#casper kin

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝓇𝒾𝓂 / 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You were just an average assistant at a high-profile fashion magazine, drowning in coffee runs, a horrible bitch boss, last-minute deadlines, and the occasional existential crisis. Nothing out of the ordinary.

That was until he showed up; a sharp-tongued, infuriatingly attractive grim reaper with a bad habit of haunting you. Why? Good question. Apparently, you were on some kind of hit list, and he was assigned to reap your soul.

But if he thought he could scare you into submission, he was dead wrong. Because if a little reaper wanted to haunt you… 

…well, you might as well haunt him right back.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Me. A new obsession. So this one extra long and I wrote this while listening to 'Haunted' by Beyoncé, feeling every note, and watching The Devil Wears Prada.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: casper x afab!reader, subby!casper x dominant!Reader, soul-stealing, playful power dynamics, praise, pet names, teasing, love/hate relationship, possessive behavior, enemies to lovers, slow burn, seductive banter, gentle, blowjob then maybeeeee rough smut, anal sex.

The mortal plane was always predictable.

A annoying world of flesh and bone, ruled by where life start in the wound and ends with a tomb. No matter how any human they fought, no matter how desperately they clung to existence, all paths led to him in the end.

Life was but a momentary flicker in the abyss, and he was the hand that extinguished the flame.

The space between worlds was his domain. A place where the living dared not tread, where the air was thick with the murmurs of the forsaken. Here, in the endless dark, he watched.

They called him many things—Grim Reaper, Phantom of the Veil, Death itself. He was the silent end of all things, the whisper in the final breath, the inevitable shadow lurking behind every heartbeat.

With a touch, he unraveled kings, crumbled empires, and reduced the devout to weeping husks. His presence alone could halt the breath of creation.

Like there was no force he could not bring to ruin. No soul could resist his claim. He had never known hesitation. Never known failure. And yet now, something wrong stood at the threshold of his dominion.

You. A mortal—or so you should have been.

His gaze burned through the abyss, crimson eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his presence stretching across the fragile boundary between realms. A cold wind stirred in the living world, unnatural in its weight, pressing into the earth, curling around your feet like unseen fingers.

A warning. A summons. A death sentence.

And yet, you did not move.

Other spirits shrank from him, retreating into the shadows, whispering their prayers into the void. They clung to you—not in terror, but in something else. Recognition. As though you were not an intruder among them, but kin.

It was unnatural. A violation of the natural order.

A mortal could not walk this close to death and remain. A mortal should not be able to meet his gaze and still breathe. Yet, you stood unshaken, silent at the edge of the veil.

At first, he thought it was something else—perhaps a simple mistake? Some foolish soul who had wandered too close to oblivion.

But then, he saw it.

The unnatural stillness in your breath, steady and unfaltering, untouched by fear. The way the spirits curled around you—not in dread, but in something eerily close to devotion. The way you stood, unshaken, where no living thing should linger.

You were not like the others.

The realization coiled in his mind, very much amused. His head tilted, strands of white hair slipping over his shoulder as his crimson eyes narrowed. Did you sense him?

Could you feel the weight of his gaze settling over you like frost, lingering against your skin like the cold fingers of the dead?

You should have.

And yet, even as the wind howled and the night pressed in, you remained unbothered. No shiver. No faltering breath. No fear.

A slow, eerie smile crept across his lips. How quaint.

It had been centuries—millennia—since anyone had dared to meet his gaze with such unwavering defiance. The bold ones never lasted long. The moment they recognized him for what he truly was, the bravado cracked, the terror set in, and they fell apart like all the rest.

But you… you were different.

Grim let the word slip from his lips like a curse, testing the weight of it in the space between you.

"Mortal."

The sound twisted unnaturally in the air, stretching across the veil like a breath of something ancient, something final. But even as it echoed through the abyss, it felt… wrong.

You did not carry the scent of death, nor the warmth of the living. You stood in the in-between, poised on the knife’s edge of existence. Impossible. An aberration.

His fingers curled beneath his chin, gloved and motionless as he exhaled, mist curling from his lips like the dying breath of a world. No, you weren’t quite mortal, were you? Something sharp and hungry settled in his chest, a curiosity he had not felt in a very, very long time. 

Perhaps he should test you.

See what made you different.

The studio thrived with straight-up chaos—just racks of garments rolling between rooms, fabrics draped over mannequins like offerings to some unseen deity.

Photographers adjusted their lenses, capturing such perfection with every calculated click, while designers hovered over sketches, their minds frenzied with last-minute alterations. 

The air smelled of high-end perfume, ink, and freshly steamed fabric, a scent so distinctly alive that it nearly repelled the presence lurking in its midst. It wasn’t long before he found himself within a space not meant for his kind.

Grim rarely walked among the living so openly, yet here he stood, a phantom amid the world’s most fragile creatures—so blissfully unaware of how close death brushed against their skin.

And then, there was you.

Moving effortlessly through the flurry of industry, weaving between designers and assistants, clipboard in hand, murmuring approvals, adjusting details. Unlike the frantic energy of those around you, you moved with certainty, never flustered, never scrambling, as if the world bent to your pace rather than the other way around.

Grim watched. Intrigued. How pretty.

The thought whispered through him, curling in his mind like smoke. But not in the way he usually observed mortal beauty—delicate, soft, doomed to wither. No, you were not something that would crumble at a mere touch. You were enduring. Again, soft, like a perverse flower. Something worth admiring.

And he should not have been admiring you at all.

He had come for someone else. A soul marked by time, its final grains of sand slipping irreversibly through the hourglass. But you...

You were full of life. Stubbornly so.

It was meant to be nothing more than a passing glance, his eyes filled with curiosity. And yet—something about you demanded his attention. How dare you?

Perhaps it was the way the golden studio lights framed your face when you stopped at your desk, scanning through today's catalog. The glow from your laptop screen reflected in your eyes as you sent out the requests your boss had demanded. Or perhaps it was the way you should have sensed him.

Because you did. 

He saw it in the way your fingers lingered over your keyboard, a slight hesitation, the briefest flicker of something in your expression. The way your posture shifted—not in fear, but in awareness.

You looked up. Behind you. To the side. As if you expected something to be there. And still… no fear. 

Grim's lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, a slow, knowing thing. How quaint. A mortal that did not cower in his presence. He had seen countless souls—broken, frightened, bargaining for more time.

They always begged. Always.

But you? Shit, you couldn’t care less.

You simply turned back to your work, unbothered, as if Death itself was not standing like right behind you, watching. Fascinating.

Like damn, this was going to be a long day. 

You shouldn’t have looked at him. 

Honestly, rookie mistake. Why, out of all the places to let your eyes wander, did they have to land on a pale figure just lurking at the edge of your vision? White hair, almost glowing in the bright golden office lights, just floating there menacingly.

At first, you barely reacted. Spirits followed you enough that one more ghostly presence in your life wasn't exactly a new issue. It was like another annoying email in your inbox—just something you learned to ignore.

But then... he got closer.

You’d think a literal death-bringer would have better things to do than stalk some underpaid assistant at a fashion studio, but nope, there he was, just lingering. Hanging around the clothing racks, floating down the hallways like he had nothing better to do.

"Mortals are usually more entertaining than this," he mused, materializing beside you as you sorted through today’s catalog.

You didn’t react. Nor said anything back.

"They beg, weep, try to strike deals, but you? Not even a glance?" He leaned over your shoulder, reading the emails you were responding to. “Are you truly this dull, or is this job slowly draining what’s left of your soul?”

Still, you ignored him. Just to pretend you were irritated about work rather than the undead menace hovering behind you. Your boss stormed past your desk, rambling about a last-minute change in the collection lineup, completely unaware that you were being haunted.

“You!” she barked. “I need all the model sheets and—ugh, coffee. Black. No sugar.”

You didn’t even blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

Grim tilted his head, amused. “So obedient. How tragic.”

Your eye twitched.

Twenty minutes later, he was still talking.

"So, what exactly do you do here? Fold fabric? Worship those absurdly tall skeletons you call ‘models’? Suffer?"

You exhaled sharply, flipping through the model sheets as you strode down the hall, hoping to outwalk itself.Spoiler alert: you couldn’t.

"Why can’t they see you?" you muttered under your breath, careful not to draw attention from your coworkers as you balanced a tray of coffee cups.

Grim laughed. "Because I don’t want them to."

"Then why can I?"

"Good question. Why can you?" His grin was infuriatingly smug.

You glared at him, resisting the urge to dump scalding coffee onto thin air just to see if he could feel it.

Instead, you set your boss’s drink down on her desk and marched straight to the breakroom, hoping for a few minutes of peace. You swore, though, he was practically waiting outside the door for his cue, like some kind of ghostly actor who knew exactly when to make his dramatic entrance.

And when he did walk in, it was with the kind of confidence that only the dead—and apparently, Spirt—could possess. He moved like he owned the place, a pale figure that seemed to suck the air out of the room. You just wanted to sip your lukewarm tea and get a moment of calm in this whirlwind of a day.

A quiet moment. As rare as they were in this fashion department. But, of course, the real problem started the moment he stepped into the room.

Because as soon as he entered, he decided to open his mouth. 

And when you say talk, you mean he did not shut up.

“Is this your lunch break? How tragic. So much time wasted just sipping a tepid drink while the world spins itself into chaos,” he mused, hovering a little too close for comfort.

You blinked, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Could you not?” You muttered, but he didn’t care. Oh no. He had all the time in the world to follow you around and spout whatever grim commentary he thought would make him sound more ominous.

"Such a sad existence you lead," he added, his voice trailing through the air like the chill of a winter’s night. “So many frivolous tasks, chasing shadows, pretending they matter."

“I’m sorry, what?” you said, only half-listening, as you dumped more sugar into your cup. Honestly, you’d been through worse. Talking to spirits was one thing, but this guy? This one was special. He dared to follow you everywhere—like an annoying coworker you couldn’t escape.

The tea was forgotten, abandoned on the counter as you stormed down the hallway, desperate for a moment of peace. The last thing you needed was this annoying, pale figure following you around and spouting off endless nonsense about time, existence, and whatever cosmic philosophy he was into today.

Of course, he wasn’t done. No, he didn’t understand the concept of space. He was right behind you, still standing as if there were no boundaries between worlds. You could practically feel him breathing down your neck as he leaned in, his voice cold and unnervingly close.

“You can’t feel it, can you?” He asked his words low, almost like a whisper in your ear. “You’re untouched by the flow of time like you’re standing between worlds. It’s fascinating. You should be afraid of me."

That was it. You’d had enough.

You stopped so suddenly that he almost walked into you. The Grim Reaper ghostly figure nearly collided with your back, but you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you pivoted on your heel with the kind of speed that made your coworkers worry if you were secretly a superhero. You crossed your arms and gave him a look—a look so cold, so done, that even your interns would reconsider their life choices if they saw it.

“Yeah, well, I’m not, okay?” You snapped, finally locking eyes with him. “I just need to get through my damn day without hearing your creepy monologue about the futility of human life, all right?”

You exhaled slowly and stood a little taller, letting the words hit him like a wave. "Listen here, Casper," you hissed, your voice sharp. "I have a very stressful job, an underpaid salary, and exactly four hours of sleep. I don’t have the time—or the patience—for your existential whining. So either haunt someone else or sit there and shut up.”

Grim blinked, the oddest expression crossing his face. 

How… how did you know his name?

For a moment, there was silence. He just stood there, staring at you with those piercing crimson eyes, like you had just solved a mystery he hadn’t even realized existed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was as if he was trying to process what had just happened. Maybe he was looking at you differently now like he hadn’t quite figured you out. Was that… curiosity?

Then, with a slow, almost sinister chuckle, he tilted his head, his white hair flowing like a ghostly mane. The sound sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, but you stood firm.

“You’re different,” he said, his voice a little lower, almost in awe.

You were about to snap something sarcastic back when you realized the absurdity of the situation. You—stressed, underpaid, and half-delirious from lack of sleep—were standing face to face with a literal Grim Reaper, and he was the one awed by you?

A bitter laugh almost escaped you, but you swallowed it down, irritated beyond belief. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re different too,” you muttered, grabbing your half-empty, lukewarm cup of tea from the break room counter. 

You took another sip, feeling the sting of regret as the flavor barely registered on your tongue. “Definitely not what I signed up for today.”

Again, you were done with this. Absolutely, unequivocally done.

“Go away, Casper.” You were at your limit, your patience snapped into nothingness. His pale face was just too close—his crimson eyes staring at you with that unnerving mix of curiosity and amusement. You could feel his presence in every corner of the room like he was trying to worm his way into your very thoughts.

So you did what any person in your situation would do: you shoved him.

A simple push, just enough to send him stumbling back, and before he could catch himself, he fell into a rack of clothes. It was one of the designer gowns, a rich red that flowed like liquid, and the entire display tilted under his weight, sending a cascade of dresses crashing to the floor. The sudden noise was enough to startle your coworkers, heads swiveling as they watched the rack topple. But none of them saw the pale figure—just an empty rack of clothes spilling silk and fabric across the room.

You barely even glanced back as you walked away, your arms crossed tight, muttering under your breath.

“I’m not your plaything, Casper. Now get out of my face.”

Casper lay in the heap of tangled fabric, blinking in complete shock. His pale skin—almost glowing under the fluorescent lights—had flushed a deep red, a stark contrast against the rich tones of the gown still draped over his head. He lay there for a moment, completely disoriented.

No one—no one—had ever pushed him before. And yet, here he was, tangled in silks and stunned beyond belief.

For centuries, his presence had been feared, his touch the harbinger of death. When he stood near mortals, their very life force drained, absorbed by his touch like a dry sponge to water. No one touched him without losing something—some part of their essence, their time, their soul. 

But you? You pushed him. And nothing happened. You didn’t wither. You didn’t fall to the ground, gasping for breath as so many others had.

Instead, you just stood there, that familiar, irritated look on your face. As if it were a bother.

He slowly sat up, pulling himself free of the mess of clothing. His usual confidence was shattered, replaced by a rare kind of vulnerability, an unfamiliar emotion twisting in his chest. He stared at you as you continued to walk away, your steps slow and deliberate, as if nothing in the world had happened.

How was it possible?

A mortal—you—had touched him, and yet, you weren’t dead. Or at least, you weren’t acting like it.

His heart—if he could still call it that—pounded with a new intensity. He couldn’t understand it. He had never met anyone like you, never encountered a mortal who refused to be touched by him, never one who dismissed him so… casually.

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the remnants of the clothes he’d knocked over, his pale cheeks still tinged red in a rare moment of fluster. He watched you, not moving, but he was already preparing for his next move.

Something about you intrigued him. You were far too interesting to just let go.

He took a step toward you but then stopped. His gaze fixed on the back of your head, your posture strong, as you walked away from him.

This... this was new.

Casper stood there for a long moment, uncertainty clinging to him like a ghost. Finally, his mouth curled into that familiar, eerie smile again. It was a slow, dangerous thing, full of intrigue.

You hadn’t just touched him. You haddefied him.

And that was something he hadn’t encountered in all his existence. Maybe, just maybe, this could be worth something after all.

Casper was… obsessed now. He had never encountered anything like you, and it gnawed at him, this unfamiliar sense of unresolved desire. You were not just some mortal, some fleeting soul to be reaped. No, you were a mystery—a puzzle that he couldn’t solve, and the very fact that you resisted him so effortlessly only deepened his fascination.

It wasn’t just the thrill of the chase that spurred him on. No. There was something else.

The high-ups, the ones who resided in the farthest reaches of the underworld, the ones who watched over him… they noticed.

A soul that couldn’t die? A soul that resisted the touch of death itself?

What did it mean? Was there something special about you?

Whispers spread like wildfire among the higher ranks. They didn’t understand it either, but they knew you were something worth having. Something that could change the rules. Something that could serve them—and maybe even him.

And so, Casper found himself following you like a shadow, lingering at your workplace, watching you from a distance when you left for the day, trailing you to the most mundane of places, his obsession only growing. 

His pale figure appeared in glimpses—his white hair a stark contrast against the everyday world. He wasn’t trying to hide anymore; he didn’t need to. His focus was entirely on you, his every move calculated.

You had to know he was there. 

You were far too perceptive to not notice the subtle shifts in the air, the flicker of his presence.

But he was clever. He was patient.

And he would get you to break.

The first time he cornered you after work, you were at the grocery store. It was a humdrum trip to stock up on essentials, the typical monotonous task that everyone in your position had to do. But not today.

No, today, Casper decided to make himself known.

You were scanning the aisles for something simple—maybe fruit, or a carton of milk—when you felt the unmistakable chill at your back. His presence.

"Hey," his voice was disturbingly casual, and when you turned, there he was, standing with his arms crossed, his usual eerie calm as ever. "Mind picking me up some original cup noodles and folded bread?"

You blinked, staring at him, incredulous. Of course, you had to question him. "What? Are you serious right now?" you asked, leaning against your cart. "Do you even eat?"

Casper tilted his head, the smile on his lips never wavering. "I do. Not like you. But still." He waved his hand absently as if it were the most normal request in the world. "Just a little snack, nothing too fancy."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, your patience running thin. “You're dead, Casper. Why would you want cup noodles? And why would I go out of my way to get them for you?”

His response was a soft chuckle, cold and smooth. "Ah, but you see, the deal is this: I could give you something in exchange. Something you want. A little temptation, a trade. What’s your price?"

You glanced at the noodle aisle, ignoring him completely as you grabbed about 12-count cups of instant noodles for yourself. "Yeah, no. I’m good. You're not gonna tempt me with snacks."

Casper's eyes narrowed, a hint of frustration flickering behind his calm exterior. "What if I told you I could fix everything? The sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the stress. What if I could offer you peace?"

You tossed the noodles into your cart, uninterested. "I’m not looking for peace from a creepy grim reaper who can't take a hint."

Casper’s gaze grew darker. "You don’t know what I could give you. You don’t know how easy it would be to just—"

“Nope,” you interrupted, holding up a hand as if to stop him mid-sentence. You pulled out your phone, tapping away at a grocery list app to make it clear that he wasn’t worth your attention.

He let out an exasperated sigh, but his grin never faltered. “Still as stubborn as ever, huh?”

And just like that, you went back to your grocery shopping, effortlessly dodging his attempts to break through your calm.

