#also. i am lifting a building up at the idea of being Backstage. green room. i can't even tell you

[unproduciblesmackdown]

asia kate dillon sitting in the middle of this in costume as lucifer in the mysteries

[pseudofaux]

Beaming {MLQC}

Happy birthday, @saizoswifey​ ! I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness and strength, I think your example makes it easier for others to be kind and strong too. I know they do for me, anyway! You’re so generous in and out of fandom, and every time I see your wit I’m delighted that it lives in you with a heart as good as the one you’ve got. YOU ARE FANTASTIC! (づ￣ ³￣)づ Here’s some sunny Kiro for you. Happy, happy birthday, my friend!

(Full story here in this post, but it’s also over on Ao3 if that’s better for your eyes.)

Since their relationship became intimate, he has made it abundantly clear that he loves her naked. Today, though, he is entranced by her bralette of stretchy cotton. It’s not something she considers particularly sexy, just a light, comfortable scrap of function for a day with a scorching forecast. When she dressed that morning, she had no idea she would even see him, and even if she had known he was back in the city, she would never in a million years have guessed at his plans.

His don’t-stand-out getup worked too well: she didn’t notice him as she left the train station. A hat with a brim, reflective sunglasses, and a paper mask over his mouth, just like those worn by so many other young commuters swarming the pavement, why would she pay him any mind? If he hadn’t whispered her name as she touched her arm, she might have screamed. He told her he had the morning free and so did she, if she wanted it.

Of course she did, but she was on her way to work. When she reluctantly insisted she really had to go, he encouraged her to check her email before she made a final call on the day. There were brand new messages from Anna and Willow waiting for her: This backstage footage is amazing, how the hell did you get it?! We’ll work on this today! See you tomorrow!

His smile could not be hidden by the mask or sunglasses, and the smugness in it... well, it seemed like he had earned it. So she nodded, delighted by the prospect of time with him. Their morning was full of city errands and elevator rides: up to the roof of the highest building in the business district for a brunch just for them, down into the basement of another building for him to retrieve a duffel bag from a locker in a poorly-lit hallway. All the while, he held her hand. In every conspicuously empty elevator, he held that hand by her head as he leaned her against the wall and made intimate promises between soft, soft kisses.

If she had known there was even a chance they could see each other that day, she would have worn something sexier. In the living area of the ridiculous hotel suite he’s brought her to, her dress is gone and he is cupping her through the bralette. He thumbs her nipples in the same daze she has seen on him when he touches a new guitar. She lets him.

“Do you work out in this?” he asks quietly. She smiles and shakes her head. His spell is broken when his eyes flash up to hers. Sin and sun are in his grin when he asks “Do you want to?”

She wants to as much as she wanted to go with him at the train station, and there is no work to make her hesitate. After all the elevator kisses and the pleasure of his company through the morning, she was eager for somewhere private like this, where she can match his playfulness. So she lets her tongue wet her grin, and she nods. There are promising ottomans and low tables throughout the ultra-chic space, but they fuck on one of the rugs first. Soft, unprocessed fibers of a fur she doesn’t recognize catch her back, then her sensitive front when he begs her to get on her elbows and knees. There’s a stretched moment of need-- they know these moments, because they have to be apart so often-- when they realign before he slides back inside her and they gasp. She knows he is proud of his physique and he should be, the strength of his abdominal muscles keep him so steady as he leans to cover her back with his front. His voice is not as steady as he whispers how hot and good she feels, how much he has been missing her, how being with her is so much better than thinking of her every time he touches himself.

But he stops, suddenly. “Bed,” he says, his hands going tight on her waist to keep her from pushing back at him. “Please-- hey! C’mon, I need to see you.” His words are openly ragged and the need in him makes her squeeze around him as he pulls out. His desire for her is satisfying enough to soothe her own itch of greed for him. For a few moments more, at least.

