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beyoncesdragon · 4 years

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The Sin pt. 2

The confession

Pariring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: some making out bc I want that and lots and lots of swearing

Summary: It’s an invite that went missing and feelings that got returned. Just a little late, a little unfortunate and a little unholy. In this part: Where Tommy confesses something to the reader and Grace plays a different part in it than imagined.

Here: Where Tommy finally comes home.

a/n: first of all: I am so so so so so sorry for taking ages to write this. believe me I have around 4 different versions of this, all over 3k words long. I struggled greatly with this, and it’s my own fockin fault. I think I have never, and I mean never struggled more and I hateeeee this. but it just doesn't seem to get better. I am sorry. I hope you still read and enjoy🥺

Just because I can remember @soleil-dor asking specifically...this for u. I am so SORRY fuck

My Masterlist

My doorbell ringed at the same time the church bells stroke midnight and it scared me half to death. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only dressed in my flowy nightgown and a light blanket over my shoulders, the book had already slipped from my grip. I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, carefully approaching the door. I heard a rumble from upstairs, probably Elise jumping out of her bed. I sighed, deciding that I would just open the door myself.

The last man I had expected to stand in front of my door, soaked to the bone and with pale face and tousled hair was him. Not that I had expected anyone, but especially not him.

My eyes flickered over his silhouette and back to his face. There was something strange in his eyes, something broken from the inside, almost. His posture remained as always, proud, upright and unbothered but his eyes…I remember how Polly had once mentioned to him that the eyes were the doors to the soul. Tommy had just blankly stared at her, given her an unfazed look before lowly explaining that he, in fact, must’ve lost his soul in France then, because nobody would ever read him through his eyes. And I had almost believed him. Almost.

I snapped out of my thoughts and tilted my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted another Shelby around at that time of the day.

The white light of a lightning flared across the dark night and made me flinch. To hell with this, I was not letting anyone stand outside my door during weather like this. With a small sigh I stepped aside, letting him pass me to come in. Elise, my loyal handmaiden who had peaked from behind my back, quickly shuffled aside, the worry still haven’t left her face. Usually it would’ve been her opening up, but I had allowed her to go to sleep already because I really wanted to finish that book...so she’s been freed from that duty. However, it didn’t stop her from come running when she heard the doorbell ring.

My eyes fell on a gun in her hand, as it suited the only handmaiden in an unprotected house. Yet I still always chuckled seeing her like this: wearing a light green nightshirt which reached down over her knees, backless slippers and a nightcap to protect her light brown curls. And then a bloody gun. I supressed a grin.

“Madam…?” she whispered as I closed the door shut, giving him a suspicious look. “It’s fine Elise. It’s just Tommy he…he’s okay. You can go to bed again. Or maybe if you would just prepare a the kettle with some hot water for tea…” I suggested, eyes trailing over Tommy. This man needed tea, urgently.

She nodded almost reluctantly before hinting a curtesy. Almost secretive she however handed me the gun, as if to make sure I could still shoot him if in need. I bit back a smile and nodded at her, before looking back at Tommy.

He had his eyes locked on me, a strong unbroken gaze. He didn’t even blink. His black coat was dripping down onto the carpet, his hands held his hat tightly. His eyes left me to follow the young frame of Elise leaving the kitchen with a nod into our direction and tiredly climbing up the stairs.

“She’s handed you a gun.” Those were the first words he had said to me since that phone call, around two weeks ago. His eyes now fell to my hands before I could place the gun down or hide it…so I wouldn’t offend him. But he’s seen it, obviously.

“She has. People are not scared enough of women to leave us alone.” I explained with a shrug, looking down at the shimmering weapon in my hand. “Y’gonna use it?” I looked up surprised. “Against who? You?” he shrugged, face blank and impossible to read. I could only chuckle at that, shaking my head and placing it down. “Obviously not?” he nodded in a matter-of-factly before suddenly grabbing my hips and shoving me against the wall behind me. His hand were everywhere and his lips left burning kisses all over my neck and jaw.

“T-Tommy…?” I could only stutter, completely taken aback by his eagerness, his neediness and his want. His cloak was still wet and cold and I could feel it soak through my thin silky nightgown as he pressed his body against mine.