The second time he tried was a little more… subtle. After your long shift, you decided to take a walk around the city to clear your mind. He appeared beside you on the sidewalk, as if he had been waiting, his steps soundless despite his form being right there.

“You know,” he started, his voice dripping with dark temptation, “I’ve been watching you. I could take away all your worries if only you’d trust me. Forget all this—your life, your struggles, the endless grind. Let me help you… Let me show you what I can offer.”

You didn’t even look up at him. “You keep offering me peace and I keep telling you I’m not interested.”

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. “But what if you don’t have a choice anymore?” he asked, his tone darker, a little more insistent now.

You stopped and finally glanced up at him, your eyes narrowed. “I have a choice, and I choose for you to get the hell out of my way.”

He blinked, taken aback, as you casually sidestepped him and kept walking, your footsteps unhurried. You could feel his presence behind you, following, watching, but it didn’t matter. You had dealt with worse than some grim reaper with a vendetta. 

Every time he tried, you outmaneuvered him with ease. Whether it was a carefully placed word, a choice to simply walk away, or the sharpness in your gaze that seemed to make him take a step back, you were always a step ahead. It was like a game, and with every move you made, he became more and more obsessed with you.

You were something impossible, and that was what gnawed at him the most.

The thrill of the chase, once so exhilarating, now felt hollow to him. He needed more. He needed to understand why you weren’t swayed by him. Why you couldn’t be broken. The problem was, he didn’t know how much you had already figured out about him—about death itself.

It started with something small. A quick moment when you were alone, a brief conversation when you thought no one was watching. He had asked you a question, one of those tricks to see if you would falter. Instead, your response had unsettled him.

“Do you ever think about what happens to you, after you die?”

You had looked at him like he was the mortal one. It wasn’t the question itself—it was the way you had said it, the way your eyes never wavered as you spoke.

Casper had chuckled, assuming you were making light of the topic. 

But then, he saw it.

The way your gaze turned distant. Like you had seen something that wasn’t there. Like you knew something. “I’ve faced death many times,” you said, your voice so steady, so unbothered, it sent a chill through his entire existence. “It’s not as dramatic as you might think. You’d be surprised at how many times I’ve died without anyone realizing it.”

The words hung in the air. You weren’t joking. You weren’t pretending.

You knew what it was like to face death. To die.

That was the moment that he realized. It wasn’t just his touch that you could withstand. You were something else entirely. You had crossed paths with death more times than he could count—and you had survived.

The very nature of that unnerved him. How was it possible? How could you speak of it so casually, as though death was an old acquaintance you had learned to live with?

But what really disturbed him was the way you spoke of things even he didn’t know.

For the time you mentioned how the veil between the worlds had thinned after a certain incident, how the balance of life and death had shifted, even if it had seemed insignificant at the time. He did not know of it—none of it had been in the records, nothing he had been told during his training. 

How could you know something like that? How did you see things he didn’t even see? There was something deeper inside you, something that made him uneasy. 

You were not just a mortal.

Months passed, and he could feel his obsession intensifying, his frustration mounting. Every time you shrugged him off, every time you saw through his tricks, it was like a blow to his existence. It should have been easy to claim you, right? Just like any other soul. But there was something about you that turned everything he knew upside down.

And then, he followed you home. He didn’t care if it was stalking anymore. He had to understand you. Had to know what made you tick.

He watched you walk through the familiar door of your loft apartment, so effortlessly. To him, it felt like watching a predator enter its den. Yet, you remained unshaken.

It was a strange place for someone like you—too lived-in to be a typical mortal apartment, too quiet to be a place where anyone truly rested. You didn’t invite him in, didn’t even acknowledge his presence when you entered. But he followed.

His steps were silent, as always. He floated behind you, not wanting to miss a single moment. You didn’t even glance back, so used to his silent following that you barely reacted anymore.

The apartment was minimalist, but it had personality. A few things caught his eye—the piles of books that leaned precariously against the walls, the odd plants that seemed to be thriving despite your apparent lack of interest in them, and the dim lighting casting long shadows.

You moved around the apartment with practiced ease, grabbing something from the fridge, putting it into the microwave, your thoughts clearly somewhere else. He stood there, arms folded, waiting for you to break the silence.

And when you finally did, it wasn’t the question he expected.

“What do you want from me?” Your voice was sharp, and for the first time since he met you, he could hear the edge of tiredness in it. It wasn’t the usual disinterest or mockery.

It was weariness.

“I told you,” he started, almost sounding desperate now. “I want your soul.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you glanced over at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in your eyes, something he couldn’t understand.

“But why?” Your voice was softer now, but still direct. “Why me? You’ve collected souls for how long, and you’ve never come across one like mine. Is that it? Am I some kind of… prize for you?”

He paused, thrown off by the unexpected vulnerability in your question.

“You know why,” he said, trying to regain his composure. “You’ve faced death, haven’t you? But you haven’t succumbed to it. You... you’re different. The high-ups... they’re curious. I’m curious.” He took a step closer, and this time, it wasn’t just about the soul. “I want to know why you can withstand it. Why you don’t die when you should.”

You didn’t look afraid. If anything, your eyes seemed almost… amused.

“Maybe I’m not meant to,” you said simply, taking a seat at your kitchen table and sipping your drink, casually uninterested in his presence. “Maybe I’ve seen things you can’t even begin to understand.”

Casper stood there for a moment, the realization dawning on him. He had always been the one in control, the one who made the rules. But now? It was clear. You were the one pulling the strings.

And it terrified him. Still, the obsession remained.

“I’m going to find out, whether you like it or not.” He vowed quietly, more to himself than to you.

You rolled your eyes at Casper’s words, his little declaration of trying to figure you out like you were some puzzle to be solved. Honestly, you had better things to do than entertain the idea of a grim reaper’s obsession.

Just as you were about to tell him to stop following you and to get out of your space, your phone rang. 

It was another assistant you worked across from.

You sighed, already knowing this wasn’t going to be good news.

“Hey, quick heads up—I’m sick and won’t be able to make it to the event tonight. You’re going to my place for our boss. Dress nice, okay? You’ll be meeting with some big names—the ones that fund our department. They’ll expect a professional impression,” the assistant said, her voice a bit muffled from the cold she had.

You stared blankly at your phone for a few seconds after the call ended. Great. Just what you needed tonight. A high-profile event, and you’d have to step in at the last minute. Your peaceful evening, which had already been non-existent thanks to your favorite grim reaper stalking you, was now thoroughly ruined.

You sighed heavily, letting the irritation bubble up. You didn’t need the stress. You didn’t need Casper clinging to you, constantly breathing down your neck, following you from work to the grocery store, practically watching you while you tried to relax. It was like he thought he could wear you down and force you to acknowledge him.

Well, he wasn’t going to win that easily.

You turned to your bedroom and started walking toward it. The sound of Casper’s soft footsteps followed you like a shadow. “Can you just go?” You snapped, not bothering to look back at him. “I need to get dressed. Your presence is… annoying.”

His voice echoed behind you as you stepped into your room, already mentally prepping yourself for the headache that would be this event. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘not going anywhere’?”

“I’m staying right here,” he said, his tone almost smug.

Of course, he would. He was as stubborn as a brick wall, and clearly had no intention of leaving you alone. But the idea of him lurking around your personal space? That crossed a line.

You had an idea—a rather ridiculous one, but hey, it would work.

“Fine, then.” You said with a sly grin, turning around as you walked toward your closet. “You stay then, Grimmy. But just… watch.”

Casper’s ethereal form hovered near the doorway, a little too close for comfort, but his interest piqued. “Watch what?”

You didn’t answer, instead focusing on finding the outfit you were going to wear. Casper stayed glued to the spot, curious as you began to undress, unaware of what you were about to do.

You removed your blouse first, feeling his presence lingering at the edge of your vision. The air felt thick with his silent attention. You casually let your shirt fall to the floor, then reached for the next item, your back turned toward him as you continued your task.

You could practically hear his ghostly breath hitch when you glanced back over your shoulder at him, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“You like what you see, Grimmy?”

His body stiffened like he wasn’t sure how to react, but he didn’t move, still watching. His eyes, if you could even call them that, were practically burning holes into you.

You smirked, not bothering to hide your amusement as you casually slipped into the dress you’d chosen for the evening. “Don’t act so shy, Grim. I thought you liked souls.”

Casper’s reaction was almost comical, his form flickering as though struggling to maintain composure. “I’m not here for that!”

“Oh? Are you sure? Because I think you might be,” you teased, letting your hands linger over the fabric of the dress, turning slowly to face him. “You do know how to appreciate beauty, don’t you, Grimmy?”

Casper’s ghostly pale face had turned a noticeable shade of what could only be described as “flustered”—which was absurd. He was dead, for heaven’s sake. But there he was, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Then, without another word, he vanished. Gone. Just like that. You blinked, a slight laugh escaping your lips. Well, that worked. 

You finished getting dressed, the ridiculousness of it all sinking in. Somehow, you had managed to shake off Casper for the night by using his own discomfort against him. He’d been so caught off guard that he hadn’t known how to react. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a small sense of victory. This night was going to be yours, even if it had started in chaos.

You grabbed your phone and checked the time—just enough time to grab your purse and head out. At least for the evening, you could pretend that everything was normal, and that meant no ghosts, no interruptions.

The moment you stepped out of your loft, you slipped into the role you had mastered: the calm, composed assistant who could handle anything, even the most unexpected of crises. 

Tonight was no different. Your boss had trusted you to step in for her at the event, which meant your ability to perform under pressure was being tested once again.

The venue was a grand, multi-story ballroom with vaulted ceilings and an ambiance that screamed wealth and prestige. Crystal chandeliers glimmered above, casting a warm glow over the sea of guests mingling below. You entered with a practiced grace, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors as you navigated through the crowd.

Your boss, the editor-in-chief of a well-known fashion magazine you worked at, maintains her usual level of poise. She greeted people, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and making small talk while you stood beside her, quietly observing the whirlwind of conversation. 

As her assistant, you were in charge of handling all the logistics, ensuring the guests were taken care of and that everything ran smoothly. That meant taking note of important names and contacts, managing schedules, and keeping an eye out for any potential hiccups.

Tonight, you were the one making sure everything stayed on track. You took your place near the entrance, casually keeping tabs on the crowd as your boss moved through the room, chatting with potential investors and key figures in the fashion industry. 

Every so often, she would glance over at you for a quick update or a reminder about certain guests, and you would provide her with the information she needed, always two steps ahead.

You kept a mental checklist of the key players in the room: the head of the fashion department’s major sponsor, and the influencer known for setting trends in the digital world. Each person needed to be addressed properly, and each interaction carefully curated.

When your boss handed you a list of names to memorize last week, you took it without question, scanning over the details and committing them to memory. It was no longer a matter of whether you would succeed tonight; it was simply a question of how flawlessly you could execute everything. And you knew you’d do it with ease.

As the night wore on, you glided between conversations, keeping track of your boss’s needs, occasionally stepping in to provide information to the guests, and always maintaining that cool professionalism that made you stand out. 

At some point, you were asked to retrieve some drinks for your boss. 

You navigated the crowd without a second thought, moving efficiently between groups of people as you made your way to the back office. You could hear the hum of conversation as you passed, the occasional laugh, the clink of glasses, but you were focused. 

You made your way to the bar, your mind still buzzing from the whirlwind of the evening, but something felt… off. The familiar weight of being watched had slipped away, and it was strange. Normally, the pull of a presence, some ghost or spirit trailing behind you, would have been so ingrained in your routine that you’d hardly notice it. 

But tonight? It was like the feeling had vanished entirely.

It was unsettling. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. The eerie quiet made your thoughts drift back to your childhood—a time when seeing spirits was more of a curse than a gift. You remembered telling your parents about it, about the strange faces that would appear to you, whispering their names, hovering just out of sight. 

And their response? A quick trip to a mental institution at a young age. "You're imagining things," they’d said. "It's just your mind playing tricks."

You had hated it. 

Hated the way your parents treated your abilities as if they were a problem to be solved. And that hatred turned into bitterness. Ever since you’d learned to hide it—to pretend that you couldn’t see the spirits who followed you, pretending their whispers didn’t get under your skin.

You had learned to tune out the names that would sometimes float around the edges of your vision, names that would send a chill down your spine.

Death had always been a part of you, and you hated it. Hated how it was always there, how it clung to you like a shadow. You’d been forced into hiding your truth for years. And yet, here you were, working in fashion—a world so far removed from the grim reality of death that you could almost convince yourself that it didn’t exist.

But even this world was not free from its pull.

You looked around at the event, the glamour, the flashing lights, the elegant conversations, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly detached from it all. You loved fashion, no doubt about it. The creativity, the artistry—it had always been your escape. And even though the pay didn’t match your hard work, you had been content. 

At least you thought you were. 

But a part of you missed the thrill of the chase, the mystery—the way Casper had been, in his way, a strange, unwelcome source of entertainment. 

Yeah, he was annoying as hell. 

But if you were being honest, he had made things more… fun.

You took a deep breath, shook your head, and tried to push those thoughts out. You didn’t need to think about that little reaper. You just needed to focus on your life, and your dreams.

And then, as if the universe couldn’t let you have a moment’s peace, you turned the corner and ran smack into a man dressed entirely in black, with a red tie that mirrored the intensity of his eyes. His grip was firm as he caught you by the shoulders, steadying you as your balance faltered.

You blinked. You took a step back. No way.

There, standing in front of you, was none other than Casper—in human form?

His usual pale, translucent appearance was gone, replaced by a sharply dressed figure, his black suit crisp and immaculate. His red tie, sharp as his gaze, matched the color of his eyes—those eyes that gleamed with an unsettling amusement.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, his voice smooth and mocking as ever. The words slid off his tongue like a challenge, almost as if he were daring you to deny it.

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to recover from the shock. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your annoyance rising instantly. The shock was wearing off, but the frustration remained. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

His grin widened, an almost smug look settling on his face as he tilted his head. “Well, I’ve been following you around long enough to realize something. You may not fear death, but there’s one thing I know for sure—you can’t escape it. So why bother running from me when you know it’s only a matter of time?”

You blinked again, incredulous. “Are you seriously trying to make a philosophical point right now?”

Casper shrugged, his hands still firmly on your shoulders as if anchoring you to this moment. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just here to remind you that I am the one who holds your fate.” His voice dropped slightly, a glint of something darker behind his words. “I don’t forget easily, you know.”

You felt the weight of his words settle in, but just as quickly, you pushed them aside. You were done with his games, done with the feeling that something or someone was always lurking. “If you're so hell-bent on being a problem, why don't you just leave me alone? I’m trying to have a normal night, for once.”

Casper raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features. “Normal? Now that’s a word I never thought I’d hear from you.”

You sighed in exasperation. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for this. I’m here for work. Not whatever you’re trying to pull.”

He didn’t let go of you, though, his grip still firm. “Fine, but remember—death has a way of creeping in when you least expect it. And I’m still here. Watching. Waiting.”

You rolled your eyes again, pushing past him this time. “Yeah, yeah. Just... stay out of my way, okay? I've got a job to do.”

Casper didn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he stood there, his eyes flicking to you as you walked away. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze on your back as you made your way to the bar, shaking off his presence as best you could.

You were tired of this—tired of him. But deep down, some strange, unsettling part of you knew he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.

With a sigh, you returned to your boss with the drinks, trying to keep a calm exterior. You handed her the glass, and she gave you a knowing look, a small smile curving her lips. "How’s your night going?" she asked, clearly not expecting much but offering the polite conversation anyway.

"Fine," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "Just ready to head--"

"I didn't ask for your life story." Your boss cuts you off.

Right, still a mean bitch, you followed your boss gaze and shifted across the room, scanning the crowd like she was looking for something—someone. You followed her line of sight, and for the briefest moment, your heart sank in your chest.

It was him.

Casper.

He was moving through the crowd, his pale skin glowing under the lights and his white hair catching the spotlight, almost unnatural in its radiance. And those red wine-colored eyes, always gleaming with a mischievous, almost predatory look. Of course, it had to be him.

You could feel the pit in your stomach grow. What the hell did he want now?

Before you could process it, your boss turned to you with that knowing smile again. "Do you know him? He’s heading this way."

You blinked, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in your chest. "I… I think I’ve seen him around," you said, trying to keep your composure. But what the hell was he doing here?

Casper approached, his eyes locking onto yours as if he’d found the perfect prey. He was still dressed in that tailored black suit with the red tie, the sharp contrast of his appearance only making his otherworldly presence that much more noticeable. He didn’t even look like he belonged here, but there he was, standing in front of you.

Your boss, always the social butterfly, didn’t miss a beat. She extended her hand toward him with a bright, professional smile. “Good evening. It’s lovely to meet you. You’re so handsome.”

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to pay attention to the way she so easily interacted with him, the way she was completely unaware of the chaos that had been following you around.

But you couldn’t look away.

Casper gave her a smile that was all teeth. “Thank you, t’s a pleasure my name is… well, Casper,” he said smoothly, his voice like honey, deep and smooth, with a hint of mystery lacing every word. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your pretty assistant.”

“Oh really?” Your boss mumbled before looking at you.

Your eyes darted away, feeling the weight of the conversation that was unfolding around you. You weren’t quite sure what was happening, but you couldn’t deny that this was the last thing you wanted. You just wanted to get through the night without him stealing the spotlight.

“Casper,” your boss repeated, impressed, glancing at you as if waiting for some sort of confirmation. “So… which agencies you work at?”

"Agencies…?" Casper questioned, a little lost.

Oh no. Of course. How did you not see it before? The polished look, the charm, the smoothness to his every move—it was all so damn calculated. In your boss eyes, this wasn’t just some random guy trailing you like a ghost.

Casper has model features.

His facial features are close to the famous model standing, no less. You can already imagine his face in the glossy magazines scattered around the fashion industry. The sleek white hair, those eyes like liquid wine… the boyish charm that made him almost impossible to ignore.

"Aren’t you a model?" Your boss asked.

Casper’s smile widened, "Oh no I am not a model, but I sometimes do simple shoots when Halloween comes around,” he answered, his voice dripping with that signature smugness. 

Your boss’s eyes widened at his words. Impossible. Simple was an understatement. He definitely have the potential to become one of the it models, the ones with major campaigns and ad spreads. 