He touches her side and holds out his hand to help her stand up. Naked and gentlemanly: national superstar Kiiiirooo~, she thinks as she gets to her feet. It makes her giggle. “What’s funny?” he asks, and his face is so flustered and cute and he looks so hot standing ther without a stitch on, that she is tempted to let him in on the joke headline. Instead she shakes her head and dashes toward what she hopes is the bedroom. He follows with a happy “Miss Chips!”, and when she lets him catch her beside the room’s massive bed, he tickles her. It is their favorite form of revenge and they are both in great moods so his tickles are tiny caresses, fingertips drumming at her sides until her ass presses into the softness of the mattress edge. He gets a good grip on her waist despite her wiggling, and lifts her to sit on the bed. She reaches to unhook her bra, but he makes a wounded little sound and sure enough, when she looks at him he is giving her the hopeful eyes. So she holds her hands away with a smile, and he beams back at her before lunging onto the bed, tackling her and tangling their legs. At some point he drags the duvet over them and they are cocooned in their own world. He is laughing against her skin, and the sound is light itself: colors blown out by sunlight, blue gone yellow gone white into brilliance beyond what her eyes can show her. As Kiro catches his breath, the warmth of his exhalations on her shoulder create a thrill of affection in her, familiar affection for someone who might, to rights, really be out of her reach... But just then he squeezes her. Their arms are around each other, and he is there in the posh hotel bed with her, acting randy and making them giggle. When there is quiet, he asks, “Would you like some outside light? The windows are special glass.” His body is over hers and he is rubbing his cheek against her face. So close, the smell of his hair products, like spiced green apples, is an obvious and delicious perfume. She plays with it instead of answering. He is really a lean, golden god that the sun begs to love. She loves him already. “Yes,” she says finally. She can feel him getting hard again. He slides the tip of his cock against her thigh, then her slit... and when she pushes up at him, he moves up just a little more to poke against her tummy. She narrows her eyes and calls him a name. Kiro grins at all of it and ducks his hips a bit so he is pressing more insistently, right below her belly button. “Let the light in already!” she scolds. She turns her head to nip at his forearm and it makes him freeze-- except for the throb she feels against her stomach, so strong it is almost a smack. Serves him right. He nudges her face back up and sucks on her bottom lip as he reaches up to the headboard. Over the rustling of the crisp white pillowcase beside her ears, she hears something click, and then the floor to ceiling windows hum. Her eyes are closed while he kisses her, but she can tell the glass is losing its opacity until it is letting in the kind of clear, steady light she has only seen from airplane windows. She loves the strangeness of midday sun. Usually would be in an office right now, sacrificing her access to the light, but Kiro is making it glow on her, as gentle as his kisses. She knows he likes being beneath her best, so she is not surprised when he sits back up and pulls at her legs until she sits up, too. “C’mere?” he says softly. She sets herself on top of his lap, enjoy the strength of his erection between their bodies. “This is so sexy,” he tells her, pulling the strap of the bralette and letting it relax against the front of her shoulder. The pressure feels good, even better when he strokes down the line of the strap. His face is thoughtful, and he touches her with his whole hand, like she is a cat. “This, in this light... it’s like I’m seeing the you that no one else sees,” he adds. She can’t speak for a moment. When she can trust her throat, she tells him “You are seeing the me no one else sees.” It can be difficult to predict what will send him into one of his serious moods, but apparently agreeing with him is it for today, because his eyes go darker and his lips part. She can see his tongue and she wants it, wants him, so she leans forward, sweet to him as he has been to her. While they are kissing, he laces their fingers together and settles their hands at her hips. With gentle pushes and pulls, he encourages her to rock in his lap. “I think this is sexy,” she whispers as she grinds on him. Her thigh muscles flex and the mastery in the feeling puts a thrum of power in her blood that she lives for, especially with him. She could do this all day, and for Kiro, she’d do anything. He huffs out a laugh so close to her mouth she can’t see his grin, but she can hear that he is beaming. “You’re right,” he says, kissing the side of her smile. He runs his nose along her jaw until he gets to her ear. “This is the sexiest thing that has ever happened. Ever.” Without letting go of her hands, he tickles her again. She bucks to avoid his fingertips, and tries to tighten her fingers around his and keep him away. He’s laughing with her, yet again. He likes happy sex, she knows this, and she knows he absolutely gets off on making her happy.

“You want me?” he asks, serious. It’s hopelessly true that she wants him a lot, but he’s so fun to tease she says “...a little.” Her answer actually makes him shudder, and it is very pleasing, to know those trembles are trustworthy. It’s a heady thing, to reduce a man so powerful and widely loved to depend on her. He asks quietly if she will be on top and she shushes him, because of course she will. She puts an arm over his shoulder for balance she she resettles her knees beside his ass. All their rolling around has put his back toward the windows, so when a few clouds suddenly move away from their work softening the sunshine, the light hits his shoulders and it is like seeing the halo of a classical painting made real. She tucks the beautiful image into her memory as she takes him in hand and strokes him. He’s plenty hard, but she likes the feel of him. “Thank you for the unexpected day off,” she says sweetly, and she holds him in place until the head of his cock is snug inside her. Then she comes down onto him slowly enough to appreciate every little tilt of his hips and every almost-whine coming out of his mouth. She keeps her own hips shy of his body until Kiro is moaning for her. He hisses and palms her ass, but doesn’t pull. He does say “Please. You’re welcome, please, c’mon--” So she flexes her pussy around him as she slides the last little way down, and when he throws his head back and groans, she kisses his adam’s apple and feels the pleasure coming out of his throat. “I missed you,” she whispers, when he has stopped and she knows he can hear her. “Take care of me.” He does.

[spartanguard]

stripped down

kind of spec fic based on a crack-y headcanon I’ve had since we found out about the alternate/cursed identities, further spurred on by the odd title for 7x05 and the enablers. muchas gracias to the amazing @optomisticgirl for looking this over!

completely gratuitous. 1.5k.

Backstage was so poorly lit that eyes were nearly useless. It was just as well—he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see what was surely just a brick wall, chipped paint peeling away, and a floor with cracked tiles he could feel shift under his shoes.

