

"Just help me carry him," Goldstein hisses. Newt hesitates but grabs the other free arm anyway. Death supported the large man from behind.

Jacob groaned, "Please tell me this is all some sort of nightmare."

"I wish it was Mr Kowalski." Goldstein mutters.

"Me too." Death adds.

"Seconded." Newt tacks on.

Goldstein's apartment didn't allow men. Which was super weird but Death was not going to comment.

"Well I guess we have no choice but to find other accommodations." Newt began edging away, only to be grabbed once more by the American ex-auror. That woman had the reflexes of a viper.

"Ooh no you don't." She growls, "All of you are coming with me."

"I really don't think it's really, I mean, Harry-"

"Please," Death says in a distinctly feminine voice causing the group to immediately focus on the now rather dainty woman that had once been a handsome if shady looking gentleman, "Call me Harriet."

"You can, you can swap genders." Goldstein says faintly. Death looks at her, long black hair curling around her pretty face.

"You said that only women were allowed." The entity explained, brushing down her knee length skirt and frowning at her lack of secondary sexual characteristics. One day, one day Death will figure out how to become a woman who's chest doesn't make washboards look voluptuous in comparison. "I figured I could walk at the end of the group, that way if your landlady does take a peek at us she'll assume we're all female."

"Can all your kind do this?" Newt asks, peering closely at Death's new appearance.

"Your kind?" Goldstein repeats sharply, "As in, not human kind?"

"Ah, yes they can." Death answers the magizoologist easily, "Though, embarrassingly enough they are far more skilled in it than I. My female form is not comfortable for me, I rather shed it away as soon as possible, so, if you may?" She gestures up the building so the group can get on with it.

They shuffled quickly into the building, and like Death had predicted, the landlady had stuck her head out to check out the guests. Death had to distract the rather uptight older women with compliments on her home while Goldstein and Newt hurried the still rather disoriented muggle up the stairs. Once she finally managed to extricate herself from the landlady's long winded rant on her terrible tenants, a good fifteen minutes had passed.

Closing the door behind her, Death sighs and shifts back into his more masculine form immediately, uncaring if anyone sees. He did enjoy certain aspects of femininity but overall it was just not for him. Women literally had the ability to form life in their bodies, is it no wonder he doesn't feel as at ease.

"Fascinating."

Death startles a little at how close Newt was to him, staring intensely at a stray tendril of darkness that was soaking back into his skin.

"I've never seen anything like this- do you happen to be distantly related to Dementors?"

"More than a vampire certainly." The entity says with a bemused smile. He turns to the rest of the occupants of the room, Jacob was already sitting at the dining table, looking dreamily at a pretty blonde that was making food float. The blonde woman makes a complicated swishing motion at the dish before wiping her hands on a towel as she walks over to greet the entity.

"Hello there, you must be Harry." She greets cheerily, "I'm Queenie, Tina's sister and-" she trails off as she looks into Death's eyes, her own glazing alarmingly. For a moment Death had no idea what was happening until an odd feather light itch in his head festered quickly into a purposeful scratch against the surface of his mind, threatening to try dig deeper in a way that cannot be interpreted as anything else. The woman was a natural mind reader, and she was trying look into his.

The being isn't sure what to do to prevent the prodding from going too far, the few mind readers he's ever met that had been both a) alive and b) audacious enough to actually try delving into his head, were few and far between. All of them had gone insane or just straight up died, looking too deep until they realize that the darkness in his head isn't an abyss but a hungry ocean that would rise and swallow them up. It's something akin to a failsafe since he's never taken up to protecting his thoughts nor does he have a natural barrier against such attacks like a few other entities (Order, Fate and Magic), however in this case, Death's fairly sure neither option would be very beneficial for him right now.

He can feel the moment when the barrier between shallow thought and his true consciousness is breached if only the slightest crack and Death just shoves the blonde woman, hard enough for her to finally break the moment.

"Queenie!" Goldstein, Tina, yells, as Queenie falls in on herself, panting heavily.

"Tina, your friend is very.." the blonde struggled for words to describe the sheer vast depth she had managed to accidentally push into, like peering through a sheet of plastic down an abyss, "unique."

Death gave her a sympathetic smile, "My mind is not meant to be delved too deeply into lest you be consumed by the darkness inside it." He tells her kindly, "As long as you don't delve any deeper darling, you'll be fine."

Queenie nodded shakily, it seemed after that glimpse of sheer inhuman vastness in his head she had chosen to maintain a distance, both emotional and physical, with the being. Understandable, if greatly unfortunate. She seemed like she could be wonderful company.

There was also the downside of having Tina becoming more suspicious of Death as a response to her sister's wariness. Which was unfortunate for a completely different reason.

"So.." Death clears his throat as he cuts a wonderfully smelling strudel into small bite size pieces. "How was law enforcement Tina?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The brunette shoots back as she chews her pastry aggressively.

"Well not anymore now." Death muttered sullenly while Newt quietly stifled his snicker.