"I see," your boss said, her eyes practically sparkling as she examined Casper. "Well, I'm sure you're used to all the attention by now, but I must say, you're quite a striking presence, Casper." Her words were laced with a polite admiration that made you want to roll your eyes, but you restrained yourself, knowing better than to interrupt.

Casper gave another smile that seemed to gleam with just a hint of amusement, the edges of his mouth curling like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Your boss glanced over at the growing crowd, spotting a few more important figures she needed to greet. "Well, I’ll leave you two to chat," she said, offering a gracious smile before turning to walk off. "Enjoy your night, but—" She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper just for you. 

"Give him our card. Get him on board as a main model for the department. If he says no..." She stares at you, looking at you up and down.

You knew that damn look, however still, your mouth almost opened to protest, to shake your head and tell her you weren’t about to turn Casper into some kind of marketing tool. But she was already walking away, leaving you standing there, feeling like a pawn in her strategic little game. 

The words died on your tongue. Fuck.

And just like that, your night—your whole world, really—had shifted. The man who had been haunting your every move for months, who had lurked in the shadows, was now casually interacting with your boss like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

And you? You were standing there, trying desperately to ignore the knot that had formed in your stomach, trying to pretend that you weren’t feeling the flicker of dread creeping up your spine.

Casper, of course, noticed. He always did. His gaze, sharp and calculating, met yours. It was like he could see right through you, dissecting the unease that you couldn’t hide. 

His voice, soft and almost teasing, cut through the air. "Did you think I was just an average looking grim reaper?" he asked, that ever-present edge of amusement in his tone, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You should've known better."

You couldn’t help the exasperated sigh that escaped you. You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "No, I didn’t think you were just an average looking grim reaper," you said flatly, your voice tinged with annoyance. "But I definitely didn’t expect you to fit fucking model capabilities, especially to my damn boss."

Casper laughed, the sound rich and deep like he was enjoying the frustration he’d caused. He leaned in just slightly, enough to invade your space, but not enough to make you flinch. "Well, life—or rather, the afterlife—has a funny way of surprising you, doesn’t it?"

You fought the urge to smirk or, worse, to smack him. It wasn’t that you were scared of him—not anymore—but there was something about the way he existed that made your skin crawl in all the wrong ways. 

Everything about him was wrong in an almost alluring way—though you’d never dare admit it. He had become a constant, vexing presence in your life, and not even a career-defining event could grant you reprieve.

Worse still? You were already suspected you might never be free of him. Not after your boss all but sealed your fate—secure him, or lose everything. 

Now, you were playing this so-called ‘game’ on his terms, with his one outrageous demand: your soul. Right… he wanted your soul. But you? You had your sights set on something far more valuable—

Him.

Like might as well, he’s the one haunting you almost every day following you everywhere like a ghost with unfinished business. He practically owes you because your boss now wants him as a model only adds to the complexity. You were caught between your duty to your job and your growing, almost morbid fascination with the very reaper who’d been plaguing your life. 

It was almost insanely perfect, really. Like the gods curse you. 

You had to work with him, which meant you'd get more time to study him, and more chances to draw him into your orbit.

“Casper,” you said one evening as the two of you now stood near the bar at the event, his eyes glinting with an almost predatory curiosity as he watched you. "You know, I’ve been thinking. You’d be perfect for this project. The department would love you."

He cocked his head, clearly intrigued. “I thought I was just a ghost to you.”

You smiled, a little too sweetly. “I never said you were just a ghost. I’m just... very interested in how you can be so tangible and untouchable at the same time.” You tilted your head, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’ve got an aura. An energy that’s... rare. And I know people in the fashion industry love rare.”

He blinked at you, still unsure of what you were getting at. “So, you want me to become a model?”

You nodded, “Yes. My boss is already interested, and she’s the one who handles all the big connections. If you want to make a name for yourself, this is your chance.” 

Casper, for all his otherworldly knowledge, still couldn’t quite fathom how things worked in this world. He was too used to being the one who took, not gave. His eyes narrowed as if trying to gauge whether you were being honest or playing some game.

“You think I need your help to get noticed?” he asked, voice low and almost amused. But there was that glimmer of something—doubt, maybe?—flickering behind his gaze.

“Well,” you said, holding his gaze with unwavering confidence. “You can get noticed any company, sure. But this? This would be the perfect opportunity. I can guarantee you’ll get all the attention you want. And... you’ll get what you want, too.”

He seemed to weigh your words, his expression thoughtful. He hadn’t expected you to play into his desire for influence, for control. He hadn’t realized how much you were feeding into his need for validation—something he desperately craved but didn’t understand.

“All right, then,” he said after a moment, his tone almost too eager. “But you’ll have to promise me something in return.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

His red eyes gleamed. “When done with this little ‘becoming a model’—you’ll give me your soul, right? After all, I’ll have given you what you need for your boss.” He smirked, clearly thinking he had you cornered.

You sighed, “We'll see,” you said, that familiar, dangerous smile of yours creeping onto your lips. “Maybe there’s something else you’ll want more than my soul.”

Casper blinked, clearly thrown by your words. “Like what…?”

You rolled your eyes, you were already moving on to the next part of your plan. In the back of your mind, you knew the final step was going to be the hardest, but seriously, this? 

You had to work with Casper—the Casper. 

Again, the one who’d been haunting you for months. The one who’d made your life a walking nightmare in every way possible. And now, thanks to your boss's questionable decision-making skills, you became his assistant.

Your job, as if the universe wasn’t already laughing in your face, was to make sure everything went perfectly for him—fix his hair, calm his ridiculously over-inflated ego, and handle all the tiny, soul-crushing details that kept his modeling career afloat. Because, of course, who better to trust with all that than someone who literally hates their life?

You could barely look at him without feeling the urge to strangle him—or worse, do something far more dangerous, like giving into the strange pull he had over you. From the moment you started working for him, your patience had been put through the wringer. It wasn’t just that he was difficult—no, that would’ve been manageable. 

It was the way he acted like you owed him something, like catering to his every whim was just an unspoken part of your job description. His arrogance knew no bounds, and every time he had to interact with someone—whether it was the stylist, the makeup artist, or literally anyone else—he made sure they knew how much of an inconvenience they were. A scoff here, an eye roll there. Like the whole world was wasting his precious time.

But nothing got under your skin more than his insistence that you had to be the one to do everything for him.

Today was a vampire-themed shoot that should’ve been straightforward. The concept was classic—dark, brooding, seductive. And Casper?

He was practically made for it. With his porcelain skin, blood-red eyes, and stark white hair, he already looked like he stepped out of a gothic novel. Under the dim studio lighting, he was equally ethereal and unnerving—the perfect blend of beauty and danger.

But, of course, things couldn’t be that easy.

First, he flat-out refused to let anyone else touch him. No stylists, no makeup artists—no one. And why? Because of his Probability Reaper abilities. As if one misplaced brush stroke or a stray hairpin would suddenly send someone to an early grave.

So, naturally, he demanded you do everything.

“Come here, you,” he said, his voice deep, almost a growl as he fixed his gaze on you. “I need the blood on my lips. Don’t just stand there. I’m waiting.”

You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to tell him where he could shove his demands. You had work to do. "Fine," you muttered under your breath, moving toward him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you prepared the fake blood, the sticky red substance almost too realistic for comfort.

Your fingers brushed against his soft lips, and for a second, you almost forgot what you were doing. His eyes, as always, locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you could see something in them—something dangerous. 

A hunger.

It was the same pull. The same unsettling feeling that had haunted you since the day you first met him. But now, in such close proximity, with his breath mixing with yours, you couldn’t ignore it. His stare burned into your skin like a brand, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You quickly finished the task, wiping your hands off with a towel, keeping your gaze away from him. The last thing you needed was to fall for whatever it was he was doing to you. You were already playing with fire. You didn't need to get burned.

Casper, however, was not deterred by your coolness. He leaned in, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "there’s something about the way you touch me... something different. Why is that?"

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. His lips—still stained with fake blood—were just a few inches away from yours. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'm just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

But it didn’t work. His smile only grew, and for a second, you could see that strange glint in his eyes—the same one you had seen in his otherworldly stare when he first encountered you. The one that made you think he was far more dangerous than any of the spirits you’d dealt with in your life.

“Mm,” he hummed, the sound vibrating in his chest as he stepped even closer. His breath was warm against your face, his presence suffocating in a way that you couldn't ignore. "I don’t believe you."

You straightened, quickly distancing yourself. “Just finish the damn shoot, Casper. That’s all I’m here for.”

Before you could take another breath, he moved.

One second, you were standing firm, refusing to let him pull you in. The next? His hands gripped your waist, and with a smooth, effortless motion, he pulled you down onto his lap.

A startled gasp left your lips, but before you could protest, Casper’s arms settled around you—firm but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His crimson eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as he looked up at you, his head tilted just slightly as if studying a particularly intriguing puzzle.

“You’re acting so different today,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “I can sense it. Why?”

You stiffened. Another question. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, more binding than his actual hold on you. His grip wasn’t tight, wasn’t forceful—but it didn’t need to be. His presence alone was enough to escape feel pointless.

Your lips parted, but no words came. What could you even say? That you didn’t know why? That you didn’t want to know? That some part of you had already accepted whatever this was, even as you kept pretending to fight it?

Casper hummed, one hand lazily tracing patterns against your hip, his other resting at the small of your back. Not quite pulling you closer, not quite letting you go. 

Just holding you there, perfectly trapped.

"You don’t even realize it, do you?" His voice was almost amused, but there was something beneath it—something dangerous, something interesting.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, instinct screaming at you to push him away. 

You didn’t.

"I’m just here to do my job," you forced out, trying to sound firm, unaffected.

Casper’s smirk deepened, his head tilting even more like you’d just said something hilarious. "Job, huh?" His voice was silky smooth, laced with quiet mockery. "I think you’re much more than that, don’t you?"

Your heart pounded.

He was too close. Too steady. Too unbothered, like he had already figured something out that you hadn’t.

You grit your teeth, every fiber of your being screaming for control. You refused to let him drag you into this—to make you want whatever twisted game he was playing.

“Just finish your damn job, Casper,” you snapped, trying to shift your weight, to push away from him. But his hands—so annoyingly casual—didn’t let you move far.

“Am I stopping you?” he asked, all false innocence, all easy confidence. His grip didn’t tighten, didn’t turn forceful. But somehow, that made it worse.

"Yes," You glared at him. 

His smirk only widened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in—just enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. “We’ll see how long you can keep up that act,” he murmured, his voice like silk over a blade.

You wrenched yourself away, standing up fast, putting space between you two before you could do something reckless—something stupid. But as you turned, forcing yourself to focus, to shove this encounter into the back of your mind, one unsettling thought refused to leave you.

Who was really haunting who?

Turns out it can. As more news hits you like a slap to the face, leaving behind a sting of disbelief.

Apparently, Casper’s modeling career—something you still found utterly ridiculous—required both you and your boss to be flown out with him for a series of shoots in another city. You barely had time to process the logistics of it all before your boss, looking far too smug about this, handed you your flight details with a cheery “Try not to kill each other.”

As if that was even an option.

The moment you boarded the plane, fate decided to drive the knife deeper.

Your assigned seat? Right next to Casper.

You shot a glare at your boss as she strolled past, completely unaffected by your suffering. She met your glare with a saccharine smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up before settling into her own seat several rows ahead.

Traitor.

Casper, of course, looked completely unbothered, the very picture of laziness as he slumped into his seat. One leg stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back like he was already seconds from slipping into a nap. If not for the way his white hair fell perfectly into place, he could’ve been mistaken for some overworked businessman instead of a supernatural menace in designer clothing.

You exhaled through your nose, scowling as you sank into your seat and buckled your belt. The flight hadn’t even taken off yet, and you were already bracing yourself for hours of pure torture.

The first stretch of the flight was silent. Almost too silent.

You weren’t sure if that was better or worse than his usual taunting. Normally, Casper never shut up, always had some smug remark, some sharp-edged teasing that made your patience fray like an overused thread. But right now? Right now, he was quiet.

And that was unsettling in itself.

Halfway through the flight, when the hum of the plane had lulled most passengers into a light doze, Casper cracked one eye open and glanced at you.

“You’re tense, mortal.” His voice was a low murmur, just enough to cut through the ambient noise.

You clenched your jaw. “And you’re breathing in my direction. We all have problems.”

Casper smirked, a lazy, knowing thing, but—for once—he didn’t push.

The moment you landed, exhaustion settled deep into your bones. You were already dreading the next few days—watching Casper glide through his modeling shoots like he owned the damn world, dealing with your boss’s usual demands, and trying not to lose your mind in the process. But just as you thought you could catch a moment of peace, your boss hit you with yet another bombshell.

“You and Casper are sharing a hotel room.”

You blinked at her, your brain stuttering to a halt. “…Come again?”

She sighed, rubbing her temples like she was already so over this conversation before it had even started. “Look, the agency only booked so many rooms. You’ll have separate bedrooms, and there’s a bathroom in between. You’ll live.”

You wanted to argue. Oh, you wanted to scream that you had already spent far too much time being haunted by this insufferable bastard. That you didn’t want to be anywhere near him, let alone sleeping under the same damn roof.

Instead, you swallowed the frustration in your throat, forced yourself to inhale slowly through your nose, and settled for a tight, clipped: “Okay.”

Not like you had a choice.

The hotel was sleek and modern, all glass and polished stone, the kind of place that oozed luxury in a way that made you instantly wary. As the car pulled up to the front entrance, your boss was already rattling off instructions, barely sparing you or Casper a glance as she rifled through her phone.

“All right,” she said, stepping onto the curb with the efficiency of someone who had a million things to do and no time to waste. “You’re also in charge of keeping an eye on Casper.”

You stiffened, already knowing exactly where this was going. “Excuse me?”

She finally looked up at you, arching a brow. “I need him to be well-rested and not a menace before the shoot. That’s your job now. Make sure he’s taken care of, make sure he’s on time, and for the love of all that is holy, make sure he doesn’t get arrested or something.”

You opened your mouth to argue but immediately shut it when she held up a hand. “Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. I have a million things to handle, and I need you to be the responsible one.” She paused, then gave you a flat look. “Which, let’s be honest, is a low-effort achievement compared to him.”

Next to you, Casper hummed in amusement. “I feel like that was an insult.”

“It was,” she replied without missing a beat.

Casper didn’t seem the least bit offended. In fact, he looked downright pleased with himself. You fought the urge to rub your temples, already feeling the tension knotting in your skull.

“And,” your boss continued, ignoring Casper entirely, “I need you to set my schedule for tomorrow’s shoot. I want everything organized before I wake up. Call time, location details, wardrobe check—everything. Understood?”

You sighed, already resigning yourself to your fate. “Yeah. Got it.”

“Good.” She shoved a keycard into your hand before giving Casper a sharp look. “And you. Try not to be difficult.”

Casper smirked, tilting his head like he was considering it. “No promises.”

Your boss exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose before muttering something under her breath about ‘getting paid way too little for this’— even though she clearly gets paid enough—and stalking off toward the lobby.

Which left you and Casper standing at the curb, luggage in tow, facing the inevitable. 

Casper turned to you, expression unreadable. “So. Roommates, huh?” 

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the towering hotel before you. “Kill me.”

Casper’s voice rang out behind you, amusement clear in his tone. “You know you can’t actually be killed, right?”

You didn’t even turn around to respond, just kept walking toward the entrance.

“You’re really getting into this whole ‘mortal’ act,” he continued, his footsteps echoing behind you. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

You shot him a glance over your shoulder, your patience already running thin. “I swear, Casper, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to do something you won’t be able to come back from.”

He laughed, the sound of it too rich, too knowing. “That’s cute. But you forget—I’m already dead.”

“Lucky you,” you muttered, your tone dry. 

You and Casper stood in front of the shared hotel room, the silence between you two heavier than usual. You pushed the door open, the creaking sound echoing louder than necessary in the hallway. It was a strange kind of awkward tension, made worse by the fact that, well, you were stuck with him.

You sank into the couch, trying to distance yourself from his relentless, spectral presence. The exhaustion of the day—of the flight, the absurdity of it all—was settling deep into your bones, but you couldn’t relax. Not with him there. Not with that constant, oppressive, ghostly aura hanging over you like a storm cloud.

And then, of course, he had to go and speak.

“I need a bath,” Casper said casually, as if you didn’t have better things to do than cater to him.

You looked at him like he had just asked you to conjure up a hot tub out of thin air. “What?” you said, disbelief curling in your voice. 

He didn’t seem bothered by your reaction. His red eyes flickered with something approaching amusement, though it was tinged with that ever-present arrogance.

“Come on, mortal,” he said, that ghostly smirk creeping up on his face. “You’re my caretaker now. My personal attendant. Run me a bath.”

Your jaw tightened, and you just stared at him. No way. He’d lost his damn mind. What was this? Some twisted, afterlife spa day?

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered, your voice low with irritation. “What, you seriously expect me to run you a bath?” You shook your head, giving him a flat look. “I’m not about to sit here and wash the grime off a literal Grim Reaper.”

His gaze remained unwavering. “Do you... do you know who you're talking to right now?” he said, his voice dripping with an insufferable calmness. “I’m a reaper. You’re the mortal. That means you have to do these things.”

You felt your eye twitch in frustration. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, Grimmy,” you bit back. “You’re the one who’s been haunting me, stealing my soul, and generally making my life a living hell. And now you think I’m gonna be your personal attendant?” You scoffed, pushing yourself upright. “I’ve been through way too much dealing with you, and you want me to play your personal spa assistant? Not happening.”

Casper didn’t even flinch. If anything, he seemed completely unbothered, as if he was entitled to this. "You are the mortal here," he continued, unfazed. "It's your responsibility, like your boss said." He shot you that superior, ghostly smirk that was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.

Your patience? Gone. You stared at him, wide-eyed. "No. I'm really gonna need you to rethink that request, Grimmy," you said, your voice rising in irritation. "You're a reaper! You don’t need a bath! This isn’t some weird form of grim hygiene—what is this, an existential crisis?”

Casper didn’t look at you like you were crazy. In fact, he tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... annoyed. “Maybe it’s a reminder,” he murmured under his breath, as though he wasn’t entirely aware he was speaking out loud. 

“A reminder: the more you drag on giving me your soul, the more problems I’ll cause for you.”