Loss of vision meant the other senses took over; he could hear the high-pitched, mostly feminine squeals of the overzealous crowd; smell the booze wafting off them and from where it was likely spilled over sticky tabletops; feel the heavy pulse of the music booming through the beams of the building and shaking him where he stood.

He’d heard this same song way too many times from this same spot. The singer’s repeated invitation for an unnamed person to jump on his saddle was starting to fade out, telling “Hook,” as he was known around here, that it was almost showtime.

What little light there was dimmed to a green glow as the cowboy guy—Butch or Billy or something equally stereotypical; he’d never bothered to learn the guy’s name—left the stage in just a stetson and assless chaps, nodding while strolling past.

He ran his hands down his tight leather pants, checking one last time to make sure everything was in place and giving the workers on stage a bit of time to dash around collecting the dollar bills that gave Greenbacks Bar & Lounge its name.

Then the strains of a slowed-down version of a John Cale piece began to play and a hush fell over the crowd. He smirked at the reaction; he did every night, but it was something that always amused him, and made it that much easier to play the role of a cocky pirate captain.

As soon as he took the stage, the audience erupted and cash started flying. Some panties, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. It was all a blurred confetti coming from the crowd around him as he stalked down the catwalk-like stage.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how mild-mannered Officer Rogers had become the main attraction at a semi-seedy strip joint under the guise of Captain Hook, but he wasn’t about to argue it. Not when it broke up the solitary monotony of his days, and not when it was so oddly liberating.

The music picked up and he began his routine, slowly stripping off the see-through tunic that hid nothing of the hair that decorated his chest and stomach; to most, it would seem useless, but the ladies seemed to like the way his muscles moved as he lifted it up over his shoulders and slid it down the arm bearing the straps that held on his “namesake” appendage. Honestly, that hook was more useful than his prosthetic some days.

The crowd went wild when he let the shirt drop from where it had dangled off his hook, and then grew into even more of a fervor when he unsheathed the sword from the scabbard hanging off his hips.

It was far from his regulation weapon, but was much easier (and safer) to dance with the prop cutlass than his police-issued handgun. As he twirled and grinded with the blade, he wondered at the fact that he was never recognized outside—but being half naked, with thick eyeliner framing his eyes, hair looking freshly sexed, and a bit of mascara darkening his reddish beard apparently was a good enough disguise.

(His anonymity had been assured when he was recruited by the detective who ran it. Turned out, it was Hyperion Height’s best-kept secret. He’d been a bit shocked and honestly kind of creeped out when Gold, as the detective was known here, proposed the idea to him, but he decided he had nothing better to do with his time and ended up enjoying himself, for a variety of reasons.)

One of his favorite parts of the routine was picking someone to absolutely destroy. He leveled his sword at the ladies in the front row and scanned the crowd, stalking along the edge as he searched for his victim and being sure to make eye contact with each person as he made his choice.

He finally met a pair of familiar, teasing brown eyes, and resheathed his sword (oh, the innuendos he made to himself while he was on stage). Kneeling in a wide open stance, he winked at the brunette in front of him as he one-handedly began to undo his sword belt. Roni winked back at him, laughing; she was the only other person who knew what he got up to on the nights he wasn’t on duty, and as the tender of the bar frequented by the neighborhood’s police force, she was adept at keeping secrets.

Despite the way his hips slowly undulated toward her face as he pulled the leather strap and unclasped the buckle, he also knew she wouldn’t imply any desire from her being the object of his attention tonight. He'd once briefly entertained that with her, he might be able to find the love they both so desired, but it had felt like a betrayal—of who or what, he didn’t know—so they were happy to keep things platonic. That didn’t stop her from leaning forward and sliding a $5 into the waistband of his pants with a wink.

Making sure to arch his pelvis forward, he stood, dangling the belt from the tips of his fingers before dropping it. Slowly, he turned around and swaggered back up the stage to a chorus of calls unoriginally praising his pirate booty. As cheesy as it was, though, he loved it. There was something unimaginably freeing in his stage persona—as if, deep inside, he truly was a man who’d spent his life chasing love and revenge on the high seas (though, admittedly, he'd known neither). Overhead, the song proclaimed By hook or by crook / I am the captain of this line, and his command of the stage confirmed it—or at least sold it.

He continued to get lost in the fantasy, both his and the crowd’s, as the soundtrack’s bass thumped and he moved to the beat; who knew prog rock was so good to strip to?

As he gyrated, twisted, and twerked, the music and the cries of the audience built until they reached that breaking point he was all too familiar with. In one swift motion, he slid his thumb and hook under the edge of his pants and tugged, the sound of snaps giving way drowned out by screaming as he was left in just his boots, brace, and a leather thong.

The chaos that ensued never ceased to make him grin; he now knew what Elton John had meant by a pirate smile. As cash flew, he strode back down the stage to retrieve his sword, sliding on his knees to pick it up, and resumed his earlier dance with it more to the sounds of the crowd’s mania than to the music. It probably should have been concerning that there, in that moment, he felt more at home than he ever did in a squad car, but who was he to argue when it felt so right?