It had been a good, hearty magically cooked meal. Though the conversation was sorely lacking what with Newt refusing any eye contact with anyone and Tina giving far too much, glaring at everyone. It seemed only Queenie and Jacob were managing pleasant conversation. And Jacob wasn't even physically participating. Not going to lie, Death was a little jealous.

"Oh, so you're a baker. I think that's just swell." The blonde lady cooed seeming genuinely interested in the man. Jacob was the very picture of besotted.

Jacob must've thought something humorous because Queenie giggled coy and blushingly at him. "Oh you," she says with that little hand wavy gesture that people do when they're abashed and pleased. So maybe less of a joke and more alongside a very flattering compliment then.

The lighthearted onesided banter however, breaks off abruptly as Queenie catches her sister's disapproving eyes.

"... I wasn't flirting." The blonde mutters, her own gaze now ignoring everyone else's.

There's more silence after that. You could probably cut the silence with a knife and then eat it. It would probably taste like bitter uncomfortable despair.

Overall not the worst meal Death has been part of.

"I'm sorry we only got two beds here." Tina grudgingly apologizes.

Death shakes his head, "Don't be, it's not exactly like you planned for this sort of scenario after all. I'm fine sleeping on the floor really. You've even transfigured a mattress and such, I'm fine. Really."

"Well... if you're sure." The ex-Auror mumbles because apparently trying to imprison, wrongfully he might add, him was no big deal but not letting him sleep on a bed was far too much for her sensibilities. Wizards. Honestly.

"He's fine." Newt tells her assuredly before quickly faking a yawn, "Well, you've been lovely for taking us in-"

"And making this wonderful hot chocolate." Jacob butts in with a wide grin, hot beverage in hand as he looks very comfortably settled into his assigned bed.

"-yes, and providing us with hot chocolate. But now we really must rest, Jacob especially so, considering." Newt finishes.

Tina still looks suspicious at the three, but her eyes soften sympathetically at Jacob who was nothing but a victim of circumstance than anything. "Of course." She agrees with a sharp nod, "Good night then."

Once the door closes, Newt practically jumps out of the bed he'd slowly slid into and rushes to his suitcase with a singleminded focus. Death nudges his mattress with absentminded disdain while he watches. Thank god. There was no way he was going to sleep in such a low quality lump of a mattress. He may not be the most pretentious of the entities (that title proudly belonged to Fate) but he was still better than a god, and therefore deserved to be treated as such. His time as Harry Potter notwithstanding.

"So we're finally seeing what's in that coveted briefcase of yours?" Death asks as he lets his dark suit shift into something more loose and comfortable. Newt stopped his fidgeting movements to watch the process with sharp eyes and a keen gaze. Frankly it was a little uncomfortable. "Uh, Newt? My morals may be a little looser than you humans but that doesn't mean I'm totally on board with letting you watch me change like this." Death then smirked slyly and pushed his black shirt down just enough to reveal a pale shoulder, "Well, not when you could have just asked after all."

Jacob laughed when Newt's pale freckled face went a bright pink as he began spluttering apologies about his behavior.

"Relax wizard," The entity drawled, "You're hardly my type anyway." He can sense the amount of Life and Love's hold they had in the man, two attributes that almost completely clash with his own. It would be like kissing a unicorn or getting courted by a phoenix- Death wouldn't say it wouldn't ever happen per say, but if it did, it would be most definitely awkward and possibly with some dubious consent happening in the contextual background. Unless it was like, a serial killer unicorn or something but those situations are pretty rare.

Just to be clear though, serial killer unicorns? Fucking hot.

"Well," Newt huffs a little flustered and quickly snatching up what little decorum he has left, "We're wasting time fellows, are you coming or not?"

Death shrugged, "What the hell, we've already almost gone to jail together, I'm sure I can make time for a night rendezvous with two men in a tight place."

Newt's face was blushing furiously at the implication and he clearly wanted to argue something about that but decided against it, instead settling on nodding and turning toward Jacob. "And you?"

Jacob looks mournfully at his cocoa. "I, uh, don't know if I feel right comfortable doing this to the girls after all they've done."

"You mean you don't feel comfortable doing this to Queenie." Death jibed with a smirk. Jacob, the sap, didn't even look even a little embarrassed at how obvious he was.

"She made us cocoa," he argued.

"Jacob, your going to be obliviated by those girls in the morning." Death tells him slowly, with Newt nodding his head in solemn agreement, "I suggest you take this twink's offer and get in the magical briefcase."

"What's a twink?" Newt asks curiously. "Is that another magical creature?"

The entity smiles secretively, "Well that's one way to put it."

The magizoologist looked so giddily excited at the notion of another undiscovered beast Death almost felt bad for leading him astray. Almost.

Once Jacob finally shoves himself into the case, it was Death's turn. He takes two steps toward it before he immediately takes three steps back as he finally zoned on to the containment magic in the briefcase. It was.. much larger than he had anticipated. And oh my god, there were a staggering amount of souls in there. He didn't realise the 'zoo' in 'magizoologist' was so literal.