You blinked, processing his words for a moment. Was he actually being serious? 

Ohhh that little shit…

“Well, I’m sorry, Casper,” you said, forcing a smile, “but this mortal is going to pass on the whole bath-running service.” You stood up, stretching, as if you were done with this conversation, mentally checking out. “You’re on your own for that one.”

Casper’s red eyes never left you, though his smirk faded just slightly, as if he couldn’t quite figure you out.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

“Why do you fight me so much?” Casper’s voice cut through the silence, low and prying—way too calm for your liking. “Mortal women usually like me, fall over heels for me, but you don’t. It’s confusing.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you buried your face deeper into the couch pillow, letting out a long, exhausted sigh, like maybe—just maybe—you could breathe out all the frustration clinging to you.

But of course, he wasn’t done. Casper had a way of getting all weird and philosophical when you least had the patience for it.

“I’ve been thinking about it, you know… taking your soul. At this point, is it even worth it?” He paused, then kept going. “I mean, I’ve spent months following you around, became your boss’s model just to stay close, watched you. And now I’m wondering—what does taking your soul actually do for me? Will it fix whatever this thing is that I’m feeling? Or am I just throwing myself into something I can’t undo?”

You didn’t even bother lifting your head. The pillow smelled like expensive hotel fabric—clean, crisp, and utterly unhelpful. You stared at it, brain a mess of exhaustion and irritation, before mumbling,

“I don’t know, Casper. I really don’t.”

For a while, there was only the quiet hum of the air conditioner, Casper’s weight in the room pressing down on you like a physical force. You could feel him standing there, his presence looming like a shadow—waiting for some kind of profound answer, something deep and insightful that could resolve this bizarre conversation he was having with himself.

But you weren’t in the mood for any of it. You were too tired to be dragged into his metaphysical crisis. Too tired to get lost in the strange dark depths of his soul-stealing philosophy.

“I don’t want to be part of your existential crisis,” you groaned into the pillow, the words muffled by fabric. “I’m just trying to survive my days here, man. The job. The constant stuff. You’re the last thing I need to get tangled up in right now.”

You could feel his eyes on you then. It was that burning sensation on your back, like lasers boring into your skin. You didn’t need to look up to know that he was watching you closely, trying to read into your words, trying to figure out if you were being sarcastic or if there was something deeper beneath the surface.

But honestly? 

You couldn’t care less right now. 

The mental exhaustion was starting to hit, and all you wanted was some peace. His gaze was intense, unwavering, but still, you refused to meet it, your eyes still locked on the pillow. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he processed your response, the gears of his mysterious, otherworldly mind working overtime to make sense of you.

“Well,” he finally said, breaking the silence, his voice softer this time, “maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just... looking for something I can't have." There was a strange tone in his voice, almost as if he was talking to himself as much as he was talking to you. 

A little defeated, a little introspective.

Again, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed your eyes, hoping for sleep to come quickly, to shut out the weight of Casper’s presence and the endless swirl of thoughts he always left behind in his wake. Because no matter what he was trying to figure out about himself, you weren’t interested in being part of the puzzle.

And yet, deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder: what would he do if he actually figured himself out? Would he finally stop haunting you? Or would it just be another twist in this strange, never-ending game he was playing to claim your soul…?

You didn’t have the patience to unravel that mess. You had your own problems, after all. You were an adult—an assistant, no less. Work, deadlines, dealing with people who barely remembered your name, including your boss. 

Your life had become a monotonous grind of early mornings and late nights, filled with coffee-fueled exhaustion and half-hearted pleasantries. You kept your head down, you smiled when necessary, and you pretended that everything was fine.

Your world had been mundane. Easy. Quiet. Predictable.

And now? You had a Grim Reaper hovering over your shoulder, stuck in some kind of self-inflicted moral dilemma about whether or not he should rip your soul from your body. Like some whiny, undead philosopher who thought way too hard about his own existence.

The absurdity of it all weighed on you, pressing down like a heavy blanket of fatigue. A whole-ass harbinger of death, a supernatural entity, was following you around like a lost puppy, struggling with his own version of a midlife crisis. 

And somehow, somehow, you were the one stuck dealing with it.

It was ridiculous.

And then, out of nowhere, a song popped into your head—one that fit the mood a little too well.

All the people on the planet Working 9 to 5 just to stay alive How come?

The lyrics lingered in your mind, an unspoken anthem to the exhaustion of existence. Because wasn’t that all life was? A constant, never-ending loop of work and survival, of pretending everything was fine when it really, really wasn’t?

And now, even death itself was standing in your hotel room, trying to work through some kind of ghostly identity crisis. Without thinking, the words slipped out before you could stop them. 

“What goes up, ghost around…” You blinked.

Oh. Oh, no.

Did you—did you just make a pun about Casper?

Your lips parted slightly as the realization sank in, horror slowly creeping up your spine. This was it. You had officially lost your mind. The universe had thrown a scythe-wielding, existentially confused Grim Reaper into your life, and instead of screaming or running away, you were making stupid puns.

You were so done. Done with the constant noise in your head, the pressure, the irritation of dealing with someone who thought he could just waltz into your life like some smug, otherworldly nuisance. You were exhausted—physically, mentally, spiritually—and if you had to put up with his antics for one more second, you were going to start throwing things.

Yeah. No. You needed a bath.

You slowly get up and head straight for the bathroom. Casper, ever the uninvited, followed right behind. “Where are we going?” he asked, like he had any right to be included in this plan.

You didn’t even bother looking back. “I am going to take a bath. You are going to sit your ass somewhere else and leave me alone.”

Predictably, he ignored the very clear boundary you just set. “Oh, perfect, I need a bath, too.”

You stopped in your tracks in the bathroom doorway, slowly turning to face him. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, hands in his pockets, head tilted just enough to be infuriating. “Casper,” you said, voice dangerously calm.

“Yes?”

“Get. Out.”

His smirk twitched. “Now, hold on, why—”

Before he could even think about arguing, you grabbed the nearest object—a rolled-up towel—and launched it at him. He barely dodged, laughing like this was the funniest thing in the world, but you weren’t in the mood. You shoved him back. He barely stumbled—damn grim reflexes—but before he could retaliate, you slammed the bathroom door in his face and locked it for good measure.

A satisfied exhale left your lips. Peace. Finally.

You turned toward the tub, already feeling the tension in your body start to loosen at the thought of just sinking into hot water and pretending the world—and annoying grim reapers didn’t exist. You twisted the faucet on, letting the steam rise as the tub filled, the sound of water rushing over the porcelain drowning out any lingering frustration.

Shedding the rest of your clothes, you stepped in, the heat instantly soothing every worn-out nerve in your body. You let yourself sink lower, eyes slipping shut, breathing in the faint scent of whatever overpriced bath soak you grabbed last time you were at the store.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were alone. No reapers. No stress. No existential crises. Just you, the water, and—

Knock knock.

Your head snapped toward the door, eyes narrowing. “…You’re not drowning, right?” Casper’s muffled voice called from the other side. “Because that would be kinda ironic.”

You groaned, sliding lower into the water until it covered your ears. You were never going to be rid of him, were you? However, then silence on the other side of the door stretched on. Five minutes passed.

Casper had finally given up. Good.

You exhaled slowly, leaning your head back against the edge of the tub, your brows furrowing as the stress still lingered—coiled deep in your muscles, settled in the pit of your stomach like a weight that wouldn’t budge.

Maybe… just maybe.

The water cradled you, heavy with warmth, lapping lazily against your skin as you sank deeper into the tub. You felt the heat seeped into your muscles, loosening the tightness coiled between your shoulders, and you let out a slow breath, your arms sliding around yourself in a loose embrace.

Your arms slid around yourself, fingers dragging slowly over your collarbones, down your shoulders. Damn, you were tense. ‘Like, why-are-my-muscles-made-of-concrete tense.’ But the heat was working its magic, loosening things up one knot at a time. You pressed your thumbs into the tight spots, hissing a little at the ache before it melted into something softer.

You lingered there for a moment, pressing into the knots along your neck, kneading with slow, deliberate circles until the tension began to unravel, the water was perfect—hot enough to turn your skin red, but not so scalding that it hurt. You sank deeper, letting it wrap around you like a lazy hug, the steam rising in little curls. 

Lavender, honey, whatever fancy shit was in this bath bomb—it smelled good, like one of those expensive spas you’d never actually pay to visit.

Legs propped up on the edge of the tub, you let one hand drift under the water, skimming over your stomach and your hips. The other lazily traced circles on your arm, catching droplets as they rolled down. Everything felt smoother in the water—your skin, your movements, even your thoughts, which were finally, finally shutting the hell up for once.

No grim reaper lurking like a weirdo. No stress tapping its fingers against your skull. Just you, the warmth, and the quiet slosh of water every time you shifted as one hand drifted down your arm, fingertips tracing the droplets clinging to your skin, while the other slipped beneath the surface, palm gliding over your stomach, lower, lower—until your fingers found the soft, slick heat between your thighs.

No rush. No urgency. 

Just the slow, experimental drag of your touch, tracing idle circles over your clit, already swollen with anticipation. The water made everything smoother, your fingers gliding effortlessly as you teased yourself, testing pressure speed—each movement sending little shocks of pleasure radiating outward.

Your breath hitched, lips parting as you arched slightly, the water lapping at your ribs. The warmth of the bath only heightened the sensation, your skin hypersensitive, every brush of your fingertips electric. You let yourself explore—gentle at first, then firmer, your hips shifting just enough to chase the friction.

A sigh escaped you, head tipping back against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering shut, and let out a long breath. Fuck, when was the last time you just… existed like this? 

No overthinking, no distractions. Just your hands on your own skin, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

You were so close to a stress-free moment—just you, the hot water, and your fingers working slow, teasing circles over your clit, already throbbing from the buildup. The bath made everything slick, and effortless, your touch gliding just right as you tested the pressure, the speed, biting your lip when a particularly good stroke sent a shiver up your spine.

Your breath hitched, hips lifting slightly, water sloshing as you arched two fingers inside you. Fuck, it felt good. The heat of the bath, the way your skin tingled, hypersensitive—every brush of your fingers sent little sparks racing through you. You let yourself get lost in it, touch growing firmer, more deliberate, chasing that sweet, mounting tension.

Then—of fucking course—your mouth betrayed you.

“Casper…” You moan. Fuck, Casper??

The absolute nerve of your subconscious to drag him into this. The guy who’d been stressing you out all damn day, and now here he was, lurking in the back of your mind like an uninvited guest. You groaned, half in frustration, half in reluctant amusement. Really? Now?

You tried to shake it off, fingers never stopping their rhythm, refusing to let him ruin this too. But the thought lingered, stubborn as hell, mixing with the pleasure in a way that was equal parts irritating and—okay, fine—kind of hot.

"Ugh, whatever," you muttered to no one, giving in just a little. If your brain wanted to play that game, fine. You’d let the frustration fuel you, turning the tension he’d caused into something better. Your strokes got sharper and needier, your free hand gripping the edge of the tub as you chased the release that had been just out of reach all day.

The way your body tensed and then melted beneath your touch, the steady rhythm of your fingers, deeper until your thighs trembled.

You took your time, dragging it out, letting the tension coil tighter with every deliberate stroke. Your breath hitched, coming faster now, lips parted as you sank deeper into the sensation. The warm water lapped at your skin, rippling with each subtle movement, muffling the quiet, needy sounds that slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.

And when it finally crashed over you—heat flooding through your limbs, pleasure cresting in slow, shuddering waves—you let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. Figures. Even in your own damn climax, he was still lingering in the back of your mind. 

That asshole.

“What are you doing, Mortal?”

You practically launched out of the tub.

Water sloshed violently over the edge as you jerked upright, your entire body going rigid with shock. Your heart nearly exploded in your chest as you snapped your head toward the source of the voice—only to see Casper, standing there like some smug little shit, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted in curiosity.

Oh, hell no. How did he get in here??

“WHAT THE FUCK—” You scrambled to grab the nearest thing—your damn loofah—hurling it at his face with as much force as you could muster. Casper barely flinched, the soft thing bouncing off his cheek like a tragic attempt at an attack.

He blinked. “Was that supposed to hurt?”

“YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE!”

He looked genuinely confused. “But I live here.”

“But I’m in here,” you corrected, voice dripping with exasperation as you pulled your knees up to your chest, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left. “Big fucking difference.”

Casper’s gaze dragged down lazily, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. His lips parted slightly, his head tilting like he was putting together a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“I still don’t get it,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “I’ve seen mortals bathe before.”

“Oh my god—” You were going to die. Not from him taking your soul, not from some supernatural battle of wills—no, you were going to die from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Casper took a slow step forward, and you held up a warning hand. “Do not come any closer.”

He stopped but didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked… intrigued. Like he was enjoying your frustration. Like he knew he had interrupted something and was now just here to be an absolute menace about it.

“You were making noises,” he pointed out, as if you weren’t already fully aware.

You clenched your jaw, your eye twitching. “I was relaxing.”

“Sounded more like suffering.”

“Oh my god...” You inhaled sharply through your nose, resisting the urge to drown yourself just to escape this absolute disaster of a moment. With all the strength of someone barely holding onto their last shred of sanity, you spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Casper. I swear to whatever god you believe in if you don’t get out of my bathroom in the next three seconds—”

Casper grinned, taking one step backward—which was not fast enough for your liking. “Or what? You’ll come after me?”

Oh, you hated him.

Casper stood there, the grimmest of grim reapers, with his white hair like fallen ash and those red-wine eyes gleaming with amusement. He was a nightmare in the flesh, a creature that should have inspired fear—should have made you tremble at the very thought of his existence.

Instead, he was standing in the bathroom, casually crumbling what little patience you had left invading your private time, looking at you like you were the strange one.

You wanted to scream. Oh, you wanted to scream.

Maybe throw something. Maybe rip your own hair out. Or better yet, maybe grab him by that infuriatingly perfect collar and shove him straight into the tub, hold him under until all his smug little comments bubbled into silence.

But you didn’t.

Because that would mean ruining your carefully put-together appearance. And worse? It would mean hurting your boss’s prized model—the one person you absolutely could not afford to lay a hand on unless you wanted to kiss your job goodbye.

So instead, you forced yourself to breathe. Slow. Controlled. Fingers tightening around the porcelain edges of the tub like they were the only thing anchoring you to sanity. “Casper,” you said, your voice dipping into something low and dangerous, like a warning before a storm.

“Hm?” That lazy, infuriating hum, like he hadn’t just walked in on you at your most vulnerable.

“Get. Out.”

He tilted his head, looking genuinely—genuinely—confused. “Why?”

You clenched your jaw so hard it could’ve cracked. “Because I am naked and bathing, and you are not supposed to be here.”

He considered that for a long moment. Then, his lips curled into something devious. “Technically, I am supposed to be here. You and I made a deal. I’m supposed to be haunting you for your soul.”

“Then haunt me in literally any other room.”

Casper sighed, dramatic and slow, as if you were the one being unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented, but then—then—he smirked. That smirk, the one that made you want to smack him upside the head. “But just so you know, you really should be quieter. You don’t want your neighbors thinking you’re being murdered in here.”

Fuck this. 

You were fuming, seething, gripping the edge of the tub like it was the only thing keeping you from losing your goddamn mind. Your eye twitched so violently that for a second, you swore the entire world flickered—as reality itself had short-circuited under the sheer weight of your frustration.

You had officially had enough.

With seething movements, you pushed yourself up from the bath, water cascading down your skin in slow, glistening trails. 

You grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it around your body without a second thought, the fabric clinging to your damp form as you stepped out of the tub. You barely noticed the chill of the air against your skin. You barely cared.

Casper must have sensed the shift in the air because the moment your foot hit the tile with a sharp, wet slap, his smirk faltered. For the first time since he had started haunting your every waking moment, he looked genuinely unsettled.

His red eyes flickered—uncertainty, hesitation, maybe even a hint of fear. Good. Because you weren’t playing anymore. Before he could get another word in, you were moving. He took a cautious step back, but it was already too late.

Like a force of nature, you stormed toward him, towel clutched tightly around your body, water still dripping from your hair. Casper did the only thing his undead brain could think of—he ran.

Straight out of the bathroom. Oh, hell no.

You chased after him, barreling through the doorway, barely even aware of the way the hallway light flickered as you passed under it.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" you growled, the anger burning in your veins hotter than any embarrassment over your current state.

Casper yelped—yelped—as he sprinted down the hall, his long coat billowing behind him in his panic. For someone who literally dealt with death, he sure as hell was scared for his life.

"Now, now, let’s be rational about this!" he called over his shoulder, trying to sound composed, but his voice cracked at the end. Oh, he was scared.

"Rational?!" you scoffed, lunging forward. "You have been tormenting me for months, Casper! Months! And now you wanna talk about being rational?! Oh, no—you don’t get to run from me now!"

You saw the exact moment he realized he was cornered. 

Casper skidded to a halt at his bedroom door, scrambling to fling it open. But you were already there, shoving against it just as he tried to slam it in your face. 

His eyes were wide, his expression somewhere between shock and sheer terror. “You—you’re unhinged!" he accused, voice going slightly high-pitched.

"You made me this way!" you snapped back, shoving your way inside. He stumbled backward, eyes widening at you before—bam.

Your body crashed into his, sending him stumbling backward onto the bed. You followed without hesitation, climbing over him, straddling his waist, and pinning him beneath you with a force that had him momentarily stunned.

His body was solid beneath yours, colder than you expected due to the whole undead grim reaper thing. 

You could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, his breathing steady but slightly uneven now, like he was processing what just happened.

For the first time, you saw something shift in his expression—not his usual smug amusement, not his lazy arrogance, but something else. Surprise and

Confusion.

His wine-red eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. “Well…” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “I can’t say I saw this coming.”

You leaned in, your face just inches from his, close enough to see the way his lips parted slightly, how his throat bobbed with a slow, almost instinctive swallow. “Good,” you murmured, your voice low, dangerous. “Then maybe, for once, you’ll shut up and listen.”

Casper blinked up at you, the ghost of a smirk still lingering, but his silence—for once—was enough.

“I’m sick and over with you haunting me,” you yelled, dripping with something almost cruel in its amusement. “You think you can just waltz into my life, make my every moment miserable, and I’m supposed to sit back and let you have my soul?” 