“Wet.” I could only mumble against his lips before he bit down on my lower lip, urging me to stop talking. He however did start to shrug the jacket off of his shoulders, getting frustrated when it wouldn’t work. I pushed him away gently, helping him slipping out of the wet coat. it took me about ten seconds but I already missed his touch like an addict craved a line of coke. He let the probably completely overpriced coat fall to the ground and instead of picking it up he was back on my lips in no time. His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second. The sharp whistle of a teapot made us snap apart. His breathing was heavy, just like mine.

He stepped back in silence, letting me pass in an almost awkward silence. Tension lied heavy between the two of us, so thick and noticeable it made me dizzy. He made me dizzy.

“Is Earl Grey fine? No wait, camomile is actually better…or lime blossom…” I coughed, trying my hardest to overcome the husk of my own voice as my fingers traced along the carefully stacked tins filled with the best herbs and mixtures.

“Whisky does the job.” His husk voice caught me off guard since it was way closer than I had expected. “Lime blossom it is then. Fuck off with whisky, do you know what time it is?” he said nothing after that, his eyes silently following my every move as I set up the teapot to pour the boiling water into. There wasn’t another word spoken during the time the lime blossom soaked in, we kind of just stood there, watching the steam from the teapot and each other.

He looked worn out in the dim light of my kitchen. His skin was paler than usual, his hair a tad messier than I was used to (which could theoretically also be my fault though), his eyes less deep and colder.

Now, where he had removed his dripping coat he looked a bit less buff. Still a hunk of a man, still towering me. Especially because I wasn’t wearing heels, which was a thing I usually did, especially around men. Their ego was often big enough to treat me more like a servant and less like a business partner simply because I was a woman and they were taller. It was ridiculous really. Tommy had never treated me like this, I had never feared to be treated like an underdog. Sure, he was sly and witty, he knew how to bargain and twist everything to his profit. But that wasn’t done in a condescend manner at all. Maybe that was why I was drawn to him the way I was. The second he stepped out of his car and walked towards me, proud and seemingly uncaring of all the stares he was receiving from my workers. It had been truly stunned when he stopped, eyes wandering over my stable lad and me, before approaching me. Usually people tended to approach Gregory first, a thing I watched with great amusement. Not so Tommy, he’d approached me from the beginning. And he ended up buying one of my best horses immediately, Yastra, a horse I had never planned to sell in the first place. She wasn’t even named properly for the race tracks. Tommy couldn’t care less. He’d given the proud sand coloured steep a long look before offering his deal. Yastra still lived on my property and I still trained her, just like the two other horses he’d bought later on. Only one, a brown mare by the name of Pacific Princess II stood in his stables.

The strong and sweet taste of the lime blossom made me shake my head and snap out of my thoughts. Tea was ready and if I would leave it too long without serving, it would turn bitter. “Get me a stand from in there.” I turned to reach for the honey when I suddenly felt his presence behind me. I turned around, almost bumping into him. He had his lips on mine before I could even say something, picking off the unsaid words from my lips and swallowing them down. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, not at all. It was more like a violent, unrestrained kiss, a kiss with teeth nipping on swollen lips. He was devouring me, drinking all of my being in with one kiss, and I felt like he was sucking the air straight from my lungs.

Tommy kissed so hard it was like he was trying to leave the memory of the imprints of his lips in my mind forever. And he probably accomplished just that by now.

His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. He pushed me back against the countertop, lifting me up to place me down on it immediately.

He let out a throaty groan, splitting my legs with his body to come even closer. He tasted sweet, kissed filthy as ever and set my skin on fire. My mind was blank, all I could I think was Tommy, his hand on my back, the other one trailing shakily from my waist up, over my breast before halting at my collar bone. He brought it up to my neck, deepening the kiss even more, making it just a tad more desperate.

In moments like these it was when I realised once again how I would never ever get over Tommy Shelby, not in this life and probably not in another one. He just swept me off my feet every time. He did it when we had kissed first, needy and thrilling, in the stables a few years ago. It had been the third time we had met, this time for inspecting one of his race horses because of breeding options. Monaghan boy, a black stallion with a beautiful neck. As always, tension had lingered between the two of us like a thick fog, but he had been the first to give in. He had this thing where he liked to back me up against the wall, preferably dominant and always in charge. It had made my knees weak in an instant and it didn’t help that he had a tongue to sin with. From that day on, our meetings consisted of either heated discussions about horses and life or sex. Or both, most of the time…then he had met Grace and whatever we had, stopped. And it stopped in an ugly way, rather. I could’ve understood if he had come to me and told me that he now considered a serious relationship with someone who was not me. I would’ve let him go, heartbroken but at peace. But he had not had the decency to do so, oh no. he had rather left in a hurry with a few stuttered words about “This can’t happen anymore…I’m sorry.”

And yet here he was, for the second time since he said that and ran. And I was letting it happen again, like the fool I was. We parted swiftly to catch out breaths again before Tommy connected his lips with my neck again. He sucked lightly at my skin and left a trail of burning marks down to my shoulders. I moaned quietly as he bit down on my sweet spot right above my collar bone, and pushed his face up to mine again. Instead of kissing me again, he just looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Regretting this already?” I pushed out, almost in spite since he still waited. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes growing dark again. “Why do you always try to piss me off?” good question actually, on the other hand, who the fuck was he to ask anything. “Because you’re hot when you are angry.” He growled lowly, bringing his lips to mine again.

I don’t know what it was that broke the spell and made a weird form of panic flood my bones. Something in my brain switched when he suddenly picked me up, his hungry lips still on mine. This was a married man with a son and a wife at home. What the hell was I doing here? But before I could say something, Tommy had carried me into the livingroom and placed me on one of the couches. He was over me in an instant, pressing me down gently.

“Tommy…Tommy what are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, panting for air. He stopped, eyes flickering over my face, dark with lust.

“What does it look like.” He was equally out of breath, his voice just a tad throatier than before. I said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair out of his face. A whirlwind of emotions flickered through his eyes, like a thunderstorm of realisation, lust, angst, regret, maybe? It was quiet in the room for quite a while, only the crackling fire and wind hitting the windows could be heard. Then Tommy did something I had not expected at all: he let his head rest on my chest, arms around me, unmoving like a heavy organic blanket. My fingers found their way up to his hair, carefully brushing through the longer curls. I was still a bit taken aback by the sudden switch of attitude and mood.

“What’s troubling you, Tommy?” I asked softly, still stroking through his hair. The raw and vulnerable energy that surrounded us now, almost took my breath away. Tommy just shook his head swiftly. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or so it seemed.

“Do y’ever wear it?”

I was confused first. Wear what? Then…my hand wandered up to my neck, as if searching for the green emerald. But there was nothing, just hot skin.

“I do. I took it off for bed.” I explained, almost physically feeling the weight of the precious stone on my collar. “Why did you even send it back?” I asked carefully, that question had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time now. Tommy sighed deeply. “I took an envelope and…” I snorted quickly, cutting him off. “Stop bullshitting me Tommy. I gave her the necklace. Did she not like it?” He sat up, looking down at my lying frame beneath him. There was almost a sly glint in his blue eyes as his gaze met mine again.

“Someone convinced her that the heart was cursed. Gipsy magic.” I gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Someone?” Tommy just leaned back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone.” He confirmed, still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fuck off Tommy. She probably hates me now. Good job, this is one way of keeping me away from your parties.” He let out a snort, almost a chuckle.

“That won’t be a problem anymore. You can come whenever you like.” I rose my eyebrows surprised. I felt like we were slowly getting to the reason why he appeared on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the night.

“She’s…well…she’s left.” I sucked in a startled breath. “Left? As in…ran away? Divorced?” Tommy had his face turned away from me, his eyes watching the fire in the fireplace crackle. “Left.” I gulped, not knowing what to say or do. “I am sorry…really sorry.” I only stuttered, watching the flames reflect red in his eyes. They seemed glossier than before…Jesus Christ I really had no idea how to deal with this situation as a whole. Only hesitantly I placed my hand on his arm. It was weird how I now felt so…shy touching him, when only minutes ago we were making out like our lives depended on it.

“Is it because…because of me?” I whispered, scared of his answer. He snapped back to me, eyes then trailing over my hand.

“No…she’s been married before me, you know. Only she told me that her man had killed herself after she left him.” it made sense now to me, her purple dress. A dress symbolizing that one was still mourning…and I had wondered over who, at a wedding after all.

“Turns out that he’s very much alive.” His voice was bitter and heavy of anger and I traced small circles into arm. “We’ve had an argument you know…about horses and who trains them.” My interest peaked up some more. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of May Carleton…” I nodded swiftly. Of course I did, she was a mutual in every way after all.

“Suppose you had something going on with that one too?” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding quickly.