"Come on then, what are you waiting for?" Newt asks a little impatiently at the entity. Death hesitated. He's been to the muggle zoo before. He's very aware it will be nothing compared to whatever he's going to face in that suitcase. Especially with what he's seen on Newt's non too strict regulations on the subject. Death just hopes there isn't like, a giant fucking acromantula in there- because that whole thing with Aragog was certainly enough to last at least three human lifetimes.

"Harry," Newt says, a little more concerned, "Is something the matter?"

"Uh, magical creatures tend to flock to me." Death finally confessed. "To many I can be seen as rather… attractive."

Newt stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Death stares up at the sky, silently begging his brothers and sisters to give him strength. Though they were probably laughing at him up there so he sends a silent 'fuck you' glare at them as well, for good measure. "Creatures, they find me... attractive." He repeats flatly.

Newt stares some more. Then his eyes lit up with the fire of scientific curiousity. "And this is a hundred percent natural? Do all creatures exhibit the same behavior or are there certain levels of attraction you find to be the receiving end on? When you say attractive do you mean that they enjoy your presence or..."

"A mate." Death finishes before adding casually, "Or maybe more of conquest considering my inability to produce offspring."

"Oh," Newt looks awkward, "I'm, so sorry."

The entity laughs, "Don't be, I've come to terms with that long ago. Besides, I have been gifted a brilliant son so I hardly think myself too bereft of the opportunity."

The magizoologist fidgets, clearly wanting to press on at everything Death has and has not said, yet at the same time aware of the unfamiliar ground he has stepped on. Death let's him stew for a bit before gesturing for the man to ask his questions.

"Is there a reason for your infertility?" Newt bursts out before immediately slapping his hand to his face, aghast at his lack of decorum. Out of all the questions he had, it seemed he had picked the most offensive one.

Death shrugged, "My... kind cannot reproduce per say. We can create beings under our name but they will never be as immense as we are. I myself have major difficulties in producing life, there is nothing environmental or external effecting me, it's just how I was constructed."

"I see," Newt nodded seriously, his face serious, "And when you say constructed, does that, uh,"

"Mean I was not biologically conceived?" Death finishes amusedly at the other's struggle for words. He hums thoughtfully, it's always interesting seeing the different responses he gets when trying to explain himself. "Now that's a tough one. If I did have some sort of parent I certainly am not aware of it, one moment I wasn't and the next I simply was." If you really want to think deeply into it, Life did bring about Death so maybe... no, that is too weird to even contemplate, even for him.

"Huh," Newt says, but not in the 'huh wow I would never have guessed,' sort of manner, more like 'huh, well that confirmed my hypothesis.' Which implied that this man totally had written down somewhere in his observation journal about the possibility of Death being one of those species where nurture clearly wasn't established when young. Which, rude. Not exactly untrue though. "And how old are you exactly?"

Before Death could respond vaguely to that can of worms, Jacob popped his head out impatiently. "Come on then, what are you lads waiting for? A tea party invite?"

"I mean if you're offering, yes I would enjoy a spot of tea right about now." Death smirked, "Isn't that right Newt, old chum?"

Newt looked a bit unsure for a moment before straightening up and replying, "O-oh yes, verily my good sir, a cuppa now would be a b-bloody right good time."

Jacob rolled his eyes, "Honestly, you people across the pond baffle me."

Once in the suitcase, and after being suitably impressed by it's wondrous contents, Newt realised he was not missing just one but around three creatures from his case. The first it turns out, because this was Death's life and he totally blamed each and every brother and sister he had for this, was a horny erumpent looking for a mate in Central Park.

Newt had come prepared with only some musk and a weirdass, frankly embarrassing mating dance to attract the creature back in. However the giant rhino like creature was less than interested in Scamender's odd mating ritual, well, not as much as the presence of a certain entity. Once Death realised what exactly has caught the creature's attention, his eyes widened and he took an instinctive step back. "Fuck me."

"W-what's happening," Jacob whispers loudly, "Why's she eyeing you up like a Sunday roast?"

"I have to leave," Death whispers back seriously, "I-I have to leave right now."

But it was too late, the moment they had made eye contact it was probably too late and Death begins to sprint away from the fragile squishy human with a horny erumpant chasing him with a determination most battle hardened warriors would falter at.

He runs for about a few hundred meters before he stops to mentally hit himself on the head. What was he thinking, he's fucking Death. Gathering up the surrounding shadows to weave around himself Death twists and disappears right before the erumpant crashes into his person, and reappears next to Newt. "Where's the blasted suitcase?" He growls impatiently as he warily watches the confused creature in heat try catch his scent again.

"I don't understand.." Newt mutters, but it's more the zoologist in him trying to figure out where he had went wrong than anything remotely in context right now. Which is unacceptable because Death needs the magizoologist on the case like yesterday.

"The suitcase, Newt!" Death snaps impatiently, "What's left of my virtue depends on it!"

That spurs the man into action, with powerful, confident motions Death could've really used during the whole bank fiasco in the very beginning, Newt runs up to the creature and the momentum of both in motion was enough to shove the erumpet back into the suitcase. Thank the fucking lord.

"Wait." Death says after a minute of nothing but heavy breathing and silence after the suitcase was closed with an underwhelming click of its clasps. "Doesn't this mean your giant arse erumpant is making a mess out of your magic herb office right now?"