Casper wasn’t fully listening, like he could feel you—every inch of your body, barely covered by that frustratingly short towel, heat seeping through the thin fabric where it clung to your damp skin. It was a dangerous sight, teetering on the edge of revealing more than it should, and shit—why did a mortal have to be this pretty?

You tilted your head slightly, lips hovering just inches from his, teasing him with the ghost of a touch. “My soul isn’t for sale.”

His breath caught. His usual arrogance wavered, flickering into something less composed. For the first time, you had him unsure. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, and you could practically see the war raging behind them—frustration, fascination, something else he wouldn’t dare name.

“You make this so much harder than it needs to be,” he muttered, his voice laced with that same begrudging admiration, but there was something else, too—something red. His face, his ears, all betraying him as he took in the fire in your expression, the way you pressed against him, holding him down.

His breath hitched as you shifted, the pressure making his thoughts scatter.

“J-Just hand over your soul, and I-I’ll leave,” he stammered, but even he didn’t sound convinced anymore.

The stutter was so obvious; it was almost cute.

“No!” you shouted, your voice sharp with frustration, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The real problem? The unmistakable pressure beneath you. Shit. Right. 

You already knew.

A slow, wicked smile curled on your lips as realization settled in.

“You reap what you sow, Casper,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a slow, taunting caress against his skin. You felt the way his entire body tensed, his throat bobbing, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to grab you—to do something.

And then? He did move.

With a frustrated growl, he tried to shove you off, his hands gripping your hips, pushing at you in a way that was far too desperate, far too rigid. “G-Get off,” he snapped, his usual cocky arrogance cracking around the edges.

You didn’t budge. Instead, you pressed down just a little more, reveling in the way his breath hitched, the way his grip tightened just a little too much before he forced himself to let go.

“You’re really that eager to run now?” you murmured, tilting your head, watching the way his crimson eyes flickered between frustration and something he really didn’t want you to see.

“I’m not— I just—” His voice faltered, and that was enough to make you lean in closer, pressing your weight down just enough to make him shudder.

“You just what?” you teased, dragging the moment out, letting the heat between you thicken.

His fingers curled into fists, knuckles white. His lips parted, but whatever comeback he had died the second you moved against him, just barely, just enough to feel him really tense beneath you.

“Sh-Shut up,” he muttered, face turning a shade of red that had nothing to do with anger.

Oh, he was trying so hard to hold onto his composure. Trying so hard to shove you away without making it obvious why he needed you to move.

“And if you think I’m just going to hand over my soul…” You trailed off, letting the words dangle between you, thick with implication, like a loaded gun cocked and ready to fire.

Casper swallowed hard, his breath uneven, his self-control slipping—and for all the power he had, for all the ways he had haunted you, he was the one struggling now.

The tables had turned—now you wanted to see just how far you could push him. Because if he had spent all this time tormenting you, refusing to let you go…

Then surely, he must have realized by now—

You gonna haunted him right back.

You leaned down slowly, the space between you two shrinking, the anticipation thickening the air. Your breath mingled with his, a brief, almost electrifying moment before your lips finally met his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. 

It wasn’t soft—there was nothing delicate about it. 

Your lips pressed onto his with force, firm, almost demanding, as though you were claiming something that was yours to take. Casper’s body stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity, the possessiveness in your touch. You could feel his hesitation—his confusion. His breath hitched as you deepened the kiss, pressing yourself closer to him, your hand finding its way to his jaw, tilting his face to match the angle of yours.

His lips parted slightly under yours, and you took it as an invitation, pushing forward with more urgency, more need. His warmth was overwhelming, contrasting with the coldness of his existence. 

You felt him start to respond, slowly at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the longer you kissed him, the more the tension between you snapped. He exhaled sharply, his fingers grazing the side of your neck as he finally gave in, his hand tangling in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

The shift was subtle, but you could feel it—the way he started to lean into you, his chest pressing against yours, his movements no longer hesitant but eager, almost desperate. 

It was a kiss that felt like something had broken between you two like a barrier had collapsed, and now there was only the fire between you. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that was unfamiliar, unexpected.

When the kiss finally broke, you both pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but neither of you fully separated. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed for a beat too long before slowly opening, still hazy, still lost in the aftermath of it all. 

You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, erratic, as if it wasn’t just his body reacting, but something deeper—something that couldn’t be ignored.

He didn’t say anything right away, the silence between you two heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. His voice, when it finally came, was low, almost a growl.

“W-Why did you do that…?” he asked, his words wrapped in uncertainty and desire as if he was finally understanding something about the mess between you two but still couldn’t quite make sense of it.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, your fingers lingered on his jaw, tracing the delicate curve of his face, feeling the soft, almost otherworldly smoothness of his skin under your touch. You watched him closely, the way his eyes fluttered shut as he tried to maintain his composure, his breath quickening the longer you stayed close. 

But it wasn’t just about that anymore—it wasn’t just about the arrogant, cocky Grim Reaper who had been haunting your thoughts for months. 

No, it was something far more complicated now.

You wanted him—all of him. 

Slowly, deliberately, you shifted, moving your lips from his to the delicate skin of his neck, your breath warm against him as you kissed the soft spot just below his jaw. The moment your lips made contact with his skin, you felt him tense, his body reacting to your touch in ways that made your pulse quicken. 

He let out a quiet gasp, his eyes snapping open as if he wasn’t expecting this. But you could feel it, the way his body betrayed him, how his pulse seemed to spike beneath your lips.

You couldn’t help but press closer, your lips moving along the smooth curve of his neck, slowly, teasingly. You felt him shiver under your touch, his breath hitching sharply. His skin was like silk, but it was warm, almost feverish beneath your lips. 

You traced the delicate line of his throat with your mouth, paying attention to the places that made him tremble, the faintest of whimpers escaping him. 

The deeper you kissed, the more you felt the tremor in his body, the way he couldn’t quite keep himself steady as your lips and teeth brushed against his sensitive skin.

And then, he couldn’t help it anymore—he let out a deep, strangled whine, a sound so raw, so desperate, it sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the usual sharp, cocky tone he had when he spoke to you—it was something entirely different. His body arched onto yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he was both resisting and wanting at the same time.

“W-What... what are you trying to do with me, mortal?” His voice was thick, almost breathless, the usual arrogance and bravado completely absent now. There was no defiance, no demand for power in his tone. Just confusion.

You paused for a brief second, but you continued your movements, pressing your lips further down his neck, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin against yours.

He whimpered again, louder this time, and the sound made something inside you stir—a dark satisfaction, a rush of power. He was so vulnerable under your touch, so... alive in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, but you kept your hand on his neck, feeling his pulse flutter under your fingertips. His eyes were wide, a mix of emotions swirling in them—confusion, want, fear. His breath was shallow, chest rising and falling erratically as if he wasn’t sure if he was even breathing properly anymore.

It wasn’t long before your kisses trailed down, slow and soft, your lips teasing a path along his now shirtless, impossibly pale chest. Damn, he really was ghostly white, but soft—way softer than someone who spent all their time being a cocky little shit should be. You couldn’t help yourself; you bit down lightly, just enough to make him jolt under you.

Casper let out this ridiculous, choked noise, half-whimper, half what the fuck was that?! and you grinned against his skin. Oh, this was going to be fun. “What—what are you—” he started, but you cut him off with another bite, right over his ribs this time. He actually squirmed beneath you, letting out the deepest whine you’d ever heard from him.

“Would you look at that,” you mused, pressing another kiss just below his collarbone, feeling his muscles tense under your lips. “The big, bad grim reaper’s ticklish.”

Casper’s eyes shot open, his whole face twisting between frustration and pure, unfiltered panic. “I am not—”

You kissed a little lower. He let out a soft gasp.

You snickered. “Ohhh, you so are.”

His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know if he should shove you away or pull you closer, and that alone made you even more entertained. 

Casper was losing his goddamn mind. You knew it. He knew it. Hell, even the goddamn shadows in the room probably knew it. And you? Oh, you were thriving.

See, for months now, this insufferable bastard had been haunting you—literally and figuratively. He followed you everywhere like a bad omen, made your life a constant, unending hell, toyed with your sanity like it was his favorite pastime, and worst of all?

He had the audacity to be hot while doing it.

You were fed up. You were horny. And since he was always around, lurking in your damn shadow, you never had a single moment alone to deal with it. No time to take the edge off. No privacy to just breathe without him hovering like he owned the air around you.

And if he was going to keep haunting you relentlessly, refusing to let you have a single second of peace? Because of that, you’d make sure he felt what it was like to be relentlessly pursued—to be hunted the way he had hunted you.

And judging by the way he was struggling beneath you, red-faced, flustered, trying so damn hard to pretend he wasn’t affected?

Oh, he was feeling it all right as your lips pressed slow, lazy kisses along his stomach, dragging out every moment just to watch him squirm. 

And oh, was he squirming. 

His fingers clenched the sheets so hard you thought they might rip. His breath hitched every time you so much as existed near him. His legs were tense, thighs trembling slightly like his entire undead body was screaming at him to do something. But he couldn’t.

Not with you looking down at him like that. Not with that smug little glint in your eye, knowing full well the power you held over him right now.

“Are you—” His voice cracked so hard you nearly laughed in his face. He swallowed, trying to gather what was left of his composure. “Are you actually trying to kill me right now? Because—because this feels like some kind of cruel revenge plot.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Me? Oh, Casper… why would I ever do something so cruel?”

Another kiss. Another sharp inhale. 

"You are,” he accused breathlessly, his crimson eyes burning into you. “You so are.”

You grinned. “Maybe I’m just trying to make you feel a little… haunted.”

His whole body shuddered. "That’s—That’s not funny."

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious.”

Casper groaned, tossing his head back against the pillow like he was physically suffering. “M-Mortal!” he sputtered, trying to sound authoritative but failing spectacularly. 

“You can’t just—You—You can’t have my soul!” 

Casper's breath hitched so hard you thought he might choke on it. His fingers curled tighter into the sheets, his entire body going stiff beneath you—frozen, like some helpless animal caught in the path of an oncoming storm.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you watched him squirm. “What do you mean, Casper?”

Your fingers ghosted over the waistband of his pants, playing with the button, teasing but never quite undoing it. His whole body twitched at the contact, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

“I-I mean…” he stammered, eyes darting anywhere but your face, ears tinged an adorable shade of pink. “My—My soul, mortal! That’s what I was talking about! Y-you can't have it! It's mine!”

You paused, blinking at him. And then it clicked.

Oh. Oh. Did he—? Had he been—? The realization hit you like a freight train, slamming full speed into your already frenzied brain. This whole time, when he'd been talking about souls, about taking yours, about you trying to take his… was he actually talking about—?

Honestly, you are a bit lost by his words… but you kept on the act! Your lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, Casper…” you purred, pressing down just enough to make him gasp, your fingers still playing at his waistband.

“You’ve been talking about souls this whole time, and yet…” You sighed, “…it sounds like you’ve been asking for something else entirely.” 

His entire body jerked like you’d just electrocuted him. “I—I—” His voice cracked so hard you almost felt bad. Almost.

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head at him with mock concern. “Are you sure you meant your soul, Casper? Because…”

Your fingers gave the button of his pants the tiniest little tug. “…from the way you’re acting, it really seems like you meant something else.”

Casper wiggles beneath you then let out a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and an offended squawk.

“M-MORTAL! I—THAT’S NOT—YOU’RE TWISTING MY WORDS!”

You laughed, soft and velvety, reveling in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers dug into the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to reality. His crimson eyes were wide, frantic, darting across your face as if searching for an escape that didn’t exist.

"Am I?" you murmured, letting the words drip from your lips like honey—sweet, slow, dangerous.

“Yes!” he blurted, but his voice wavered, cracking at the edges, betraying him in the most delicious way.

You tilted your head, fingers trailing ever so lightly down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His whole body was wound tight, like he was barely holding himself together. Like he didn’t trust himself to move.

“Then tell me,” you coaxed, your voice barely above a whisper, a soft, deliberate tease against the thick silence between you. “What is it, Casper?”

Nothing. No response. Just a tense, heavy pause. A second too long. A hesitation too thick.

And then—so quiet, so wrecked, like it had been dragged from the deepest part of him—

“…Because I think I want you as well, Mortal.”

Oh. Fuck. Like, deadass, that was kinda hot.

Your fingers stilled for just a second, then resumed their slow, torturous circles against his stomach, just barely skimming the skin. Featherlight. Just enough to tease. Just enough to torment.

“You don’t say,” you murmured, letting your nails graze lightly over his skin, watching the way his entire body twitched beneath you. “Such strong words, Casper.”

He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his back pressing deeper into the mattress as if he could somehow disappear into it—like it could save him from whatever this was.

But nothing was saving him now. Not from you. shit from me.

Not as the towel around you slipped, the fabric pooling onto the bed like a ghost of hesitation you no longer had.

You could feel the tension coiled in his body, every muscle taut beneath your touch, strung tight between restraint and ruin. His skin burned under your fingertips, feverish, as if he were caught in some exquisite purgatory—unsure whether to arch into your mouth or wrench himself away before he shattered completely.

“W-where will it be?” His voice was raw, stripped down to something fractured and wanting, each word a ragged breath torn from his chest.

You smiled—slow, deliberate, cruel in its sweetness—letting your lips ghost over the frantic pulse at his throat. 

“My tongue?” you murmured, the words dripping like honey, thick and syrupy with promise. You let them linger, let them sink into his skin, let him feel them. “Is that what you want, Casper? My wicked tongue on you?” His cock twitched against your lips, already glistening at the tip—pale, flushed, aching for you. You could see the pulse of his heartbeat in it, the way his entire body trembled with the effort of holding back.

A shudder wracked through him, violent and helpless. His fingers twisted in the sheets, white-knuckled, like a man clinging to the last fraying thread of his control. 

You exhaled, slow and warm, just to watch him squirm.

Then—finally—you pressed a single, lingering kiss to the head, tasting the salt-slick precome beading there. His hips jerked, a choked gasp tearing from his throat, but you held him down with one firm hand on his stomach, fingers splayed possessively over his trembling abdomen.

"Stay still."

A command, not a request.

You took him into your mouth with agonizing slowness, letting your tongue swirl lazily around the crown before sinking deeper, inch by torturous inch. His breath hitched, his fingers knotting in your hair—not pushing, just clinging, as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You hollowed your cheeks, dragging your lips up in a slow, filthy glide before plunging back down, savoring the way his thighs tensed, the way his stomach quivered under your palm. 

Every movement was deliberate, calculated to unravel him—the flick of your tongue along the underside, the teasing scrape of teeth, the way you pulled off just to watch him whimper before swallowing him down again.

His voice was shattered, raw with desperation. "F-fuck—please—"

You hummed around him, the vibration wringing a broken moan from his lips. His grip tightened in your hair, his hips lifting in tiny, involuntary thrusts, but you controlled the pace, keeping it slow, maddening, until every ragged breath he took was your name.

My god—how you loved this—loved the way he unraveled, the way his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, the way his hips jerked instinctively toward your mouth, betraying him entirely.

You dragged your nails down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, feather-light, just enough to make him jolt, to pull another broken sound from his lips. His entire body was a live wire, every nerve alight, every tremor yours to command.

When you finally felt him tense, his whole body bowing off the bed, you locked your eyes with his—holding his gaze as you took him deep, deeper, until his release spilled hot and bitter down your throat.

And even then, you didn’t let go.

You milked him through it, lips sealed tight until he was shaking, oversensitive, gasping your name like a prayer. Only then did you pull away, licking your lips with slow, deliberate satisfaction.  

"Good little reaper."  

The words dripped from your tongue like silk, and just as you watched the shiver roll through him, an idea slithered into your mind—dark, tempting, irresistible.  

Your smirk widened. “Oh… wait,” you purred, voice teasing, wicked. 

“Grimmy, I have a surprise for you.”

Casper swallowed hard, his crimson eyes flickering with something caught between intrigue and apprehension. His hands twitched where they gripped the sheets, like he couldn't decide if he should push you away or pull you closer.

You smirked, trailing your fingers lazily down his chest before slipping away entirely, stepping back just enough to let the anticipation thicken between you. Slowly, deliberately, you turned, making sure he caught the full, teasing sway of your movements as you sauntered over to your suitcase in the hallway.

His breathing was uneven. He was watching you, waiting, completely caught in your spell. "You've been keeping secrets from me, mortal?" he murmured, his voice rough, strained.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, fingers toying with the zipper of your bag. "Oh, I was saving this for myself," you admitted, drawing out each word like honey, "but now? I think I need it right now."

You unzipped the suitcase slowly—so slowly it was almost maddening. The faint rasp of the metal teeth parting filled the dimly lit room, a whisper of sound against the thick silence. Casper tensed.

His haunted lungs hitched.

"You know," you mused, lifting out the little package you had tucked away, letting the low lamp light catch on the edges, "if you're onto me, that means I'm onto you, too."

A confession. A threat. A promise.

Casper's grip on the sheets tightened. "What… What are you planning?"

You turned fully now, holding the item in your hands, watching as his eyes darkened, his throat bobbing with an anxious swallow.

And with a wicked smile, you took a slow step toward the bed.

"Why don’t you let me show you, little reaper?"

It wasn’t long before you watched him, the way his body betrays every flicker of need: the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the restless curl of his fingers into the sheets, the way his throat works as he swallows hard, waiting.

Your hands glide over him, slow and deliberate, fingertips tracing the dip of his spine, the curve of his hip, the softness of his inner thigh—just to hear his breath catch.

Then, with a quiet, knowing hum, you press against him from behind, your body flush against his, the heat of your skin searing through the space between you. 

The weight of your body against his back makes him shudder, and you smile, dragging your lips along the slope of his shoulder.

"Shh," you murmur, voice honey-thick, "I’ve got you."

Your fingers trail down the trembling plane of his thighs, circling the base of his cock with a teasing, featherlight touch. He shudders beneath you, breath hitching—already so close to unraveling, and you’ve barely begun.

You reach for your toy, covered in your slick, warmed between your thighs before you guide it to him, pressing in with a slow, relentless push—just enough to make his back arch, just enough to pull a low, his back arching as choked gasp spills from his lips.

"There you go," you croon, your free hand stroking him in time with each shallow thrust, your grip just tight enough to make his hips jerk. "Such a good little reaper, haunting me, trying to steal my soul." 