“I never loved her. It was just…sex?” he almost asked me that and I chuckled softly. “Who am I to judge Tommy. I don’t know if you had feelings for her. After all, you shouldn’t degrade what the two of you did…are we not the same?” that made him snap around to me. “We? Just sex?” his eyes narrowed and it seemed like a new fire ignited them. I waved it off, drawing another circle in his arm. He shook his head, continuing.

“It stopped when Grace came back from New York.” I hummed before waiting for him to continue. “She trained my horses…” I gave him a pointed look. “I can sense betrayal.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Training your horses by another woman…I am hurt. You coward.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how difficult you are sometimes.” I chuckled softly, giving him a wink.

“You love me.” He said nothing, his face falling a bit. I frowned, wanting to assure him that I was only joking but he cut me off. “Do you have whisky?” I nodded, getting up swiftly and walking over to a cabinet. “What would you like?” I asked, stepping aside for him to see the dusty bottles. He got up and walked closer, eyes wandering over the labels.

My eyes wandered over his face, that worn out but handsome face, a face that haunted me and basically ruined all other men for me. My thoughts flickered to the expression on his face when I made the joke about him loving me. I had meant to read something like guilt in his features, but why? Sure, love was a strong word and I wasn’t entirely sure if I could ever expect love from someone like Tommy Shelby, especially after he just broke up with Grace…no, after she just broke up with him. Or called off the engagement, or whatever.

“That one.” I snapped out of my thoughts and grabbed the bottle he chose. I prepared two glass of the orange brown liquor carrying them over to the couch again.

I sat down whilst Tommy kept pacing around the room, his glass in his hands. I noticed the absence of a ring and it almost felt…relieving. But then again…it didn’t. because I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all I’d done.

“She took the boy with her. To fucking New York.” He suddenly pressed out, necking the whisky in a swift move. My mouth parted in surprise and I could only stutter my words of condolence. “I’m sorry to hear that…” I started, silenced by his angry glare immediately.

“Stop lying.” I rose my eyebrows. “Lying? Why should I lie?” he shrugged, visibly frustrated now. “Can I smoke?” I shrugged, watching him light up a cigarette before turning back to me. “Because that’s what you…I don’t fucking know!” he then started, not even daring to finish his thoughts. And maybe it was that what finally ticked me off.

“You wanted to say, because that’s what I wanted? Is it that? Finish your damn sentences!” his eyes flashed up in irritation, but I went on before he could even reply to anything.

“By the way Tommy, what I want is something that should be entirely unknown by you, since you’re not me! And, just to clarify, before you use that…thing that there was on that party two weeks ago: you kissed me! I only turned up because of…I don’t know, spite, anger, whatnot. But I never intended to do anything like…what we did.” He laughed dryly. “You wanna say, you regret it?” I tilted my head, leaning back a bit. “I never said that.” He hummed, an angry glint in his eyes again. Or rather, still.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve turned up then, and sure as hell not given her that damn necklace…” I shook my head.

“I think we both know that this is not about you and not being able to handle her wearing some green, glittery rock.” He took a sharp breath. “By the way, do you even realise how dangerous a rumour like this is for my reputation? That I jinx stuff? Curse chains and…jewellery? There is a legit possibility of my name being ruinedbecause of your little lie.” he said no word, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, grey smoke passing through his lips.

“Are you done?” his voice wasn’t as calm and collected as usually, instead is was heavy with anger and maybe hurt. His icy eyes snapped back to mine, piercing through them as if to strip me off of all of my dignity and leave my soul linger nakedly in front of him.

“Am I done?” I repeated quietly, anger making my voice hoarse. He’d always had a special talent for pissing me off, but this was topping anything. I didn’t even knew what to respond I was so angry. “Yes, are you done. Done, because then I can tell you why the fuck I decided to send that goddamn thing away, back to you.” he took another pull from his smoke before flicking it into the fire. “Can you remember why I gave you this necklace? When I gave it to you?” of course I could, clear as day. It had been a promise, a small, weak promise to care for each other. We had been out, a lovely and peaceful walk with the horses he had just bought, the stars bright and the night cold. He’d been nervous the moment he presented the beautiful stone to me, an almost angsty flicker in his eyes, as if waiting for a rejection.

I had not rejected, obviously, and Tommy had slipped the necklace around my neck whilst pressing butterfly kisses to my neck. But still: the one who ran and broke his own promise had not been me, but him. I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head slowly.

“Of course I can. But it still explains nothing.” He grunted angrily. “Not, eh? Maybe that I don’t need a reminder of us around me every day?” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You mean, you are selfish Tommy? You mean that the fact that you broke your own fucking promise, is making you regret certain decisions from your past? And I am not talking about marrying another woman, I am talking about that hit and run number you pulled there, and then not inviting me to you bloody wedding-celebration…” he slammed his fist down on the chair back, me regret my decision to jump up immediately. But I couldn’t just sit down again, I wouldn’t back off now.

“Do I look like I need a bloody reminder that I fucked up, eh? Do I really look like that to you? And you come and have the fucking nerve to…blame it on my selfishness? My selfishness? When you knew ex-fucking-sactly, what would do to me, if you gave her this necklace?” I was robbed of words to shoot back at him, stumbling back at the force of his words. He followed up, it felt like I was back in his office again.

“You don’t leave my head, my thoughts, my mind, not at night and not at day. You’re there constantly, alright? And I am…was fucking married, alright? I have a bloody kid with that woman, a life, a house, a business. I don’t need a reminder of you on my spouses neck. Fuck!” his eyes were wild and full of emotion, his breath quick and hot and grazing my lips, he was so close.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I pressed out, not exactly knowing what else to say. Tommy just shook his head. “I am sorry. I think I just…” his whole attitude changed all of a sudden, again as if all the anger and hurt left his body and left him behind tired and worn out.

“I think I just missed you.”

I carefully linked my fingers with his before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you too, Tommy. A lot, y’know?” he just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. After a few second he let go of me, stepping back a bit. Not far, and never fully letting go of me. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You can have the guestroom if you need space…” he just tilted his head. “or you can sleep in my bed. With me present of course.” A shy smile played around his lips as he nodded softly. “I am comfortable if you are.” I just pulled him upstairs.

It felt different when Tommy slipped under the covers now, as if we’d never spent a night in the same bed. Which was close to ridiculous because that wasn’t the case at all. The energy just had never been so honest and so…vulnerable. I could hear him take a deep breath, before I felt his arm wrap around me. I turned around to him, glimpsing up at his face. The dark almost swallowed him whole, but I could make out a soft shimmer where his eyes were and the light from the window illuminated his silhouette.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, tangling my leg with his.

“Can I kiss you?” I chuckled softly, arms resting on his shoulders. “Have you not already? Like, when you ruined my nightgown, not that long ago?” I could almost hear his little smirk when he hummed, but I could definitely feel it when he brought his lips down to mine. His arms tightened around me when we parted and he let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” I whispered, leaning into his arms. He mumbled something, words so quiet I couldn’t quite catch them. I raised my head back up.

“Hm?”

“I just…I said that I’m back home.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #the sin #the peaky blinders #the peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #michael gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #Birmingham #cillian murphy

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deathsdesiign · 7 years

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if u wanna know how mort got his dog. dis is it. under read more cause it’s long af. i posted another version of this so i guess this is more of a final/edited draft >>

“Hey buddy, how you doin’? I’m Death.” Honestly, he doesn’t remember if he was ever the least bit subtle. What do you want from a guy that’s usually depicted as a walking skeleton in a black cloak? Not that he’s currently wearing his business best. “Yeah, yeah I know. Where’s the cloak? Where’s the scythe? Why do you have a face?”

His arm flops across the man’s shoulders, and a whiff of air makes him glad he doesn’t really need to breathe. At least, not to do anything more complicated than talking. His new friend is skeptical, but then he’s also not bat shit crazy. Probably. “Listen, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I don’t always look like that. I know, it’s disappointing.”

He’d be the first to admit that his current face wasn’t exactly helping matters. He looked like he was barely scratching twenty even with the dark circles under his eyes and sallow skin. Yet, when he’d decided to come out of the shadows this had been the face he’d chosen. Young and unassuming was a good thing when you were trying to get people to trust you. Even if nobody believed him when he told them the truth.

Like this guy.

“Carl right?”

“Whatever you’re on kid, give me some.” Carl’s laughing but it’s high-pitched and uncomfortable. The words coming out of his mouth are so slurred Mort considers leaning in closer to try and make them out and then thinks better of it. He’s got more than enough of that smell to last him a couple decades, thanks.

He almost pities Carl. Almost.

They are standing in the middle of a warehouse waiting for a dog fight to start after all.

“Most people call me Mort.” He’s got the distinct feeling that maybe Carl isn’t paying attention anymore. He keeps trying to pull away, but as scrawny as these twenty-something arms are, there’s strength behind them. He’s pinned and the more he realizes that he can’t get free, the more frantic his eyes start looking around the room. “Or you know, Mortimer works too. Morty if we’re friends.”

“Look kid-”

“Mort.”

“Mort…this has been nice and all, but the fights about to start, and I actually want to see who’s going to win.” He tries his hardest to pry the arm off from around his shoulders. Even manages an awkward little dance to try and wiggle free.

“Nope. Sorry Carl. You’re staying here with me.”

Poor Carl, he’s starting to panic.

“Don’t scream.” His head tilts and he’s baring his teeth. It’s a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, and the man beside him shrinks away from it as best he can. “We’re going to stand right here and watch the show, how does that sound?” He even adds a friendly hip bump that does absolutely nothing to make Carl feel any better. In fact, he’s almost positive that the man beside him is now completely sober for the first time in his life.

Somewhere up front an announcer has stepped up to introduce the fighters. There’s people yelling and a dog snarling, the atmosphere in the room intensifies.

Mort has always been able to feel the presence of souls. It’s stronger when he’s up close and personal, like with Carl, but rooms packed like this help too. Humans have this notion that your actions can dirty a soul, make it less of what it’s supposed to be, but that’s not true. If it was this room would feel like a black hole. He might be Death but he’s not a judge or a jury, simply an executioner. He doesn’t look at people and see all the good and bad they’ve ever done, all he sees is their souls.

They all feel bright and warm, blinding lights that make you want to look away, even when you don’t necessarily have to. Even when he technically had no eyes to burn out.

“It’s starting, aren’t you excited?” He’s shaking the man beside him, like he’s thrilled to be here.

Except he’s not. In fact, he’s never experienced nausea, but he’s sure that this is what it feels like. The rolling sensation in the pit of his stomach every time a dog’s yelp breaks through all the noise.

Nervous energy makes his free hand dig into the depths of pocket, tugging out a keychain.

For someone who was so eager to watch the show, Carl sure zeroes in on his hand real fast. Watching the lone key and tiny scythe dance between Mort’s fingers like it’s the most fascinating trick in the world. Even if there’s nothing particularly spectacular about it, and his movements are stilted.

“Hey um…can you, let me go? I believe you now, I swear.”

No he doesn’t, he’s just saying that.

Mort grins about it anyway.

Up ahead there’s a loud snarl, and the roar of the crowd ripples in response. “I can’t let you go Carl. You’re going to miss the best part.” Sympathy snakes into his tone, and the wide smile on his face softens like he’s speaking to a child.

One who’s about to get a heavy dose of bad news.

He’s been to dog fights before. Things die at dogfights, it’s a given. Always the casual observer, the one who picks up the mess when the horror is done…

There’s a thing about what he is. For as long as he could remember, he only ever reacted. He was Death in the sense that he was there when you died, but he wasn’t the reason you were dead. He didn’t pull the trigger, or cause the building to collapse.

It was something that he’d known since the start of his existence, but it was not what he chose.

Humming the starting cords to AC/DC’s Back in Black, Mort made a choice.

It was not his first-choice mind you, he’d chosen to make himself this body. He’d chosen the name Mort. He’d even chosen to come here, and stand in this crowd. Now he chose to act, instead of react.

It’s hard to explain. Like there air is full of strings and he can tug at them to make the world around him play whatever game he wants.

This string right here slams the doors shut.

The one whipping around Carl’s head bolts them closed.

In his hand the keychain spins, tiny scythe arching up into the air. Carl knows something is going to go horribly wrong now. It’s a side effect of playing with the natural order of things and being too heavy handed in his games. People, if they’re close enough, start to see him for what he is. They can feel the power seeping off of him, and it makes their souls grow still.

Mort tosses the keychain in the air, and it spins as the first gunshot sounds. He catches it again as realization turns to panic and the crowd around them shatters. The controlled chaos of the fights turns into anarchy in the split second it takes to blink.

Carl catches a bullet with his throat.

Blood splashes across his face but he doesn’t flinch or turn away. Instead he offers a smile as his arm finally releases its hold on the man’s shoulders. Carl is looking at him as he slides to the floor, but it’s an empty already gone kind of stare.