"Uhm, no?"

Fucking wizards.

So because it turns out, yes, since the erumpant was still not properly contained into her enclosure she was still running rampant. The large hole in Newt's 'office' was very much evident at that. Grimm, being veritable creature bait, and Jacob, who had the gift of common sense, were tasked reluctantly with the quest to find and re-capture the erumpant while Newt re-did his room. Death would've gladly volunteered to do it but the place was filled with specific poisons, herbs, animal bits, etcetera that only Newt knew where they went.

"Wow, you really weren't kidding about that whole animal attraction thing huh?" Jacob comments as a third pink owl creature swoops in to nuzzle at Death's cheek to pay its respects to the entity and hint to its openness for affection. Death would scowl at the amused muggle but he was afraid that would only make the disjointed picture he portrays even worse. Instead he humors the adorable feathery creature by patting its head once before sending it off its way.

"It has its perks." He stiffly replies back. "They can sense my higher status in this world and therefore treat me very favorably, if a little too aggressively at times."

Jacob gives him a considering side eye, "So... yer some sort of god or something?"

Death smiles blandly down at the man, "Perhaps."

The muggle raises his hands, "Hey, totally get it, no further probing. Though I wouldn't be surprised if I was talking to a literal angel after all this nonsense."

Death barked a startled laugh, "Hah! Well you're actually closer than Newt ever guessed, so kudos to you sir."

"You're an angel?!"

The entity rolled his eyes and petted a doe-eyed mooncalf who strayed from its herd for some attention from Death. That little thing is going to be a reckless troublemaker, he can see it now. "I said you were closer relative to Newt's ideas, Jacob. Not that you were right."

"Are angels real then?" Jacob looked up at the being, eyes wide with curiosity and wary fear, like he was half afraid of the answer.

"Would it matter if they were?" Death asks back.

Jacob laughs nervously, "Well for starters, if they were, I'm going to have to start going back to church again."

Death waves that answer back dismissively, "Please, church is a human construct. The ability to drive to the same building every Sunday and listen to an over glorified lecture may say something about your perseverance in your beliefs- because that shit is so boring oh my god- but it's hardly the glowing endorsement that people seem to think it is."

"Oh," Jacob looks absolutely fascinated, "Then what is?"

Death shrugged, "You know, common sense stuff. Helping people when you see them need it. You can have your prejudices and beliefs about stuff but don't go actively out of your way to attack people against them. Respecting that no means no. Don't be a dick essentially."

"What about murder?"

"Why?" Death smirked, "You planning something I should know about?"

Now it was Jacob's turn to give a short bark of laughter, "You got me. I'm secretly stupid rich but in order to get my fortune I must kill my twin half-brother James."

"Well if you're killing for greed I'm fairly sure most angels consider that a flaw in your soul than anything." Death tells him dryly, "Revenge is understandable though. And self-defense and accidents don't really count."

"So is there like an angel courtroom or something then? You know, to judge the souls and so on?"

"It's a complicated system that really depends on the universe they oversee really."

"The universe they- there's more than one?!" Jacob looks like his mind is very close to being literally blown. Death enjoys the man's genuinely earnest responses.

"Well picture this-" he begins, readying up a very Space-esque metaphor to explain the general concept of alternate universes with alternate timelines, until a loud bellowing sound and the thumping of heavy footfalls could be hear coming toward them. "Oh fuck, it's the erumpant."

There was a lot of running and cursing as the pair realized Newt had forgotten to tell them where the erumpant enclosure even is but eventually they got there. Exhausted and cranky. But still.

"Could you just," Jacob panted as he slid down to the ground, the man was particularly sweaty and red faced, "I don't know, magic the thing here in the first place?"

"Not in this form no." Death admits, "Not unless you want to explain to Newt how I inadvertently killed his magma rhino creature because we were too lazy to run around like headless chickens for a bit." The magic he still has from Magic is too closely intertwined with his own power now that there is no mortal barrier to separate them, there's no telling what may happen should he use too much of it.

The default usually results in some sort of dementor. And Death is not interested in making another mutated Dementor army again. He has a Dementor that is part spider, part octopus that he can never look directly at. That thing, among other monstrosities, has been banished to guard the very edges of his realms. He feels a little bad for the discrimination but to compensate he gives those guys a nice work environment and a sizable amount of souls to consume to prevent mutiny.

That's happened more than once Death is ashamed to say. It's hard being the big boss.

"Yeah okay," Jacob pouts, "we wouldn't want that."

"Oh thank Merlin!" Newt cries as he jogs up to the pair. "I only just realized I forgot to tell you were the erumpent enclosure was and I panicked, and then I heard the noise and-"

"Peace Newt," Death intones, effectively shutting the British man up and preventing what sounded like the beginnings of panic attack to form. "We got the creature in its habitat safe and relatively cranky. And I'm fairly sure we incurred minimal damaged."

"It was amazing," Jacob agreed, "Harry just had to shout for everyone to get out of the way, and they did! Even the blowfish cheetah thing!"

Newt looked intensely at the entity, "He did, did he?"