You click your tongue, amused. "But you’re the one who’s trapped now, aren’t you?" You pause, letting him feel every inch, letting him burn with it. 

“P-please ugh!” His fingers claw at the sheets, knuckles white, and you lean down, catching his earlobe between your teeth before whispering, "Tell me, Casper—do wraiths beg?"

Then your fingers find his, threading through them, palm to palm, your grip tight enough to ground him, to remind him—you’re here, you’re his, even as you take him apart.

And then you move.

A slow, deep roll from your hands, the drag of the toy inside him deliberate, maddening. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his fingers tightening around yours like a lifeline. 

You thrust deeper, your hand working him faster now, twisting just the way he likes, and his answer comes in a broken moan, his body tightening around the toy as pleasure coils hot and desperate in his gut.

"That’s it," you purr, your breath hot against his skin. "Let me see you come undone. Let me watch you forget you ever wanted to haunt anyone but me."

His hips stutter, his cock pulsing in your hand as he spills over your fingers with a ragged cry, his body clenching around the toy in helpless, shuddering waves.

"It’s where you and I be." You started

A confession. A threat. A promise.

Your free hand skates up his chest, mapping the flutter of his heartbeat, the hitch of his ribs as he gasps. You can feel the way his body clenches around the toy, the way he trembles beneath you, caught between surrender and desperate, clawing need.

“If I’m on to you…" you whisper, your breath hot against his skin, pulling back just enough to catch his gaze—God, those eyes—deep red and drowning, pupils blown, lashes fluttering like he’s already lost to the tide of you.

"...then you’re on to me." A sharp inhale. A fractured moan. His lips part, trembling—wordless, aching, yours.

Your pace shifts—still deep, still relentless, but rougher now, each thrust punching a ragged sound from his throat. His fingers cling to yours, his body arching into every movement, every stroke, every touch like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

And oh, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers, breathless pleas, the way his voice breaks when you angle just right—it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

"Me... on to you." Your voice is a velvet snare, wrapping around him like smoke—dark, intoxicating, inescapable.

Casper arches beneath you, his body strung tight, every muscle trembling as you drive into him with slow, merciless precision. His fingers claw at the sheets, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

"P-please—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked, desperate. "Let me—fuck, I need—"

You tighten your grip on his hips, nails biting into his skin just enough to make him whimper. "Need what?" you purr, dragging your lips along the shell of his ear. "Say it."

He shudders, his cock twitching against his stomach, already slick with pre-come. "Need to come," he rasps. "Please—please—"

You slow your thrusts to a torturous grind, savoring the way his body clenches around you, greedy and aching. “Aww, and what do I get?" you murmur, your breath hot against his throat.

His answer comes in a rush, raw and unguarded—

"My soul. My fucking—everything—just yours, only yours—"

Your hips stutter at that, just for a second. His soul? A reaper offering up the one thing he shouldn’t—couldn’t—give away. Your fingers slide up his chest, pressing over the frantic beat of his heart. "Careful," you warn, your voice rough. “…You don’t know what you’re asking for."

"I do," he gasps, writhing beneath you.

"I want it—want you to own me, ruin me, fucking keep me—just—ah!—promise you won’t take it. Promise you’ll leave it in me... so I can always be yours."

Your breath catches. Fuck.

"I'm on to you," you growl, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as you snap your hips forward, hard enough to punch a broken cry from his lips. "And you’re on to me."

Then you finally—finally—let him come.

His whole body seizes, back bowing off the bed as he spills over your fist with a shattered moan, his release hot and slick between your fingers. You don’t stop, fucking him through it, dragging out every last spasm until he’s sobbing, oversensitive and shaking.

When he’s limp beneath you, breathless and dazed, you lean down, lips brushing his ear. "Next time you try to steal my soul," you murmur, "make sure it's someone mine."

A weak, breathless laugh escapes him. 

"Too late," he slurs, already half-gone. “I already have.”

You stare at him—really stare—before a slow, possessive smile curls into your mouth. “We’ll see…” you whisper, sealing the vow with a kiss pressed to his sweat-damp skin.

𝑒𝓍𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓌: heheheheheh 🤭

The next day, the studio was bathed in artificial light, soft flashes illuminating the minimalist set—a white backdrop, an expensive chaise, and the ever-irritated grim reaper standing awkwardly in the middle of it all. The entire team moved like clockwork around him, adjusting lights, fixing props, and directing him to pose.

But Casper?

Casper refused to sit down. Not once.

Not even when the photographer, sighed dramatically and gestured toward the antique chair, "All right, Casper, just take a seat and—"

"No."

The team collectively blinked. The photographer looked ready to throw his clipboard across the room.

“Casper, darling, please,” the director whined, exasperated, “I promise it won’t kill you—”

Casper shot the man a look so venomous that it could have rotted a bouquet of flowers on the spot. Still, he did not sit.

Instead, he remained standing, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, the weight never settling. Every so often, his fingers twitched, like he was debating if it was worth committing homicide in front of an audience.

And you?

You were having the time of your life.

It was everything you could do not to burst into laughter as you lounged off to the side, sipping on an overpriced iced tea like you weren’t the reason for his predicament. “Casper, oh my, are you okay?” your boss finally asked, tilting her head, eyes narrowing slightly at the his suspicious behavior.

Casper tensed. His glare flickered toward you, burning and accusing, as if daring you to say something.

You met his gaze head-on. 

Then, with all the innocence of a saint, you shrugged.

“Beats me,” you mused, sipping your drink, barely holding back a smirk.

Casper's fingers twitched violently.

You were the reason he couldn’t sit. You. 

The reason he stood like he had a permanent problem. The reason he looked like he was seriously reconsidering his entire existence.

Casper exhaled sharply, silently cursing your entire bloodline, before begrudgingly suffering through the rest of the shoot. By the time it wrapped up, he was the first to disappear, slipping away the moment the cameras stopped flashing.  

You found him soon after, tucked away at the back of the dressing room. The space was lined with racks of designer clothes, mirrors catching glimpses of his reflection at every angle—but despite all that, your attention never wavered.  

The only thing that mattered was him.

Casper sat near the vanity, arms crossed, eyes still smoldering from earlier.

You, on the other hand, were having fun. While the others took their break, you stayed behind, deciding it would be an excellent opportunity to mess with him further.

And somehow, that led to you dressing him for another shoot.

“Why am I letting you do this?” he grumbled as you straightened his collar, adjusting the fit of the sleek black suit you had thrown onto him. 

“Because you have no choice,” you mused, hands lingering just a little longer than necessary, smoothing the fabric over his chest. “And because, deep down, you love it.”

Casper scoffed. “I loathe it.”

"Aww, you hurt because I fucked you with my dildo, right?" Your voice dripped with mock sympathy, babying him, laced with the kind of teasing cruelty that made his spine stiffen. You dragged a finger down the sweat-slick plane of his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. "Poor Grimmy. So ruined by me."

Casper’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into his clothing like he was trying to tear them apart. "Shut up," he growled, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him, a face fully red.

You laughed, low and wicked, "And here I though you loved it," you purred, relishing the way his body shuddered beneath you. "You fucking nutted everywhere... like some desperate little thing."

His reaction was instant—a sharp inhale, a flash of crimson in his darkened gaze as he twisted to glare at you. 

"You said you wouldn’t say that out loud!”

"Did I?" You blinked, all false innocence, before grinning like the devil you were. "Oops."

His fingers twitched. Then again. Closer. Tighter. Oh?

You watched, amused, as his control frayed at the edges, his jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear his teeth grinding. For a second, you wondered if he’d actually do it—if those long, pale fingers would finally snap around your throat in retaliation.

And then—

He moved.

Casper had you pinned against the wall, his body caging you in, his eyes burning like hellfire. "This ends tonight," he snarled, gripping your chin hard enough to bruise, forcing your gaze up to his.

"I’m taking your soul, mortal."

You blinked. Then—you smiled.

"Oh, Grimmy..."

Before he could react, you struck.

A twist of your wrist, a shift of your weight, and suddenly he was the one pressed against the wall, your body flush against his, your knee sliding between his thighs just to hear the way his breath stuttered.

The dim light carved shadows across his face, highlighting the way his lips parted—in shock, in fury, in something far more dangerous. His chest rose and fell beneath your palm, his heartbeat a frantic, uneven rhythm against your fingertips.

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed his as you spoke.

"You can’t take my soul, Casper."

"Because I already took yours."

His breath stopped. For a single, suspended moment, the world held still. His crimson eyes widened, his body rigid against yours, his mind scrambling to process the words—to deny them. "You—" His voice was rough, raw, ruined.

You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a smirk.

"Shhh," you cooed, tilting your head like he was some misbehaving little pet. “I mean you gave it to me, willing in fact.”

He jerked his face away, his jaw clenched tight, but you didn’t miss the way his pulse jumped beneath your touch. "U-Uh I mean—Like, How?" he demanded, voice low, trembling with something between fury and fascination. "You're a mortal, a human—"

You tsked, tracing a slow, deliberate path down his throat, feeling the way his Adam’s apple bobbed under your fingertips.

"Now, now," you murmured, your smile all teeth. "A person like me never reveals their secrets."

His entire body shuddered, his control unraveling thread by thread, his fingers flexing like he didn’t know whether to push you away or drag you closer.

Fuck, he was beautiful like this.

The so-called Grim Reaper, known to be the terror of the underworld—reduced to this. To being yours.

You leaned in, your lips a breath away from his, your voice a whisper.

"You should be thanking me," you murmured, your hand sliding lower, teasing, taunting. "Not every reaper gets the privilege of being claimed."

His breath hitched, rough as a serrated edge. "Claimed—?"

"Mhm." Your lips brushed his jaw, slow, deliberate, savoring his pulse beneath your mouth. "The underworld gifted me something special..." Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants, smirking as his hips jerked, and his teeth gritted against a moan.

"A little grim reaper to keep all for myself."

And then—his control shattered.

With a snarl, he grabbed your wrists, slamming you back against the wall. His body pinned yours, every hard line of him a brand, a conquest, a promise. His eyes burned like hellfire, lips parted around ragged breaths, chest heaving with the weight of something feral, something hungry.

And then he kissed you. 

His mouth crashed against yours, such as teeth and tongue, and desperate. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound like a sinner taking communion, his grip on your wrists tightening to the brink of pain. 

There was like no gentleness here, no hesitation—like damnnn you really dragged out of him.

You laughed into his mouth, "I know if I'm haunting you…" You pulled back just enough to watch his lashes flutter, to see the way his lips chased yours, already addicted. Your breath mingled, hot, and shared, the space between you thick with the scent of sweat and sin.

And as his groan vibrated against your lips, as his hands slid from your wrists to your waist, dragging you impossibly closer. Then, with a smirk, you kissed him again—slow this time, deliberate, a velvet stroke of the tongue that had him shuddering...

"…You must be haunting me."

[pupsmailbox]

HALLOWEEN ID PACK

NAMES︰ abraham. abraxas. adam. adrian. adrienne. alaric. alfred. alistair. amity. ann. annabelle. apple. arawn. ash. avaric. azazel. azrael. azriel. barnabas. belladonna. berry. blair. blaize. blake. blanche. boq. brain. bram. bridgette. bronwen. burton. candi. candy. caradoc. carmilla. carrie. casper. cassia. castor. choco. claire. clarice. claudia. cole. coraline. corbin. crimson. cuthbert. damien. damon. daphne. dark. debra. dexter. draco. dracula. drake. duncan. ebony. edgar. elena. eli. elphaba. elvira. ember. estelle. eve. eye. fable. fang. fergus. finn. fiyero. frankenstein. freddie. freddy. frederick. george. ghost. ghoul. giles. glinda. griffin. grimm. gummy. hades. hallorann. hallow. hawthorne. heath. heathcliff. hecate. hekate. hela. hemlock. henry. ichabod. igor. ike. ivan. jack. jason. jasper. josette. knox. layla. lazarus. lenore. lester. licorice. lilith. lolly. lucinda. luella. luna. lunette. mab. malcolm. marnie. mary. matilda. mike. mikey. mina. morgan. morgana. mortimer. nancy. neoma. nessarose. nimue. norman. obsidian. onyx. orenda. orion. osiris. othello. pandora. payne. peach. perdita. poe. poison. pumpkin. radcliff. raven. reese. remus. renwick. requiem. rhiannon. romero. rosalie. rosemary. ross. ruby. rune. ruth. saber. sabrina. sage. salem. sally. sam. samhain. scarlett. sebastian. semyazza. seth. sibyl. sid. sirius. stella. stephen. sylvia. tabitha. thackery. trick. twila. twilight. udolpho. vamp. vampire. vanellope. vespera. victor. victoria. viktor. vincent. vlad. voltaire. wanda. wednesday. wendy. werewolf. wes. wesley. wilhelmina. willow. winifred. winter. wolf. wren. xander. zelda.

PRONOUNS︰ attic/attic. bat/bat. bell/bell. black/black. blood/blood. bone/bone. boo/boo. cabre/macabre. candle/candle. candy/bar. candy/candy. candybar/candybar. carve/carve. cavity/cavity. cem/cemetery. chaos/chaos. choco/chocola. claw/claw. co/coffin. costume/costume. crim/crimson. cry/crypt. dark/dark. darkroom/darkroom. demon/demon. devil/devil. dread/dreadful. end/ender. eve/eve. fair/fair. fang/fang. fest/festival. flick/flick. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. grem/gremlin. grim/grim. grue/gruesome. hallo/ween. hallow/hallow. hallow/halloween. halloween/halloween. haunt/haunt. haunted/haunted. hay/hayride. hex/hex. hide/hide. howl/howl. imp/imp. mis/mischeif. mon/monster. monster/monster. myst/mystery. para/normal. poi/poison. poison/poison. polter/geist. prank/prank. pum/pumpkin. pump/kin. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pumpkin. scare/crow. scream/scream. shriek/shriek. skel/skeleton. skeleton/skeleton. skull/skull. so/soul. spider/spider. spirit/spirit. spook/spook. spooky/spooky. static/static. sweet/sweet. tale/tale. thrill/thriller. tomb/tomb. treat/treat. tri/trick. trick/treat. trick/trick. trickster/trickster. vamp/vamp. vamp/vampire. vampire/vampire. venom/venom. voi/void. web/web. werewolf/werewolf. witch/witch. wolf/wolf. zomb/zomb. zombie/zombie. ⚰️. 🍁. 🍂. 🍫. 🍬. 🍭. 🎃. 👻. 💀. 💚. 💜. 🕯. 🕷. 🕷️. 🕸. 🖤. 🦇. 🦴. 🧡.

[lenamiyabi]

PET NAMES!!!

(ahem...no...i didn't copy from moon sir...)

@moonlitenvyillust: Moonie, moon-moon, bestie, moooooooooooooooooo

@lemonade-tree7: casper, lemon-lemon, le cracker, lemon juice, shopee casper fox

@cutob: uhhhhhhhh- apple juice, 'tob

@kindred-spirit-93: kindred, kin, kinnie, that-one-spencer-reid-enjoyer

@fr0g7yyo: f o r g, froggo

@overwhelmedfernfrond: fern :D

@anotvercreativesapien: Mia, bbg, pookie, girlypop, darling, sweetheart, +100

@spookie-puppy: spookie!!! allen!!! spook!

@please-be-nice-im-sensitive: daisy :D

[holyrunawaychild]

Wolf King Character design details I like (part 4):

Credit for all gifs goes to @soranatus.

It feels only appropriate to start with a fan favorite. And the one Curtis Jobling himself said he had ideas to make a spin off for.

Building off something I had said in a previous post, they really just made him Sinbad. In the best way possible he has the confidence and charisma to steal every scene he’s in.

His outfit is as flamboyant as he is and sells his entire character when you meet him at the inn. It’s an look that stands out from all of his fellow werelords, even in the show’s higher fantasy setting in comparison to the novels. Doubt he’d have it any other way.

A deep v-neck that shows off the merchandise, combined with the asymmetry of his gold ring and bracer highlights his swashbuckling flair. His belt adds an element of Namor the Submariner to his look (I’m not joking Namor has had a very similar fit in the comics). He has fins on his boots.

I repeat.

Fins.

On his.

Boots.

I know it’s in style with every other Lyssian Werelord we’ve seen, but Vega. It’s a bit much.

Especially when he’s already wearing a shark tooth necklace. Or at the very least something meant to invoke that imagery. Using beads to replace actual teeth.

In fact the subtle intricacies of his necklaces makes me think it might be something that part of Cluster Isles culture. I could imagine the Counts of Cutter’s Cove being gifted this when they ascend to the throne. A remnant of their islander culture prior to integrating into the 7 Realms.

The comparison to the few “canon” illustrations we get from the books to Vega’s Wolf King interpretation actually shows the differing aesthetics of both versions.

The Wereworld novels have a very grounded take on their fantasy world. In fact, outside of the magisters and werelords, Lyssia a fairly low fantasy setting. As such the characters are designed with more grounded outfits. Something it likely inherited from A Song of Ice and Fire which clearly influenced Rise of the Wolf.

Wolf King heightens the fantasy, leaning into the setting’s fantastical elements to allow a suspension of disbelief for the audience to accept a knight, a african warrior and Sinbad all can logically exist together and in the same room.

Case in point.

In terms of his Sharklord form, the animators were able to get his personality through the difficult medium of a shark head. A major factor for this is the change to his eyes.

In the books, Vega is constantly described having black, soulless eyes while in shark form. While accurate to real sharks, Wolf King opted for the glowing eyes they have for every Werelord. This, along with prominent brows, allow him to easily emote even without a mammalian face.

Another essential part of making the sharklord work is his movement. As opposed to other werelords in the series, Vega doesn’t hunch over as much while transformed. He still moves like himself most of the time. Which allows for his confident, swashbuckling personality shine through. And, for Vega, personality is everything.

For some non-character design details I loved:

Vega mentioning throwing Hector and Gretchen to his “less civilized kin” felt like a nod to Deadeye, the Hammerhead. Though the books never officially mention a blood relation between the two, it makes sense that their shared nature as sharklords would denote them as kin. Regardless of how distantly related they are, if at all.

The following section contains spoilers for later books/seasons.

Shout out to the art team for making Casper and Vega resemble each other. Honestly was a bit surprised to see Casper this old. Personally I always imagined him as like… 10. Not the same age as Drew. Though do not complain. Makes me eager to see Shah next season.

Speaking of our favorite hawklord (the only competition is Red Rufus), I actually think the show is already teasing Shah and Vega’s relationship. As well as possibly hinting at how it’ll alter it from the books.

Wolf King firmly establishes that Vega had close connections with Wergar during the old days. They shared dreams of conquest and glory in Omir. Vega pledged loyalty and stewardship to Drew early in the prince’s life (presumably on his naming day or christening — whatever the Lyssian equivalent is to that).

Vega was a part of Wergar’s personal circle, in spite of him being much younger than the others. He’s the only one of the older generation to not have crow’s feet or other age lines.

Who else was in this circle? Baron Griffyn. Meaning there was a strong likely chance Vega interacted with Shah during this time.

I think they’ll change the circumstances of their relationship to be one they kept in secret, as opposed to a fling. With Vega hoping and promising Shah that one day he’d ask for her hand.

Of course, that never happens.

Given how old Vega seems —mid-late 30s at the earliest — as well as Casper seemingly aged up to match Drew and the crew — Vega (and likely Shah in turn) was in his late teens/early 20s.

It would line up with Leopold’s conquest. Making the reason Shah and Vega never had that ‘dream’ in part due to the war, Vega losing the Cluster Isles and Shah going into exile with the other Hawklords.

“You can’t have everything you want.”

It feels like he’s talking to his younger self as much as he’s talking to Drew.

All that dramatic theory crafting aside, I still want Vega and Shah’s reunion to go like this:

Vega: Ah, Shah.

Shah: *decks him across the face*

Drew and Vega:

[indigo-constellation]

the Pathologic essay I wrote last year about why I think the Haruspex route Utopian ending is the overall best ending, I still stand by what I said however this somewhat structured essay holds less than half about how much I care about this ending.

also it is just canon LOL

In the game Pathologic there are three different routes, each corresponding to each healer. The story also has several endings, one for each of the bound (characters which as the name implies, are bound to their individual healer) as well as a bad ending if the player fails to find any sort of viable solution for the plague. This ability to choose the ending belonging to another healer is an incredibly telling one on the part of the characters, especially when it comes to the Haruspex, and his ability to choose the Utopian, and the Bachelor’s ending. This ending also works quite well when considering the wider narratives of the Haruspex’s route, including the future of the town, his role and sacrifice, and the metanarrative of the story.

In all three routes there lays quite a large weight on the future of the town, as of course it is the battle of the ending, of which vision of the town would become reality. The Haruspex’s bound is known as the Termites, a collection of children who learned from Isidor Burakh, Artemy Burakh’s father. Their ending is the one in which the Polyhedron is destroyed and the town stands, ready to be developed by a future generation. However, it is discovered in one of the other routes of the story, the Bachelor’s route (we will get to him later) that the source of the infection lies underneath the town, in the pockets of blood which have collected beneath. This means that the plague can never be fully defeated unless the town itself is destroyed, as the Polyhedron has already pierced the ground, meaning that there is no returning the plague to its dormant state, trapped underneath the earth. On the other hand, the other side of the river is entirely uninhibited, clean of the plague. This complete lack of prior development also means an ability to create a new town.

The new town built after the Utopian ending is one made, as the name implies, by the Utopians, however, the asymmetrical narrative changes depending on which healer is the one being currently played by the player, so following that logic, the endings would be influenced as well. This would hypothetically mean that the vision Capella has for the future of the town, one in which the Haruspex is a leader of the kin, and the town would be led by the children, could still find its place within the new town. There are also direct connections between the Utopians and Termites as well, such as Casper Kain, also known as Khan, of the termites, being a termite while also being part of the Kain family, which means that despite the rocky relationship amongst the family, he is still a heir to that power. Capella as well, is the sister of Vlad the younger, who at that point is the eldest Olgymsky remaining, and the projected leader of the town’s industry in the new town, she has also planned her engagement to Khan, meaning that she would then have a connection to Kain family as well. Apart from these direct connections, the entirety of the bound is important, each member, independent of faction, still able to impact the future of the town, and in order to achieve the Utopian ending in the Haruspex route both the Termites and Utopians must be fully healed. However these are the more hypothetical results of the ending, in the game itself the cutscene remains the same for whichever healer chooses the ending, which can imply the uniformness of the ending. However even though the Utopian ending described in differing routes can still serve the Haruspex well, the utopia described in the Bachelor route is explicitly stated to need the Earth, “…it's all about what's down below. It requires dirt. A ruby firmament needs something to sit atop-otherwise it'd topple.” This coincides well with the future Capella predicts, with the Haruspex taking his place as the foreman of the Abattoir, showing that there is, in fact, a place for the “earthly and the humane” in the new town. The connections described within the route, the needs of the utopia, and especially the influence of the Haruspex himself, would allow the Utopian ending to be a fitting future in the Haruspex route.

Another very present aspect of the Haurpsex’s route is that of his sacrifice, the idea that he must destroy, kill, something or someone in order for his ending to occur. This concept is mentioned a few times, however it is only fully explained by Katerina Saburova, “You will make a sacrifice. There will be rivers of blood, and that will be your doing.” While I can go into a whole other essay about the ideas of the sacrifice (and I do), we will for this essay’s sake, take the sacrifice as it’s surface level in pathologic classic, and how it’s implications mean that choosing the Utopian ending would have better long-term effects and also complete the Haruspex’s journey.

The Haruspex’s story follows a more classical hero’s journey rather than the Bachelor’s tragedy, with the abattoir symbolising the other world, and Oyun assigning the quite literal trials the Haruspex must go through. Once the Haruspex defeats the Foreman and becomes the new Foreman of the abattoir, however, he is still not respected by the butchers, who require a sacrifice from him. This duality of both the mistress’ prophecy and the requirement of the butchers also shines a light on the Haruspex in Pathologic Classic, someone who knows that he is of two worlds, however also a person who takes pride in both of them, and brings them together.

In the Termite ending the sacrifice is not fulfilled, the Haruspex is not allowed access to the blood, the plague looms as a remaining threat, and the Polyhedron still falls, for nothing.

Unlike in Pathologic 2, where the Polyhedron is quite literally piercing through the heart of the Earth, slowly killing her, in classic it is nowhere near that fatal, still harmful, but not fatal..  This important distinction is also important to make with the fact that while the blood would still seep out from the open wound if the tower were to fall, it would be limited, and would dry out at some point, while on the other hand, completing the sacrifice would allow the Haruspex access to the blood in the Earth, as the butchers would allow him to find the hidden reserves.

The sacrifice herself, Aglaya Lilich is someone already doomed by the powers that be, a doll loved by their mother and so hated by them, she dies in every ending but the Termites’. There is, of course, a point to be made about the theme of a woman having to die for a man’s journey is not a good one, and choosing this ending would feed into a harmful cliche, however, her death is something she herself understands, and although she urges the Haruspex not to make it, she acknowledges that she is meant to be the sacrifice, that choosing this choice will be enough, “If you lead him to victory, you may consider your sacrifice made. You return to the exultant butchers, triumphant.” Her death is not regarded as a simple shock factor to the end of the story, it is the pivotal choice the Haruspex must make. This is also shown in the Changeling route, where saving Aglaya is seen as an act of deceit, as even Clara’s ending, which saves the town, requires Aglaya to die, as Aglaya is a ‘queen’ an important piece on the board at the end of the game, her life only allows for the Termite ending, only allows for the Haruspex to lose his standing within the kin, and only allows for the sacrifice of the Polyhedron.

The Polyhedron is viewed as the sacrifice in the case that the Haruspex seeks to save Aglaya, however would it even work as one? The sacrifice needed is one of equal value to the Udurgh, the body that contains the world, and if the Utopian route is the one followed, the Udurgh is Simon Kain, and so the sacrifice must be someone who is more than human, and yet human. The Polyhedron, on the other hand, contains no human element, yet, it is the container for a human soul, a chimaera of living and nonliving, however in the Termite ending it is empty, and therefore cannot serve as sacrifice. Both Katerina and Capella’s opinions support the Bachelor’s argument in favour of the Polyhedron standing as well, Katerina outright claiming that “ I know for sure that you are to destroy a woman…” However, seeing that Katerina’s prophecies are often wrong, this statement must be taken with a pinch of salt. On the other hand, Capella clarifies that while Simon is merely a man in the current time, however, “Had Simon been reborn though, had he transferred his spirit to a new vessel-a body huge, perfect, and able to let others in... then he could have been called that.” Well, that rebirth, that new vessel she describes just so happens to match up incredibly well to the Polyhedron, this means that for the Udurgh to exist, for the Haruspex to fulfil his purpose, he must let the Polyhedron stand, must let Simon become the Udurgh. These ideas of sacrifice, of fate, and most importantly, of duty and purpose, greatly define the Haruspex’s story, and the Utopian ending is the only ending which gives it the needed satisfaction by its end.

All of the prior points about the town and the sacrifice have been made with the greatest levels of constraint I was able to amount, this paragraph, admittedly, will be much more personal, as the reasoning it presents was the initial reason for my appreciation of this ending. Simply saying, this paragraph will discuss this ending and the Haruspex’s connections, specifically the connection to the Bachelor. This entire essay could have been written only about this, specific subject, however, there was much more to be said about this ending. This paragraph will discuss the relationship between the Bachelor and the Haruspex (of course) as well as the metanarrative of Pathologic classic, especially when it comes to the ends and in considering the Bachelor route in comparison to the Haruspex one.

During the Bachelor run, there is not a single chance to access the abandoned workshop the Haruspex works in, even trying to teleport into the workshop will fail, This comes with the precedent that as the Bachelor, you will not meet the Haruspex until the fifth day, from which point on he is only truly present for days 5,8,9, and of course, day 12. This is of course, a great disservice and the Pathologic 2 route should really have more Haruspex in it, however on a less tangential point, it a great difference from the haruspex route, in which the Bachelor appears for almost every single day of the playthrough, The Bachelor is likely to be the character the player interacts with the most, and over the game the connection between the two characters grows over time, with the Bachelor switching to use Artemy Burakh’s first name. However this closeness between the two is present throughout the entirety of the route, from the very first line the Bachelor speaks to the Haruspex (We will get to that later) to even the descriptions of quests and locations which the Haruspex takes note of, even I was surprised at just how much there was between these two in my first playthrough. All that builds to the point in which these two characters, at the very least, care for one another, deeply enough that the Haruspex has multiple dialogue options which are explicitly supportive of the Utopian ending within his Cathedral discussion with the Bachelor, with all but two of the dialogue branches allowing him to ask the Bachelor for his advice, and only one serving as a direct rejection. And that is what choosing the Termites ending in the Haruspex route is, a rejection, all throughout the route the Bachelor will attempt to convince the Haruspex of the validity of his ending, and in the Haruspex route, the Utopian ending is incredibly tied to the Bachelor, to Daniil Dankovsy, with the implication that if tower, if the last remainder of his research will not survive, that neither will he. Much like Aglaya, his fate is tied to the aspect of the town he is bound to protect. The Bachelor, who, while still placed as more antagonistic, still has his choice, his option for the ending still weighed as equally as the Inquisitor’s, the story places them as equals, “Two diverging pairs of decisions. Both pre-determined…” Which also clarifies that the Utopian ending was never less free than the Termite one, as they are both pre-written, scripted.

This leads into another extremely important aspect of Pathologic Classic HD, the meta, not only can you be reminded twice per round that the story is not real, but multiple characters and scenarios note that this is still a game, still a story the player is playing a part of. A big part of the meta story is the fact that the town is in fact, a sandbox, and the characters are merely dolls. The Polyhedron is a water container which was stuck into the sand, and the water within it had caused a mold, causing the sand pest within the reality of the characters. Removing the tower would help nothing; the mold has already spread, the only option forward is to remove the sand, or play somewhere else, which is what the destruction of the town means, the Utopian ending is the only one which actually, truly addresses this.

Another very meta aspect of the story is the relationship between the Haruspex and Bachelor, which is seen in the very first line spoken from the Bachelor to the Haruspex. The order the game suggests the routes is to begin with Bachelor, continue to Haruspex, and end with Changeling, and viewing the story as one continuous thing in that order adds a lot of depth to the story, with, “ Yes... Far be it from me to call myself a person of mystical inclinations. However, when I look at you, I get the feeling that nature is playing jokes on us. It's as if both the left and the right hand have clutched the head to realise for the first time that they are two parts of a single whole.” The Bachelor quickly disarms the player, not only is this statement a clear representation of the fact that they are two parts of a single whole, they are all healers, all part of the role the player plays, but this line is just plain out not something to say to someone you just met. Dankovsky continues his, less than normal interactions towards the Haruspex throughout the route, to the point that two of them have the closest connection here than almost any other two characters in any route, to the point even the developers themselves reflect upon it in that same dialogue I mentioned before, “Two diverging pairs of decisions… And then, you see, there were also feelings involved... Love.” While this can be applied to Aglaya instead, in the context of the conversation, which is Clara asking the developers about the two other healers specifically, that simply would not make sense. There is a lot more textual and meta evidence about these two, but I am straying off course too much already and this paragraph is already very very long, so we will just move swiftly back to the actual point of the essay :) (BUT YES I COULD WRITE A WHOLE ENTIRE THING ABOUT HOW DANIIL IS WRITTEN AS A LOVE INTEREST IN THIS ROUTE)

Let us not forget, however, a reason as to why the Bachelor wishes to destroy the town, and that is that Daniil is incredibly petty and jealous of Aglaya, from the initial curiosity at their initial meeting, “...She was so impressed by your dignified demeanour … What did you tell her that touched her so much?” To the outright spiteful, “My dear Burakh, she is your sacrifice! I don't think it is at all necessary to slit her throat with your own knife … if the town is destroyed, the head of Aglaya Lilich will be separated from her shoulders in less than a day.” He also partially agrees with Artemy that he seeks to keep the Polyhedron out of spite. However one must take into consideration the Bachelor’s route, in which he is consistently used and betrayed, the biggest offender being the Inquisitor herself. The only person who does not do so is the Haruspex, so it makes sense he would do quite literally anything to keep that being the case.

The fact is, Daniil Dankovsky suffers, in almost every single ending he is not at a good place, all of the endings from his own route for one, as that route is quite literally a tragedy, as well as the fact that Eva is dead in it, that also goes for Changeling route endings, as well as the fact that in that route he is in general incapable of a happy ending, which only leaves the Haruspex’s route for him to have any possibility of contentment (sorry g boy) Immediately we can also rule out the Termite ending in the Haruspex route, and in the Humbles ending he is the only one without a place, the Haruspex, as the Foreman, would still have a role to play, but Daniil would not, her victory is also the least rational one, and therefore, the hardest one for him to agree with. That leaves, of course, one ending, the Haruspex route Utopian ending, in which the Bachelor is not left in misery.

Other than that, this ending, just like all endings in which the player picks the ending of the bound other than their healers’ is a direct victory over fate, over the ‘set’ ending for the route. The executor, the stand-in for the developers in the ending of the game says as much, “The only enemy, the only evil in this story, you see, is called Inevitability…” This also lends itself to the idea that the belief that there is only one ‘right’ ending for each healer, that they should only be considered by their bound’s choice, is a wrong one. This refusal of fate, refusal of the ending implied to be the ‘correct’ choice of the Haruspex since the very beginning of the game, is the ultimate victory of the player, and of the characters with them.

In almost all discussion of the Pathologic endings, the only possibilities considered are the ones given, each healer choosing their own bound’s end, but Pathologic is far more dynamic than that. The story is asymmetrical, and so are its endings, which is why Bachelor’s route Utopian ending is quite possibly the most tragic, hopeless one, and the Haruspex route one is the complete opposite. There is no ‘good’ ending, of course, no, that would be too simple, however, there are some which are clearly better than others, and due to the future of the town, the impact this has on the Haruspex’s story, and arguably most importantly, the meta and interconnected aspects of this ending, it can be considered as a good ending. It is a belief that the Utopian ending in any context, is a bad one, however, in the words of the Haruspex himself, “Any choice is right as long as it’s willed.”

[no-see-um-incorrect]

How I think the Yuurivoice boys and their listeners would be grocery shopping 

A little backstory I grew up, broke as fuck (still am) and my mom taught me how to get the most groceries to feed the most people with what you have. So let’s see how the Yuurivoice boys are when it comes to grocery shopping 

Auron/Rook

Man is literally rich 

he doesn’t budget. He just goes to the grocery store (let’s face it it’s probably Whole Foods) gets what he wants and leaves. If Rook lives with him it’s not that different they just get more stuff.  but he’s very particular on things that he buys. 

Not the price on anything like that no  he will sit there, staring at two packages of essentially the same butter  for like 15 minutes. And when rook asks what he’s doing.  he gives the excuse of.

“well, if it’s going to take up room in my fridge need to make sure it’s worth the space” 

My man, it is the same butter in a different packaging. 2/10

Lucien/angel 

Lucien is like a child in the grocery store. He wants to touch everything he wants to look at everything he wants to get everything.

And unless it’s with like serious stuff Lucien doesn’t really know how to take no for an answer so somethings he actually succeeds in convincing Angel to get him when he wants.

angel has the problem of going to the grocery store when hungry. Causing them to buy a lot of extra snack things (that Lucien will just end up eating in one sitting anyway)

Lucien obviously gets a lot of looks when he goes grocery shopping by himself because 

I mean, he’s a big red demon with horns and a tail  it’s kind of hard not to stare. But the people at the local grocery store that they frequent kind of just accepted that that’s how he looks and he’s actually quite friendly with them. 5/10

Charlie/Casper 

(I am totally not biased because I kin Charlie  and because he’s my favorite I don’t know why you’d think that)

Charlie by himself is absolute Ass at shopping 

But when he goes with Casper, they’re the best duo for shopping. It’s like a game. One day out of the last week of the month when they both have the day off is when they go grocery shopping. 

Step one: wake up early in the morning, clear out all of the cabinets and the refrigerator of expired or uneaten food

Step two: use the rest of the afternoon to carve out a budget and a shopping list as well as a “reward budget”

(the reward budget is used to reward them if they go under budget and get all the groceries under the time limit that they set themselves)

Step three: night time.  one hour and 20 minutes before the store closes. Charlie sits in the cart with the grocery shopping list as well as a chart with the number of isles, and what is in each aisle. They have one hour to complete their grocery shopping.  if they complete it under the hour, they can use the rest of the remaining time and the reward fund.  check out the last 20 minutes. 

Absolute best at grocery shopping 10/10

Seth/scout 

These two both are a little dumb when it comes to grocery shopping. But they get the job done 

They eat a lot of the same things so they’ll get all of the ingredients they need or mixes they need in bulk  like

Bulk pancake mix, a pack of three jugs of milk(thank you Costco), a pack of salad mixes.

Unless Seth has a big meal planned or they’re going camping or they’re having guests over they mostly just get prepackaged things that are easy to whip up. overall pretty good at staying on budget and sticking to the list  7/10

Alphonse/boo 

Alphonse usually does the grocery shopping but when they go together  they do OK  decent is the word I would use to describe it. You see alphonse also has the problem of going to the grocery store hungry and boo Has to be the voice of reason. 

Sometimes Alphonse likes to forget that he has a candy shop so boo will look away for one minute and then he’s just gone. Boo will eventually find him in the candy aisle, comparing prices of taffy only to be reminded that he owns a candy shop.

Boo is not that much better…… they go in the baking aisle, and they will marvel over the new sprinkles or new piping tips  until Alphonse inevitably makes a dirty baking joke, and then they get their minds back on track.

Not the best for time, but not the worst when it comes to staying on budget and getting what they need 8/10

Faust/star 

I am convinced these two don’t know what a grocery store is. Once again, he’s rich. he just orders food.  I don’t think he knows how to cook either.  so they just order food.  all the time. and it’s a very particular order to.  not to mention someone who looks like Faust is kind of hard to forget so most of the delivery drivers know him by name. 

One time they wanted pizza and Faust remembered seeing a guy talking to Auron in a Sweet Pete’s Pizza shirt,  so he ordered from there and he gets Charlie as a delivery boy 

Charlie: delivery from Sweet Pete’s pizzeria! I got a large cheese, and a-…….. oh my God…

Faust: well, if it isn’t my brothers little bitch boy

Charlie remembers this interaction very vividly and tends to avoid this address at all costs  

Overall 0/10 I think this man would vomit upon seeing a Walmart 

Finn /sunflower 

The only time that he really goes to the grocery store for big trips is during the winter and fall 

(he gets very overstimulated and anxious in grocery stores)

He grows a lot of the vegetables that he uses in his every day cooking  and buys a lot of other things like for baking or specific recipes in bulk specifically so he doesn’t have to go to the grocery store too often but when he does, it’s usually either in the winter time or an ingredients run/stock up 

 Him and sunflower will get ingredients to make certain baked goods and different tea blends  but he always seems to get distracted in the garden section. Sunflower hast to forcibly drag him out of the garden section…..it’s becoming a problem 

Sunflowers usually very productive with their shopping  but they often times get lost in the clothes section looking at stuff that Finn would look good in (provided that he doesn’t get it covered in dirt)

Overall, they’re pretty good at sticking to budget pretty good at sticking to their list  not that great on time (i’m not gonna hold it against them) 8/10

Hope you enjoyed  it’s really late when I’m posting this, but I wanted to give y’all a little something that wasn’t a shitpost. Have a good night stay hydrated eat a snack bye. 





[galacticghoste]

OK im a speak my thoughts on the movie, I'm a try to cover everything i remember

Obviously don't take what I say too seriously it's just my opinion

Spoilers obviously

OK LET ME JUST SAY

I LOVVVVVVEEEEEEDDDD THE MOVIE IT WAS FREAKING AWESOME ME AND MY FRIEND KEPT FAN GIRLING AT RANDOM SCENES AND REFERENCES

Which btw LOVE ALL THE REFERENCES I know i probably missed a bunch but a fun one someone pointed out to me was when sonic say a back to the future quote I didn't even notice 😅

Also Knuckles being afraid of ghost makes sense i keep forgetting i played Adv2 and friend reminded me that oh yeah he dose fear ghost even Casper

"There are no friendly ghost" 🤣

Anyways now MARIA GHAAAAAAAA I LOVED HER SHE SO SWEET AND CUTE AND IT IS NICE TO SEE HER JUST BE A NORMAL KID WHO JUST HAPPEND TO LIVE WITH HER GRANDFATHER and also the fact she roller skates, plays music and dose arts which IM SO GLAD ABOUT HEHEH and was just being a kid was just so sweet

The way she finds a way to get shadow out of the lab and it's by using a teddy bear my HEART and maria being reckless and a bit of trouble maker is SO HER

And and she used shadow as a way to get around faster hit me at my childhood I was shadow as a kid my lil cuz would tie a rope to my bike and I would just bike around as they did nothing. 🤣

BUT LOOK

Idk i feel like the movie needed more time to get more things fleshed out it dosent fully feel like they got everything there

Seeing the film now i understand why Amy or anyone else couldn't be in it their just wasn't enough time

though I already knew this i just felt like complaining about it bc I was grieving the fact they took Amy's scene but since in the movie shadow doesnt lose his memories so Amy wouldn't be able to do much and helping him remember if their nothing to remember it wouldn't be impactful, i do hope they interactat some point they are a cute duo

I think more time was needed too because of Director rockwell, you saw the way she started taking charge and looking like she was gonna take over Commander Walter's place and be new leader it felt like there was gonna be more with her like a betrayal and turn over power to her making herself the leader and those could explain why commander Walter just give the key to sonic bc idk why trust him so easly WITH THE KEY TO DESTROYING THE FUCKING PLANET???

Also the fact the Donut Lord was able to just easly fool her didn't feel satisfying she gave up way to fast for someone who looked like her roles were gonna lead to something even if it was just plane hate for sonic and his friends.

Also I can see why shadow may not like tails Bro literally almost drowned him and stone and interrupted his Novela and didnt even let him eat his "Revenge Guacamole"

(The fact shadow named it that was so CUTE bc ahhh sweet boy my heart!)

Also i do like how shadow remained loyal to Gerald throughout the whole thing really shows how much he cares about the family he as left and how he was fine with dieing if it ment avenging Maria

But I find it interesting that he questions his action a bit late like dude you just now thought about that? I think it would have been better if he questions his action from the beginning but kept using the excuse that this is what Maria wanted or something like that it would given maybe a bit more build up to what Gerald says to him to make him stop questions it

Obviously their no way Maria wanted to destroy the earth even Gerald knew that yet never says it out loud just says "remember what they took from us" and that was enough for shadow to stop thinking about it

Also THE FUCKING FACT SHADOW JUST BEEN LIVING THE SAME NIGHTMARE FOR 50 YEARS HURTS ME POOR GUY

And the fact he says that the sadness was kinda what he got use to and ever knew

(I kin i just dont have nightmares my brain just like to remind me of stuff)

Also did the government just keep him alive bc he was some alien from another planet?

Also he didn't seem to be too young when. He arrived to earth so dose he have amnesia from wherever he was from what was his childhood before maria did he even have one? U would think they would have diesected him and study him while be was put to sleep/frozen for so long

He's been reliving the same events for so long but one day it was enough to wake him up thx to Gerald

Also DOES GEROLD GO TO Comicons?!?! bc ahhh he was saveing that giant arm for it XD

Also speaking on Maria again I'm a bit disappointed by the fact they decide to not cover the fact that Maria was sick or that shadow was supposed to be a cure for her as well as a weapon

I need more scene of the both of them and their lives back in the research facility

I don't think the cover much on him even being the ultimate life form at all or the other experiment or the FACT THEY ARE NOT IN SPACE

I FUCKING KNEW IT I FUCKING KNEW THEY WEREN'T IN SPACE THE SCENES WE GOT WERE ENOUGH PROOF TO SHOW IT HEHHEEHEHEHEH

Its a bit disappointing It doesnt feel as impactful when shadow dose get to step outside for the first time

ALSO I ALREADY WISH WE GOT THE SCENE OF MARIA SAYING SAYONARA AND SHADOW BEING DEPRESSED IN THE TUBE AS HE LANDS TO EARTH

The closest thing to it was when he was captured and tased to enter the tube again and the look of betrayal and sadness and later anger in his face AHHH

His back story in this one is giving Venom vibes with the space rock and him being inside it like its a fucking egg, HE IS LITERALLY JUST AN ALIEN he's NOT SOME SCIENCE EXPERIMENT LIKE WHAT?!?!

Where was he from is he still from the same planet as sonic?

I AM curious on what this will lead to and if we learn more I HOPE WE DO bc that movie did NOT COVER ENOUGH ON THAT SHIT

ALSO THE FACT SHADOW REACTS THE WAY HE DOES WHEN HE SEES SONIC SPECIFICALLY MAKES TOTAL SENSE

HE has never seen another hedgehog

HECK IM WILLING TO BET HE DIDNT EVEN KNOW HE WAS POSSIBLY ONE UNTILL THEN

HE literally would ask Maria if she's scared of him bc he knows everyone else is afraid of him and was worried Maria may be afraid too AHH POOR BABY (no more monster movies for him)

But yeah a bit disappointed I KNOW THEY AINT GONNA DO EVERYTHING THE SAME IM NOT THAT STUPID BUT IDK I JUST FEEL like they only cut that shit out bc they didn't have time which if that's the case it might as well been a two parter film it would give more time to flesh out the characters and give more impact to emotional scenes

(Who knows if they make TV show it would help cover some backstory on him)

Bc that scene with the commander didn't hit i didn't feel too much sympathy and I know i should but the scene wasn't giveing it for me

NOW A SCENE THAT WAS IMPACTFUL

Was when Gerald said to Egg man "your no Maria" I FELT SO BAD FOR EGG MAN

UGH MY POOR DUDE

No but Literally he was in a orphanage his whole life and he ever bothered to get him

Im guessing egg man was born while Gerald may have been in jail or he just didn't care enough.

He either never knew about him or didn't care bc i know he was in jail but egg man is probably a similar age Maria was back then so him never bothering to get him just means he only cared for Maria and kinda shadow he did say KIDS and instead of Just referring to Maria so I think he still got crazy at some point while in jail.

But I wonder why they Commander lied

Yes their was an accident that could have been avoided but it wasn't because of shadow it was bc some dumb ass who decided to shot at some kids and an old man they missed but it cost Maria her life

also why the hell is shadow not reacting more strongly to Maria's death that was his fucking sister

I DONT THINK I SAW A SINGLE TEAR FROM HIM AND THAT DOESNT MAKE SENSE HE IS KNOWN TO CRY AT LEAST A BIT FOR LOSING MARIA BRO SHOULD HAVE BEEN SCREAMING IN PAIN BUT NOPE SILANCE AND ANGER UGHH WHY CANT CHARACTERS CRY ANYMORE not even the memory of it made him cry

Also HOW AND THE HELL IS IT that shadow was just being studied so lightly if he really is and full on Alien bro would have been diesected by now or at least have scars or memory's of it but nope nothing

(YES I KNOW ITS A FUCKING KIDS FILM IM JUST SAYING SHIT would make WAY MORE SENSE IF THEY AT LEAST MENTION IT if they didnt want to show it)

Also i was expecting him to be a bit more edgey i dont mind that he isn't but idk he just seemed depressed the enter movie poor guy needs therapy

I found if sweet that egg man got to expramce everything he missed out of In the film (probably what shadow wanted for him and maria)

Its interesting how shadow and Maria don't have to many lines together it feels like she only talked 1 or twice and that's it i wish their was MORE OF THEM

Also i found it interesting how shadow kept mentioning during their fight that sonic became just like him when it came to revenge and how he kept mentioning that sonic left to fight him against his friends wishes it feels like he saying he shouldn't have made the choice he did kinda like saying he would have done better if he was in his position or like he should be grateful (idk that's just my view on that scene i liked it)

Also the way sonic tells shadow that the pain doesn't go away but he can change the way he views that pain and how he can remember that the love he had for her will always stay

Its sweet but didn't feel that impactful as I thought it would be the word were but idk i think they should have lingered a bit more on the scene or something it feels a bit fast paste at time.

ALSO HAS ANYONE SEEN SHADOWS EYES ARE PINK WHEN HE GOES SUPER?!?!?!?! YESSSSSSSSZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAHHHHHH

Also LOVE HOW SHADOW AND SONIC BATTLE TOGETHER IN THE END THEY WERE AWESOME

But then in the final part when trying to stop the laser from killing the earth later separate them with sonic kinda takeing the place of shadow falling scene and shadow just goes poof for a bit

bro literally just cares to get a task done and not save anyone he doesnt save stone when their place was flooded and now sonic

Also glad eggman still kinda pissed on the moon

BRO HAD ME WORRIED FOR A MOMENT THAT HE MAY BE DEAD BUT NOPE HE GOOD AHHHHHHHHHHHH AND THE WAY HIM AND EGG MAN DID SACRIFICE THEMSELVES TOO?!?! UGH THE BLISS SHADOW MUST HAVE FELT TO MAYBE REST IN PEACE AND EGG MAN REDMETION ARC WITH STONE WHILE IN AN ARK AHHHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH HE CARES AHH

But I was SO SCARED THAT SHADOW REALLY DEAD IN THAT ONE my friend had to keep reassuring me that he's not dead they wouldn't let him die but i was like BUT THEY COULD?!?!

But nope they were right he alright 👍🏼

OK MY BIGGEST JOY WAS SEEING AMY

FUCKING YESSSSSSSSSSS I FUCKING HAD A FEELING IT WAS GONNA BE HER IT HAD TO BE IF THEY DECIDED TO CUT HER FROM THAT FUCKING FILM AND NOT JUST HER BUT METAL SONIC TOO??? BUT NOW WHO MADE METAL???

I have so many questions not enough answers anyways fuck you I think Amy is important and im so FUCKING GLAD SHE FINALLY SHOWS UP AHH GIRLY IS IMPORTANT and she gonna be a battle machine AHHH

Can't wait to see her reason from fighting all those robots who are METAL!!!

[koisplosion]

Sebastian id pack !

Names:

August, Alexander, Alexandra, Alexandria, Alexandro, Alex, Alexis, Alexia, Aiden / Ayden, Auden, Ashton, Asher.

Benjamin, Bastion / Bastien / Bastian, Bastille, Basil, Beckett, Brien / Brian / Bryan.

Casper, Caspian, Cassian, Callum, Callister, Castiel, Cillian, Crispin, Cyprien / Cyprian.

Desmond, Damien / Damian / Damion, Darien / Darion / Darian, Dorien / Dorion / Dorian.

Emiliano, Emilia, Ethan, Evelien / Evelian, Evelin / Eveline / Evelyn, Evelyne.

Felix, Finnian, Finnigan, Fletcher, Felician / Felicien.

Gabriel / Gabrielle, Gabriela / Gabriella, Grayson / Greyson, Gillian, Griffin / Griffon, Griffith.

Hawthorn / Hawthorne, Hector, Hectare, Hadrien / Hadrian, Hasien, Hastien.

Imogen, Irving, Isadore, Isadora, Ien / Ian / Ion, Irine.

Jasper / Jazzper / Jesper, Julian / Julien / Julion, Julius, Jesker, Julio, Julie, Julia.

Kasper, Killian, Kaspian, Kassian, Kasabian, Katrine, Katrina, Katarina / Katerina, Katrien / Katrian.

Lucien / Lucian, Lucifer, Lien / Lian, Leon / Lion, Lillian / Lilian / Lillien / Lilien, Lucianus, Lucio / Luceo.

Matthew / Matthieu, Matthias, Morgen / Morgan, Mien.

Nicholas / Nickolas, Nathaniel, Nyx / Nix, Nyxton / Nixton, Nox.

Obsidian, Onyx, Oren, Orius, Orion, O'Brien / O'Brian, Octavian / Octavien, Orien.

Parker, Preston, Porter, Poet, Poem, Paien, Peregrine / Peregrien.

Russel / Russell, Rien / Rian / Ryan, Racien / Recene, Regien / Ragien.

Savannah, Sterling / Stirling, Sullivan, Sylvester / Sylvestre, Sylvanus, Sylvania, Spencer.

Theodore, Tristan , Tomas / Thomas, Thatcher, Tobias, Terien / Terrien.

Urien

Void, Victor / Viktor, Victoria / Viktoria, Vespian / Vespien / Vaspian / Vaspien, Vien, Vivian / Vivien / Vivienne.

Wilbur, William, Wacien.

Xaydien

Zadrian / Zadrien / Zaydrien.

1st p prns:

I / me / my / mine / myself.

Ci / cige / ciggy / cigarine / cigaretteswlf

Ei / ege / eggy / eggine / eggself

Fi / fre / froggy / frogine / frogself

Fri / froze /frozy / frozine / frozenself

Mi / me / mounty / mountine / mountainself

Oi / obse / obsidy / obsidine / obsidianself

Pi / pe / pumpky / pumpkine / pumpkinself

Si / se / sebby / sebine / sebself

Si / sebe / sebby / sebastine / Sebastianself

Si / soe / soupy / soupine / soupself

Si / sashe / sashy / sashimine / sashimiself

Si / se / summery / summerine / summerself

Smi / sme / smokey / smokine / smokeself

Ti / te / teary / tearine / tearself

Vi / ve / voide / voidy / voidine / voidself

Wi / wine / wintry / wintine (winterine) / winterself

2nd p prns:

You / your / yours / yourself

Co / cigar / cigars / cigarself

Eu / egger / Eggers / eggerself

Fro / freezer / freezers / freezerself

Fro / frogger / froggers / froggerself

Mo / mounter / mountaineers / mountaineerself

Ou / obsidianer / obsidianrs / obsidianerself

Po / pumpkiner / pumpkiners / pumpkinerself

So / sebber / sebbers / sebberself

So / Sebastianer / Sebastianers / Sebastianerself

So / souper / soupers / souperself

So / sashimir / sashimirs / sashimirself

So / summer / summers / summerself

Smo / smoker / smokers / smokerself

To / tear / tears / tearself

Vo / voider / voiders / voiderself

Wo / winter / winters / winterself

3rd p prns:

They / them / theirs / themself

Ci/cig, cig/cigs, cig/arette, cig/ar, cigar/cigars, cigar/ette, cigar/cigarette, cigarette/cigarettes

Eg/egg, