taztaas:

”He’s going to hate me, one day,” Kravitz says, out of the blue, casually, like it’s a fact. Lup looks up from her paperwork, ends up staring at Kravitz’s profile. He’s leaning his chin on one hand, eyes staring unseeingly out of the window of their office in the Stockade. The glow from the Sea of Souls paints his features with soft lavender.

Lup realizes she’s still holding the quill she was using to write and there’s a big blotch of ink right in the middle of the document. She curses; she hates paperwork with a passion. She’s jealous of Barry who gets to be chasing a minor cult at the outskirts of Goldcliff while she’s stuck here shuffling papers with her superior who is being fucking weird all of a sudden.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Being left alone is what he fears the most –  and I am Death,” Kravitz says, emotionless, unmoving. “He’ll grow to hate me.”

There’s no need to ask who he’s talking about. Lup frowns, her shoulders tensing because she doesn’t like how this sounds, doesn’t like where this conversation is going.

“I’m Death too, Ghost Rider,” she says because it’s true, and he’s not making any sense.

“You’re his sister.”

“You’re his husband,” Lup hisses through clenched teeth but Kravitz shakes his head and he’s still not looking at her.

“It’s not the same,” he says quietly. “It’s not the same.”

The quill in Lup’s hand snaps in two.