Death shrugged, "What can I say? It's a natural allure. Though don't expect much from me if I'm faced with a Phoenix."

"My headmaster has a Phoenix." Newt says for lack of anything else really to say. The entity scowls.

"Fawkes, yes, I'm very aware of that damned fucking bird." Then in a low, annoyed mutter, he added, "Undying piece of shit fire fucker."

The magizoologist and muggle blink at the entity, as if genuinely shocked at the change in demeanor and string of obscenities that followed. "I.. see you and this... Fawkes... has some bad blood?" Jacob asks tentatively.

"He attempted to kill me, yes."

"Intriguing." Was all Newt, the damn unsympathetic arse said. Clearly Death isn't the only one in this group that needs to take a social study lesson or two. "Is this related to how you have Dementor ancestry?"

"Dementor.. you mean, like, a berserker?" Jacob asks tentatively, trying hopelessly not to look too lost at the flow of the conversation.

Newt smiles at him, looking pleased just to have the muggle man's interest at all, "A Dementor is, well, I'm not much of a fan of the grouping terminology but it does fit, a terrible dark creature that feasts on souls and can drain happiness in the very air around you, if you get too near for too long, they'll suck out every good memory and happy thought and leave you haunted with your worst."

"That's.. that sounds absolutely horrible." Jacob says aghast.

"They're very misunderstood creatures," Death defends petulantly, "I mean, if you get past the soul sucking and their nightmare inducing presence, they're actually, uh, quite docile and sweet. Like a cow really."

"You're comparing a Dementor.. to a cow." Newt deadpanned incredulous.

"Yes." Death says half seriously. "A big fat mooing cow."

"I.. see." Jacob says, even though he clearly does not. "Hey, maybe we should all get out of here yeah? So we don't get caught by Miss Porpenstein and Miss Porpenstein?"

"Sounds like a smashing idea Jacob." Newt agreed.

"Yeah, that ex-auror one seems kind of nosy," Death comments, "Wouldn't put it past her to double check our rooms for this very reason really."

"Uh, guys?" Newt looked at them worriedly, his hand pushing at the entrance from where they had come from. Death has a terribly foreboding feeling. "I think we're locked in."

Fucking Newt Scamander. Who the fuck has a magical suitcase that holds a fucking magical zoo filled with magical creatures that can be considered magically illegal and doesn't have a magical back up escape route if someone flips closed the stupid suitcase latches? Seriously. Fucking wizards.

So when they finally get out of the suitcase, they come face to face with the boss lady from before, the intimidating hot guy and like, a bunch of other wizards with an equal lack of expression on their faces. Ugh. Death has seen his dementors show a greater range of emotion. And the room they're in, ugh, was it originally a gothic church? Why did it look so grim? As they all cautiously step out of the suitcase, Death looks at the floor and sees a circle with a star design in it. It looked like a summoning circle. Of course that's what this place needed.

Also, also, speaking of Boss Lady- that women is wearing just the most ridiculously unnecessary headdress he has ever seen in this situation. Was it just something that cam with the role? He doesn't see any other witch or wizard looking like that in the stands and he's assuming they must have some high status to be here. Though admittedly a few had quite tacky stuff on as well.

There's a bit of a murmur among the crowd as the three of extricate themselves out one by one. "Scamander?" A strong voice rings out, Newt who was in the middle of closing his case looks up and smiles nervously.

"Oh, hello minister."

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Whatever's been happening right now must've been pretty important if the British Minister of Magic and what Death assumes is the wizard equivalent of the UN are all here.

"You mean the war hero Scamander?" An african wizard minister asks disbelieving.

"No, this is his little brother," A presumably french wizard minister replies back, causing Newt to grimace a little and avert eyes from everyone else's.

The British minister doesn't look the least bit sympathetic, "And what are you doing here in New York Newt?" He asks stern but not unkindly.

"I, uh was just here to buy an Appaloosa puffskein sir."

"Right," The British minister squinted his eyes knowingly, "Now what are you really doing here?" Newt looked a little lost for words, clearly thinking he wouldn't have been called out on his lie by his minister- who he apparently knows personally on some level- in front of all these people. Death felt bad, he knew personally what it was like to be put on the spot like that and this must not exactly feel good for the rather anti-social redhead.

The Boss lady turned to Tina, asking her about their presence. Tina's voice wavered a little, either from nerves due to the pressure or some feeling of guilt of betraying them like this. Which, well she should be. This was a bitch move. When she revealed Jacob's no-Maj identity, that's really when the governmental wizards and witches began showing their taste, muttering about obliviations and such. Jacob curls up, trying but failing to look smaller than he is.

Death just looks forward, chin held high and looking as confident as he isn't. In doing so he notices the hologram of a dead man floating above their heads and nudges at Newt to do the same. The magizoologist does and gasps softly at the sight, recognition lighting his eyes. An asian witch in the front row notices. "You know which of your creatures was responsible then, Mr Scamander?" She asks.

"No creature did this," he denies, moving forward, closer to the image, "just look at the marks…" Newt bit his fist before finally declaring softly, "It was an obscurus."