The music hit its last few notes and he flawlessly executed the flourish and pose he always ended with, placing himself on display for his onlookers. He briefly surveyed the crowd and reveled in the adoration they threw at him—both through their cheers and their money—until he caught a flash of blonde hair in the throng that seemed familiar. Why, he didn’t know, but it was poorly timed deja vu on his brain’s part.

He didn’t let his face fall as he turned on his heel and headed backstage, the lights again dimming as the stagehands scrambled to clean up and the audience began to trickle out. He was always their biggest earner of tips on the nights he performed, but he didn’t need the money, so he usually donated it to whatever cause suited him in a particular week; he’d already earmarked these earnings to help a group battling gentrification.

Once back in the dressing room, though, the grin disappeared. Why had a mere glance of a woman he didn’t know bring his high crashing down? Why was that all it had taken to bring him back into the lonely tedium of his day-to-day life?

Hastily, he threw on his jeans and shirt, not even bothering to take off the hook. His jacket was snug around the brace but he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it; it would suffice until he got home. Then he tossed on a baseball cap to hide his face from any stragglers and wordlessly slipped past the bouncer into the night.

He tried to blame the downfall in his mood on stress, on the missing persons case he was working, maybe even on hunger—anything but the aching solitude that one weird glance had set upon him. But as he walked the lamp-lit sidewalks home, he couldn’t shake a line from his song playing over and over in his head: Oh can't you see / You're losing me / Again?

It was true enough that he felt like there was something gone from his life that should still be there. But until he figured out what that was, he’d be back at the club tomorrow, filling the empty hours in the only way he knew possible.

A/N: The song in this fic is “Captain Hook” by John Cale

tagging some lovelies @kat2609 @nfbagelperson @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @its-like-a-story-of-love @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

[deathsdesiign]

I’m posting this, but i’m going to delete it after a day cause it’s not edited for tumblr. but it’s also mort’s original about or whatever for the forum he’s from. and i figure people might want to see it. under a read more cause it’s long af 

The room is bright and sparsely decorated; almost clinical if it wasn't for the collage of somewhat crude pictures and posters on the far wall. Images that are quite clearly of corpses in various stages of the embalming process. Like before and after shots of a particularly gruesome accident, except that a young face is grinning at the camera in each of them. Body bent over the table, offering a thumbs up or thumbs down, in a scale you're not sure you ever want to know. You want to look away, your eyes are burning with the effort, but it's like watching a train wreak. You can't look away no matter how hard you try, and each set of pictures seems to be more gruesome and gore filled then the last.

"You know people used to pay to have their corpses photographed? Wicked, huh?"

The voice startles you, and your heart stops for a fraction of a second. Ironic considering your current location. If there was ever a better place to drop dead, surely the prep room of a funeral parlor would be it. But considering you were alone with three corpses just seconds ago your little moment of fear doesn't seem too uncalled for.

With a spin you're facing the young man. He looks out of place in there; jeans and a black t-shirt, with beat-up converse on his feet. Like he'd snuck in to get a glimpse at the dead, and you should be calling security.

Except of course you know better.

"Yep, they used to drop their loved ones off. Get them all nice an' tidy. Then people like me would prop them up real nice using wires, or you know stands or whatever. Get them looking like everything's swell." He's pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, black ones, if you must know. "Photography was expensive back then, people could only really afford like three pictures tops. Some of them, that's the only family photo." He laughs, and dark eyes drift up to focus on your face. Eyes that are much too old for that childish grin. "Can you imagine that, family photo with all the kiddies gathered around grandma's corpse?"

You kind of just stare at him, what else are you supposed to do? You're here because haven hill needs this interview, and with the three car accident victims laid out in front of him, he'd put off this meeting for the last time. So they'd sent you here. To the last place anyone should ever want to go willingly.

At least anyone human.

"Ahem, Mr. Wynter I-"

"Please, dude. Call me Mort. Or Morty, whatever gets your gears grinding." He's grinning, but he's also prepping a tube and syringe, and just looking at it is making you want to throw up. Never mind the corpse with an unrecognizable face laying on the table between you.

"Um...Mort. You know why I'm here, right?"

"Yeah, you want to hear my story, I get it. You don't mind if I talk while I work do ya? These guys need to be prepped by tomorrow and- are you gonna be okay? You're looking kind of green around the gills there?"

"I'm fine...just-"

"Never been this close to a body before, huh?" He looks sympathetic but you doubt it. For some reason you doubt his ability to be something so...human. Especially not when there's a wall of selfies with corpses at your back. All you want is for this to be over, and to get the fuck out of here.

"Just start from the beginning, alright?"

"Alright, but it's a long story. So I hope you're not planning on going anywhere for a while."

"Just go."

He's working as he talks, but to your relief he's at least talking and for the moment you can forget the bodies laying around you. Car accident victims with their faces a mess and their bodies shattered. Of course your eyes drift down anyway to watch as he begins the draining process, unable to look away even as the body's fluids seep out of the plastic tubing and down a drain. It makes your stomach flip and turn as his voice washes over you; enthusiastic, but almost mechanical. Like this is something he's shared a thousand times before, and its become little more then a script to recite.

I wasn't born. Not in the strict human sense of the word. What I am, my nature, it kind of doesn't allow for that kind of thing, you know? I mean sure there was a moment where I wasn't there and then a moment where I was, but I didn't have a mother. Or if I did she or he or it, wasn't around when I finally realized that I could...well, realize things. There were others that came before me of course, you might recognize them. The oldest was another pair of twins; Light and Darkness, then came Life and her twin Time, then my sister and I.

You're probably wondering; How could you have a twin if you're not born? How do you know? Well the answer to that is kind of simple really. You just did. And if you didn't, you had the older ones to tell you that's how it was. According to Life we flared into existence one instant after the other. We always came in pairs, with centuries between each match.

He laughs and you don't really understand why. But it's a sound that sends chills through your entire body, like you've just taken a dive in ice water.

A little on the bubbly side for my taste, but I could handle that-

Anyway, I'm off track here. Which I shouldn't because this can stretch on for centuries, and I doubt you have that much free time.

Basically it was six of us, three pairs, but the focus of all this is my sister and I. Like I said we were twins, except we weren't. It's just the easiest way to describe us in human terms. Technically we aren't related or anything, we're just there. Concepts, constructs, that help the world and the universe run. Fate's purpose was to write out the stories of each and every being in existence. She knows literally everything, and if you were to go to her 'room' you'd find that it was filled to the brim with books and strings that crisscrossed all over the place. An organized mess with her in the center of it, blank stare focused off into the distance. I asked her once what that was like the whole 'seeing everything and anything thing' and the way she explained it was like having an infinite number of televisions playing in your head at once. Crazy right?

I do not envy her in the least...but then I guess it's something you get used to. I mean it's not like my version of keeping track of things is any less fucked up.

He pauses then, and takes a minute to turn around, arms reaching behind him to tug up his shirt. The process makes you pause in confusion, but then your eyes widen and you feel yourself gasp. It takes a moment but clear skin seems to shimmer away and suddenly every inch of him is covered in bloody scratches..and they're moving. You know for a fact that they're words; names...but they heal and reappear far too quickly for you to even begin to read them.

"Neat, huh? I think it's just our world...but I might be wrong. I feel like the longer I stay here, the more names from this place start to pop up." He's shrugging and the scratches vanish, leaving his skin clear ( at least to your eyes ), before he lets his shirt drop back down. "Doesn't hurt by the way, in case you're wondering."

A gulp, and you find yourself asking "A-at all?"

He shrugs, fixing the tube to start pumping the body with formaldehyde. "I think it did at first...but I don't remember. It was fuck-all-forever ago." Stepping away from the body, he moved to the second table, waving that you follow. "That one's gonna take a few minutes so." He'd set up some bottles with what appeared to be cleaning supplies, hands moving deftly over the man's limbs. Lifting the arms and wiggling the fingers.

"Gotta check for rigor....anyway, where was I?"

"Uh..." it was a struggle to keep the queasiness building in your stomach. Especially with this one. Arguably the worst of the three. "Your s-sister..."

"AH, yeah."

It's just the way it was.

From the get-go we had pretty much one job and we sort of just dove right on into it. I mean it was our entire reason for existing, you know? So it was kind of a given that from nanosecond one we were doing what we were programmed to do. Fate would write out the stories, when someone was supposed to die I'd get the name. ( By the way I mean real honest, to goodness Death. Not 'oh look I kind of sort of died but hallelujah I didn't' ) Like, when I get your name, that's it. Unless Life pulls some divine move bullshit and calls a God or something to intervene, your soul is fucking mine.

I'd like to think she had a little more respect for me then that. Normally she'll give me a heads up if she doesn't want someone to die ( mostly so I can intervene with Fate cause I mean my sister DOES NOT enjoy outsiders fucking with her shit. ).

You should count yourself lucky by the way, not everyone gets a backstage tour of this shit. It happens in another plane of existence. One, people like you can't even dream of. It's broken into sectors and my personal space is kind of like this void where I can go anyplace I want. I just have to think it.

Makes getting souls and tossing them off to their respective resting grounds a hell of a lot easier. Just gotta think it, and boom I'm there. Easy as popping an eye out.

Fate and I, this is what we did. Non-stop. For billions of years. Since the first spark of life it was me and her; writing and reaping. Over and over and over again. You know how fucking boring that is? I mean lets just put aside that we're basically immortal concepts and not actually people, for like five seconds. Can you imagine doing the same damn thing non-stop; morning, noon, and night. From the instant you crawl out from between your mom's legs to the moment you fall ass first into your coffin? It could drive you mad, and you know, I think it kind of did. Well...not me, but Fate? God damn, you should have seen her. Everything that happens next? It was all her idea, but you're not gonna see me complaining. Fuck that. Those were some of the funnest years of my life, and I'm going to tell you exactly why..cause buddy, it's got about everything to do with how I got here.

He's stopped, seemingly to catch his breath, but really he's gesturing animatedly at the body between you two. "Holy shit dude, this guy's ribs are poking out. Come see!"

"Um...no."

"Aww, c'mon it's just like the movies. Here, look." Before you can stop him, he's yanking you forward and your eyes widen because you can't help but stare at where he's pointing. The stark white bones jutting free of the man's side. It makes you want to throw up, and you gag, trying to pull free. Despite the scrawniness of his size; the thin arms, there's a power hidden behind those muscles. Strength that keeps you pinned as one gloved black hand pokes curiously at one of the bones. He's got his face as close as possible too, hovering over the wound, and inches from yours with that same grin. "Neat, huh?"

The urge to throw up is growing stronger now.

He seems to finally sense your discomfort and his hold loosens and drops away. Finally allowing you to shoot back away from the table until you're pressed against the far wall. Gasping for air; and unfortunately finding nothing but the stale air of the morgue. The sharp smells of copper, formaldehyde, and death.

You need a distraction, fast. "C-can you bring people back?" It's the first question that pops into your head. Your eyes by this point are rolling around in your skull in an attempt to look at anything BUT the dead man on the table. Though you finally settle back on him, just in time to see him offering a thumbs up and smile at his phone as he takes another picture for his wall.

"Me? Nah." He snorts, "I told you there was a Life right? Only she can do that shit...now what I can do." His nose crinkles, and he tilts his head "I can keep you from dying. For however long as I want, well, maybe not forever. There is an order to this shit and eventually I have to listen to it." He shrugged "That's when the cuts really hurt you know, when I keep someone kicking even though their name showed up? It hurts like a bitch. It's different when Life does it, cause you're getting a second chance, but me? Nah if I keep you around it's still part of your first. So your name is going to just keep slicing itself in till I get the message." he snorts "Course you might not want me to. I can keep you alive forever but I can't heal you so lets say you jumped off a fucking building; splat. Can you imagine being alive, like that? Would you want to be?" It sounds horrifying and you find yourself shaking your head in horror. "Didn't think so."

He shrugs, spinning a pair of scissors on his fingers. "'Course it's not all bad. I can also keep you alive long enough for someone or something else to intervene? I mean lets say I stabbed you in the heart right here and now. Imagine if the doctors had literally all the time in the world to fix you? They could patch you up, hell they could even take your heart out and wait for a new one to show up months later and you'd still be fine." he grins. "It's relative really. The order's there and I have to follow it...but people can intervene, people 'change it up' or 'cut in first'."

"I-I don't think I follow."

"That's alright, that's what the next part of the story is for."

I mean...I'm not evil either, it's kind of morally grey actually. I have no idea what I am, but anyway...

The games started pretty recently all things considered. You'd expect this whole fiasco to be my idea, but it wasn't. Like I said, doing the same thing over and over again it drove you mad. And if anyone one of us deserved to go mad it was Fate. I mean she had the whole 'infinite tvs in her head' thing going for her. It's no surprise when one day she kind of just yanked the floor out from under me.

I was actually pretty goddamn pissed at first. There's not a lot to get excited about in my line of work, but occasionally. Occasionally I'd get something big. Like war or tragedy big. Sometimes you people will fucking screw each other up so bad and the death count can just blow your mind. Other times it's some freak accident or some natural event. Either way, the big stuff. God that gets my jollies cooking if you know what I mean.

The stream of death on a daily basis is constant. Always flowing, never stopping. It's like the blood flow of the universe. People's souls are moving in and out like air through cells. It's beautiful ( if you're not forced to look at it forever. ), like a work of art. Sometimes though, there's a big rush of it. It's like when your beautiful mountain view is broken by a sudden avalanche. It's still fucking beautiful, it's nature, but it's beautiful in a different kind of way. You feel me? A chaotic, heart pounding kind of way.

That's what was about to happen. A big chaotic something.

A bridge collapse to be exact.

I'd been planning this for months, eagerly anticipating what was going to be the biggest flash point tragedy I'd seen in ages. I was fucking psyched for all the souls that were about to come flooding through my door. Literally the highlight of my existence in that moment as depressing as that might sound to you, I'd like to take this moment to remind you that people dying is how I exist. There's no beating around the bush or lying about it. I live and thrive because people are dying, and it's not my fault I get my jollies from big tragedies. So don't go thinking I'm the one that caused this to begin with. I don't cause Death, I don't kill things. I collect what dies. Simple. Easy. This bridge was going to collapse and all I had to do was stand back and watch it all happen.

That's when Fate did her thing. You see Fate, her job is basically nothing. It's watching, witnessing, writing. She isn't supposed to intervene like Life might, she can't even grant things like deja-vu like Time can do sometimes if he's feeling especially douchy one morning. Fate basically drew the short straw in our little relationship. Which is I guess why she just snapped. I honestly think that she did what she did just so she could see if she could actually do it or not, at least that first time. She wanted to be something more then a bystander is what I'm guessing, and was I mad that her little ego trip ruined the greatest day of my life? Yeah a little bit.

See she shoved what she could see, into one of the bridge victims. He saw and lived his fate down to the very last second. He saw every moment, felt the spray of blood on his face, probably even felt his damn soul leaving his body. Only to weak up like it was all a very vivid, very 'about-to-fucking-happen' dream. Of course dream boy shit his pants and freaked out. Now, he didn't manage to save EVERYONE on the bridge, but he saved six people. Six people living on borrowed time, six names that suddenly hurt.

You see, I'd never known you could skip a name. Before only Life did it, and like I said there were no consequences when that happened. This time? Nah, this time I felt it. I felt those names digging into my skin like whatever divine force held the pen was pissed at me. Not Fate. Me.

I had never felt pain before. It was kind of awkward.

Here he was stopping again, focusing on his work, or gathering his thoughts. This part of story seemed to take more concentration seeing as his demeanor had changed somewhat. He was still at ease in his surroundings but there was a more focused expression on his features. Eyes darkening as he finished prepping the last body and gestured for you to follow him back to the first. "I could never understand my sister. You'd think that she did all of that because she cares. I mean...why else give the poor kid a premonition? Why even bother trying to save anyone's life if you didn't actually want them to be saved?" A huff of breath, that frosted in the air in front of him as though you both stood out in the snow. Morgues and funeral parlors were kept cold, naturally to preserve the dead, but not that cold. That was him.

"She didn't care?"

He had face close to the first victim, and he glanced up to shake his head. "Not one fucking bit." A chuckle "She's not evil, so don't go thinking that either. None of is is good or evil. We're...grey. We're not supposed to feel anything, I don't think...but we do." His head tilted slightly "I used to call it a 'backfire bond'. It was like we were meant to be connected to humanity. To help it run, but something went wrong. The connection was supposed to go only one way and I guess at first it did. Only the more people there were, the bigger the flood of information going through the bond.Until the only way for it to stay open was for all of that to go both ways." He straightened, hands falling to his hips, "Does all of this make sense?"

"Not really."

"Figures. Well, the only other way I can explain it is like a doorway. If you have one of those double doors and the crowd is small you can just open one and everything is fine. The people coming through are usually coming one or two at a time on a good day and it's easy to keep track of everything. But then some huge nightclub or something opens upstairs and suddenly that one door is being flooded with people trying to come in ten or twenty at a time. Not just that but there's people wanting to go out and you're standing there trying to keep track of it all. Eventually you need to open the other door to ease the flow. Except that second door was closed because it actually cut through your home or your office...so now this surge of people is walking through your personal space." He shrugged "You don't want them too but they're there, and when they come through bits and pieces of them get left behind. Clothing, accessories, the stink of their perfume. It lingers inside of your personal space like a disease you can't get rid of."

"I think I get it now...you were absorbing parts of humanity? Parts of us?"

"Bingo."

"And your sister...she.."

"She absorbed a lot more then the rest of us. Enough to make her a little cruel. She's a total sweetheart of course, but something inside of her- nah, something in there is broken. Like I said before she gave the first vision just to see if she could. She knew it'd do nothing, except maybe torture those people, but she did it anyway. Just to see."

"What about you, what'd you do?"

He grins.

Anyway, I stormed to where Fate was and I yelled. After all this was a mess that had repercussions all over the place. The list on my skin was practically having seizures. Simply because as long as these people were alive they were interacting with other people, changing events that they shouldn't have even existed for in the first place. Because of them certain events that should have happened didn't. And I couldn't just snap my fingers and make them all simultaneously drop dead of an aneurysm. I'm Death but up until then all I did was collect souls, I didn't physically interact with the world to actually cause anything.

Fate didn't make it any better. She was pleased with what she'd done. Like the cat that swallowed ten canaries she just kept taunting me. Saying that she was better, that she'd bested me. Laughing because now I was stuck, and she could beat me whenever she wanted. All she had to do was show someone what was coming, and that was it. "Let Fate Decide" She told me, and grinned like a cracked piece of glass right at me. Fate had decided. She'd decided to be a pain in my ass.

Well two could play at that game.

I decided that if she could interfere then so could I. It took a little practice but I managed, following her little 'chosen ones' and playing with the world around them until I caused a brutal enough accident. Sometimes they caught on. ( Even then I had to go in order ) and sometimes they even managed to avoid me more then once. Hell there was even one time where Fate just kept giving the girl visions. Over and over and over again every time she noticed me getting ready to do what I was doing.

Have you ever heard of the game mousetrap? It's a personal favorite. A board game where you have this confusing setup in the middle of the board and everything's connected. When the mousetrap is set off one thing causes another until the cage comes down over whatever player gets caught.

That's what I did.

Turn on a forklift and taking the break off so it starts moving on its own. Directing it towards a shelf full of hardware supplies, knocking the supplies down so that one of the wooden logs bursts the bag on an air compressor making it explode. That explodes knocks some dude ten feet into a wall of spikes or a nail gun with the safety off. Brutal, but effective. If no one stops it or intervenes I win. I get the soul that I needed to get and fix my list. Except, that kind of power...it gets to your head. It makes you want more, and eventually we stopped seeing it as our job. We were seeing it as a game.

It didn't matter that we were playing with people's lives. That we were making humans who were set to die especially brutal and traumatic deaths to begin with, miserable. All that mattered is that Fate could give them premonitions and I could get them killed. It became a race; could I get rid of all of them before they caught on, could I kill the last batch before she started the new one. Of course I was limited by a strict order and she wasn't so there was a bit of an unfair advantage. I could kill people but if they escaped my trap I'd have to swing back for them later, and if Fate started a new group I couldn't get to the survivors of the last one until I'd run through the new people.

Life thought it was disgusting.

Oh but it was so much fun.

We did our damage, and sometimes I even gave them hints myself. Like...did you know that if you're next but you kill someone who wasn't supposed to die. You switch places on the list? Technically since these people weren't supposed to exist in the first place, anyone they killed could arguably be classified as 'not supposed to die'. I told them that, I made sure that they knew...gave them hope. Then I made sure they picked people who didn't have particularly long to live anyway. Nice right?

You look horrified and he can see that, but he just smiles at you. Fingers working to stitch up the broken face of the corpse in front of him. Fixing the damage of whatever accident got him him. "We were cruel sons a bitches, that's obvious...but we were bored. We couldn't help it. I think, in the end, that's how the darkness found us."

Here you perk up. Sensing the closing of the story.

"We're supposed to be background noise, but all this playing with people's lives meant that we had our hands buried deep into the world. We were leaving our little side dimensions and spending more and more time among people. Giving them visions, fucking them over. Fucking each other over. Too busy to notice that something was wrong. There was a taint in the air...a sour taste like rotting corpses." His nose crinkled, and it's almost ironic. "Sis and I, by rights we should have been the first to notice that something was killing people. Something big was destroying the world...wiping out Fates and flooding me with souls, but we didn't."

He sighs, and stands back, hands stuffing in his pockets "When the Darkness was completely here I didn't notice until I finally went back to my dimension. The place was packed. Full to the brim and growing fuller...straining with the influx of death and destruction that was taking place and it was only getting worse. I tried, I really did try to fix the damage. To start the souls moving on but...to where?" His head shook and there might have actually been sadness there. "The places they should have been going weren't fairing any better; heaven, hell, hades, Elysium, purgatory. Didn't matter, they were all feeling it. It was Chaos."

"That bad?"

He nods, and his shoulder's slumped "Fate was freaking out, the tvs in her head were shutting down or something, I guess. But I couldn't even be bothered. All those souls were in my domain and I could hear them screaming, could hear them crying. They wanted to go somewhere, but I had nowhere to put them. You'd think it wouldn't phase me much but that was my purpose it was fundamental part of who and what I am. What good is a Grim Reaper, Death, if he can't traffic souls to their final destination? Worthless that's what."

"That's not-"

"Oh believe me it is. I broke down. I couldn't do it, couldn't even begin to handle it. I tried but it was too much, so I ditched. Didn't even tell Fate where I was going. I just...had to get out of there. Had to go back to the world and breathe. I pretended to be human for a little while, that's how I found out about the portal. I didn't think I'd ever cross. My duty, my job is the animated world. I'm connected to it...stitched into it. I didn't even think I could cross."

You're watching him closer now, the changes in his expression. A hundred different emotions flicker there in the course of all this. Too fast for you to really read any of them. "But you can? Or you could..."

"Yep. I decided to give it a shot. Who knows, maybe if I'm not there people can't die anymore. right? Worth a shot. I took the dive, and now I'm here. Gotta say...being an actual real human. It's a fucking trip." He laughs now, and a bright grin spreads across his face "I knew about all this stuff but to actually get a chance to play with any of it? To watch movies, play video games, take pictures? EAT FOOD. It's great. Better even. No wonder nobody wants to die...fuck if I had all this, I'd want to live forever too." The grin widens, almost maniacal. "Good thing I can, right?"

You shake a little at the look on his face, and then he's suddenly moving around the table to stand next to you. Wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close before holding his camera phone up over your heads. "It's been nice meeting you kid, loved the chat but I gotta head back to work." There's a flash as he grins at the camera before turning and laying a sloppy kiss on your cheek. "Tell your mom to cut back on those candies she likes, and stay away from public transportation." You're left in minor shock as he saunters back to his side of the table, tucking his phone in his back pocket. "I better not find you using any of that in a book without permission, remember I can find you." A teasing wink.

Too bad you didn't see it that way. You were practically running out of there once you'd finished. Desperate to escape the bodies and the chill he'd settled into your bones.

Don't take the bus?

Why?