He’s dead well before he finishes faceplanting on the concrete. “Sorry, not sorry.”

Mort feels, exhilarated. Not alive, he’s not sure he can ever feel that, but he feels close enough. It has nothing to do with the chaos around him. He recognizes the slow drag of time as fear and adrenaline twist perception. He can predict where the people will run and all the little ways they’ll try to get out. He knows who’s dead already, who’d dying, and who thinks they’ve gotten away. Stepping through puddles of blood, taking his time to walk around the fallen, he only stops when he sees that light still lingering in their eyes.

He did this. That’s the thrill he feels.

For once he’s not late to the party. He’s the god damn host.

“Help,” someone rasps. “Please,” cries out another. “I don’t want to die.” They reach for him if they can; weak fingers smearing blood on his shoes, hands gripping at the fabric of his jeans. Sometimes he wonders if there’s supposed to be something here. Some sort of emotion he’s not feeling as he kneels beside their bodies and watches them fade away. Pity, maybe? Sadness?

“Dying’s not so bad. Everyone’s got to do it sometime, pal.” He takes a moment to tug the death grip from around his ankle. “Getting shot in the gut is a rough way to go, condolences.” A slow agonizing death that he could speed up, but that would involve caring more than he does. So instead he offers companionable silence as the minutes’ tick by and the pool of blood stops getting steadily bigger. He gets one last desperate look before the lights go out, but his mind is already wandering someplace else. Ignored as bullets fly, and people are trampled and crushed against the doors in a desperate bid to escape.

This was not part of the natural order of things. This was him. He’d found this place and he’d felt disgusted, and that disgust translated into a force. No one was getting out of here alive.

His trip to the center ring is slow and frequently interrupted to watch the light fade out of someone’s eyes. Normally he’s welcoming to the spirits of the departed, gentle with the living as they take their last breathes. This time there’s a perverse sort of joy when recognition flashes in the last spark of someone’s gaze, and fear makes their souls swell and twist.

One of the dogs is dead. He feels it before he even gets close enough to set his hands on the concrete divider between them. The other is so close it tingles in the air, a building sense of anticipation that makes his hand clench around his keychain. In one fluid movement, he’s sliding himself over and into the pit. There’s no one left to stop him, no more people crowding around to wonder who the hell he is. Everyone’s dead, and the ones that aren’t, are hovering mere heartbeats away. He’d almost laugh at how quickly it took for a room full of people to tear themselves apart, but he just doesn’t feel up to it.

The dog is big, rough looking, a pit bull with grey fur and what might have been a white chest under all that blood. He’s hurt. The kind of hurt that you’re not supposed to come back from.

Mort sinks into the dirt beside him, keychain discarded once more in his pocket. “Hey buddy…” He doesn’t expect a response, he knows when things are too far gone, but those eyes focus on him anyway. Head lifting just enough to lick at his fingertips.

Somewhere, he aches.

There’s no heart pounding in his chest, no lungs needing to draw in breath. Yet he feels something tighten underneath his ribs, a dull pressure building at the corner of his eyes.

“You’ve had it rough, huh big guy?” His voice quakes, but his fingers find their way past the dog’s head and down his neck. He touches over his sides, feels the shallow breathing and the fading heartrate. “I can make it better.” He thinks of all the suffering he’s experienced, all the deaths he’s witnessed. He thinks of ages spent with the understanding that he is not a curse, but a gift. Not a point of suffering, but an end to it. He considers everyone that’s died here, of all the dogs who’ve met their end in this cold hard pit.

His fingertips touch against warmth and light, the gentle ember of a soul. He’s cupped so many in the palm of his hands, coaxed them free of their bodies with gentle words.

He decides to make another choice.

He cannot bring life, cannot grant it once it’s done. He can’t breathe someone back from the dead, or set their soul back into their bodies. He can however, say no. He can stand at the edge of life and keep himself from cutting it short. In this moment, he withholds death.

Sometimes reacting just means doing absolutely nothing at all.

“You’re going to be okay.” The soul doesn’t struggle, it settles. The dog whimpers, but his heart beats stronger and his eyes have more light. “My name is Mort, and I’m going to make this better.”

#( SOMETIMES THE DEAD HAVE STORIES TOO | drabbles. )#( DEATH'S BEST FRIEND | craven. )#tw: animal abuse #tw: death #tw: violence #( /covers my bases tbh )

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