Whispers move faster than a wildfire in the room, everyone there knew what was an obscurus, what it meant, what the American government had failed to do if this was true. The Boss Lady, Madam President, furrowed her elegantly shaped brows slightly, "Mr Scamander, do not be absurd," she tells him confident and with just enough heat to know how truly angry she was, "There is no obscurial in America."

"Well that seems like a rather shallow promise." Death snorts, before regretting it immediately as all attention turn to him now. "Ah, damn."

"And who may you be?" Madam President asks icily. Death bows slightly.

"I am-" The french minister gasps suddenly, as well as one or two others in the room, clearly there's some strong creature blood running around here. "Harry."

"You know this young man?" Boss Lady asks the frenchman who weakly nods.

"Oui, he is… not to be defied Madam."

"Yes," Another witch with a less recognisable nationality adds on hurriedly, "You could say this… being has diplomatic immunity from where we are from, please, do not anger him."

Madam President frowns, "Yes, well, he may have immunity where you are from, but he holds no such power here. This.. Harry will be treated the same as the rest of the group." She turns to the hot intimidating man, "Impound that case Graves, and arrest them."

Graves does just that with a flick of his hand, summoning the case to him while bringing all three, surprisingly four actually since Tina was included too, to their knees. Death knows he probably should resist, but he kind of wanted to see what magic prison was like.

"Please don't hurt my creatures," Newt pleads, "They've done absolutely nothing wrong, nothing."

"We'll be the judges of that." Madam President tells him, her cool, unsympathetic voice making Newt struggle further from where he was. "Take them to the cells."

Tina whimpered. Bet she never saw this coming when she decided to do this.

"No please, they've done nothing wrong," Newt begged desperately, as they began being hauled away, "Don't hurt those creatures, not-nothing in there is dangerous, please, please don't hurt my creatures, please, please they're not dangerous!"

Newt looked almost near tears when he looked at Death, and fuck, Death had really grown to like the stupid animal-loving man. He can always check out magic prison when he's Harry Potter anyway, knowing his luck he'll get there at least once. "Right." He says loudly as soon as they were far enough away from the room filled with very important wizards, "Well you guards have been lovely but we have a dinner appointment and we really must leave." Death turns his arms to dark smokey shadows, letting the handcuffs fall before turning to grab all three- even Tina- and warping away before the guards could even pull out their wands.

He brings them to Tina's apartment, the only place he really knew, where he dumps them all onto the ground easily and none too gently. "You're lucky I like you guys." He tells them, "because I'm fairly sure it was going to be the death penalty for you all at this rate. Which feels a little drastic since we are all capable of obliviation."

"My case," Newt gasps, teary eyed and panicky, "Wha-we need to go back Harry! My case is still, still-"

"Looking for this?" Death grins, shark-like as he summons a dark hole where Newt's suitcase falls out from and into his waiting hand. It was a piece of cake to get, it's not often you see so many souls all condensed into one suitcase sized shape after all.

The magizoologist gasped in wonder and joy as he leapt up into Death's arms and began hugging and thanking him profusely in gratitude. Everyone let it be a for a bit, since it felt a little embarrassing to be the one to interrupt, finally though, Jacob came through.

"So, uh, is anyone going to tell me what the hell an obscurus is?"

"The goblin's not bad looking." Death muses, tilting his head to get a more flattering angle of the criminal.

Jacob looks at him funny. "Look, I ain't really got much of an opinion bout fairies like you, but you're kind of funny in the head aren't ya?"

Death smiles devilish and crooked. "I get that a lot where I come from as well. But as they say, everything's fair in love and war." He loosens his tie and unbuttons his top two buttons as he starts to walk a bit faster over to where Newt and Tina were negotiating with the goblin, "And this, this is war."

"Uh, I don't think that was the right optio- and he's gone."

"Aw, leave him be Jacob, the guy's surprisingly a flirter." Queenie smiles amused behind her glass, "It's cute how confident he is. Even if his taste is a little... unique." Jacob stares at her like he can't believe a women like her could exist and Queenie just giggles demurely.

"Wait," Gnarlak stares intently at Newt's chest, "That's a bow- that's a bowtruckle right?"

Newt immediately covers Pickett protectively, "You're not having him." He protests.

"I see," The goblin give a cruel smirk as he begins leaving the table, "Well good luck getting back alive, what with the whole of MACUSA on your back and-" his face slackens into one of surprise and awe.

Newt and Tina look up as Death joins the table with an easy smile. "Harry, what are you-" Tina hisses but is cut off by the gangster, suddenly and firmly sitting in his seat across them.

"Shut up," He hisses through his sharp teeth, "Don't you know who that is?! This is, this is,"

Death sticks his hand out with sly smirk and just enough fang to warn the guy to stop where he was going lest he regret it severely. "Harry Mortimer, a pleasure." He greets with a silky soft tenor that has the two wizards gaping in a rather unattractive fashion. Which, rude, he always sounds this inviting.

The goblin falters for a second before visibly picking himself together to take the pale hand and kiss the back of it reverently, "Greggoric Gnarlak, milord," he murmurs as Newt mouths 'milord' like silently saying the word would unlock the other's mysterious identity while Tina mutters 'Greggoric' as her hands twitch. Probably wishing she could write it down somewhere. Gangsters weren't exactly known for giving out their full birth name in front of cops, this was probably the first time she's gotten verbal confirmation that he had a first name at all.

"Greggoric," Death smile softens and his hand curls a little into the goblin's own hand in a flirtatious manner, "a handsome name for a handsomer creature."

In the background the female Auror snorts but Newt hushes her, taking the incredibly strange interaction as the distraction he needed to shove Pickett deep into his pockets.

Gnarlak, he, for the better word, swooned. Just a bit. "Milord you're tongue is slicker than any partner, business or pleasure, that I've ever met." He praises smoothly. Death smiles slyly.

"If you help my companions here, I may show you how slick my tongue really is gorgeous."

The goblin blinks, and then he turns looking deadly serious at the two wizards, "There has been some talk about something going on around Fifth Avenue, I suspect it's one of your creatures." He looks at the entity, clearly awaiting any response to signal he has done a good job.

"Thank you Greggoric," the entity tells him when it's clear no one else was going to, "Your kindness is greatly appreciated. I'm sure if you have any free time right now we can-"

"Fuck." The goblin suddenly says, his face that had been slack with overjoyed disbelief had tightened in anxiety and stress, "Fuck, you all, you all have to leave right now."

"What? Why?" Tina demands sharply, her back straightened as she searches her surroundings subtly.

Gnarlak coughs, "I may have, blabbed, a little. To MACUSA. In my defense-"

Jacob punches him in the face as everyone begins to walk quickly out of the place, trying to draw as little attention as they can while they give the goblin dark looks. Death lingers back a little, taking a quick moment to grab the goblin's collar and lifts him up so they're eye to eye. "Backstabbing? That's not very nice is it, Greggoric?" He tuts.

"I, urk, didn't know you would be here." Gnarlak coughs out.

"No, you didn't," Death agrees, his eyes flickered assessing the criminal, "And you did tell us before the aurors came. So," the entity hums for a moment before he kisses the creature passionately. Gnarlak made a startled sound before he melts into it, enthusiastically giving it all he had before Death drops him back onto the ground, dazed and a little dopey. "Call me hot stuff."

Death licks his lips, tasting the faint secondhand tobacco and alcohol before following his companions out of the speakeasy with a self-satisfied smile. It was a nice kiss.

Death didn't leave a number.

It turns out there's not one but two creatures hanging around Macy's or whatever shopping mall building this is. That's not really the important part of the sentence here.

The important part of that sentence was that there were two creatures instead of one of no one was paying attention, though maybe it wasn't that important since the whole situation was finished ridiculously quickly. Death barely had to step in before the demiguise and the occamy practically jumped into his arms, cooing and touching his chest. The occamy even had the gall to slip under his clothing to curl around his torso possessively.

"Seriously, are you the magical creature whisperer?" Jacob demands only half joking. "And here I was expecting some big trial with dramatic orchestra music in the background."

The wild obscurus turns out to not be a child, but a teenage boy, arguably a young adult male even. It's the same lad from in the beginning with the anti-magic woman. With what Newt has told them about Obscurus' this human must be powerful, strong in both mentality, physicality and magically to not have degraded from the strain of abuse and self suffocation of his abilities.

It's honestly just a very sad thing all round.

Such a young man with absolutely nothing to live for. No friends, no family, an incredibly unsupportive household and no future. Even if he did somehow gain control of this whole obscurus business- unlikely- at best he'll be shunned by the magical community anyway for what he's already done, at worst he'll be constantly used and experimented on. Maybe Newt could help his situation but let's be brutally honest here, this is the guy couldn't keep his suitcase in check, Newt ain't exactly the most reliable wizard this side of the state.

To be fair towards the red headed British man, he was very close to soothing the savaged beast if you will, the boy, Credence, seemed to be reforming himself back to something resembling his original form before hot but potentially evil Graves shows up to ruin it all. It seems that the two had shared history, which, super weird if you look too much into it. An abused child seeking the comfort of an older man in the dark of the alleyways, probably when it was raining for added dramatic effect, really, it all sounds either like the start of some messed up dubious porn or the very twisted start of a Charles Dickens-ish type novel.

There's a nice fight, which Death decides to stay out of because he feels the battle may be just a little too one sided if he joins the fray. There's a lot of lights and Credence screaming and so much talking, oh god, wizards and their incessant need to talk. Everyone was trying to get Credence on their side and honestly, Death kind of wonders why. Clearly the child has lost all control once he released the dam, expecting him to collect back all that metaphorical water and shutting it all back in to manageable levels seems nigh impossible at this point. Credence is damaged and abused and the type of broken that takes hell of a lot more than some glue and duck tape to fix. One day, with time and love and a good dash of miracle magic, maybe he would have come out of this ordeal a strong, powerful wizard, but this world is preparing for war soon ahead and a time for war meant no time for poor little orphan boys in need of a good hug.

So Death watches quietly, easily ignored in the shadows. He watches them fight and plead and coax. And then he watches the MACUSA aurors swoop in to decimate the unfortunate boy's wraith form. Death wonders the semantics for this obscurus creature as he is faintly surprised at how little the creature acknowledges his existence. He's never heard of an obscurus until today, and this being has certainly never crossed over to his realms before. Though, maybe unlike werewolves and vampires, obscurus can still be considered at their heart humans.

As Newt had said, it is a result of raw magic previously restrained, so in a way it makes sense that the obscurus, both alive and not truly a different magical creature altogether, would not truly recognize the innate power of an entity. Even if it was able to, it would probably fall more under Magic's purview than anything anyway.

It's only when, after withstanding the attacks of the American magicals, the obscurus was near death did Credence finally turn to Death. He's barely a wisp of the looming storm of darkness he had once been and his soul is beginning to bare itself, ready to be reaped. Credence just seems resigned to it rather than fighting back like the caged animal he had been before.

Death tuts sadly as he looks down at the small wisp. Not even a body to be buried. Tragic.

"Don't worry child," he whispers, soft and sympathetic as he twitches his fingers and summons the remnants of Credence Barebones to his hand, "I'm going to make sure all that pain you feel goes away now."

Without anyone seeing, noticing, Death deftly rips a soul from its barely tangible body. He's tempted to keep it alongside Riddle's twisted shards in his mind, but decisions made solely out of pity would benefit neither party so instead he just swallows the little soul down and let's it be swallowed up into the darkness. Credence tastes like salty tears and the bittersweet burnt caramel taste of lost hope.

Death blinks at the newly revealed Dark Lord unimpressed. Don't get him wrong, the man is roguishly handsome in a way that reminded the entity of those charismatic pirates of the caribbean back in the day. Cocky and confident with the magical power and skill to back him up. Honestly, if it wasn't completely inappropriate given the context, Death might've tried his luck in seeing if the wizard's carpet matched the drapes if you catch his meaning.

But what is so underwhelming was the fact that clearly this guy could have easily completed his tasks without all this convoluted Obscurus nonsense.

"Seriously man," he tells the dark wizard, "If you just wanted to make enough mayhem to make the muggles aware of magic I'm pretty sure you could've done it yourself. Like, it isn't that hard."

"What are you doing?" Tina says through gritted teeth, "Why are you teaching the enemy how to do better?"

"I'm just saying, this guy fucking manages to kidnap and masquerade as the head of MACUSA security or whatever. He could have loosened the rules, could've introduced his own loyal men into the system while flushing out the good aurors. Hell, you people regulate magical creatures, he could've just set those free instead- they would've been injured and angry, chaos was guaranteed. But no, instead he chose to lurk around an orphanage like a creep as he hugs underage boys in alleyways."

Grindelwald and the other aurors just sort of stared, part irritation, part stupefaction and part impressed.

Death shrugged, "I'm just saying, the whole plan of his was weird and vaguely pedophillic."

"It was not pedophillic!" Grindlewald protested, clearly unhappy at that accusation. "Credence was of age and nothing I did could be construed as remotely sexual."

"He looks like he's less than twenty." Death tells him seriously, "That, in my opinion means teenager." Of course there is a chance that Credence's young appearances was due to poor upbringing stunting his growth like Harry Potter's. Still. Not cool. "By the way, where is the real Graves? That fellow was quite dashing, it would be a pity for him to die from neglect."

Seraphina Pickery did a double take at the man's casual question like it had completely slipped her mind to go find her kidnapped, very likely tortured, subordinate. Which, to be fair, was understandable given all the other far more pressing subjects pressing for her attention at the moment. Still, Death would feel pretty shit if he found out he hadn't noticed his boss slash friend slash subordinate had been replaced by a psychopath for however long. The least you could do would be to find and free the poor sap as soon as possible. And maybe try to salvage the guy's reputation as well because who knows what other creepy ass stuff Grindlewald had been up to in that body.

Death tilts his head toward Grindelwald as he acknowledges the Head of MACUSA's attention, "I suggest legi-lega-oh just take it out of his pretty head of his." Fucking magic terminology.

Grindlewald laughs then, it's not the laughter of a defeated man but a man confident that the cards are still in his favor. He's amused despite the situation, and Death wonders how far exactly has this man managed to get his claws into the American Magical government. "What is your name?" The Dark Lord asks slyly, loudly, "Not that Harry bullocks you've fed these sheep, I want to know who you really are."

He's managed to gather everyone's attention, Picquery was now staring at Death with outright suspicion and his companions were looking at him warily. Newt was looking worried for him, sweet kid that one, not that the entity would invite the guy to tea anytime soon. The man would probably steal his Dementors or something.

Death straightens himself and smiles, "Not as incompetent as I had assumed." The entity chuckles, "Though you know, you were a little off," the color of his eyes invert as he flashes his sharp teeth, but that wasn't what catches Grindlewald's eye. No, it's the Deathly Hallows mark slowly searing into the skin of Death's neck that truly caught the Dark Lord's breath. "It's not who, but what."

And that's when he disappeared.

Fucking nailed it.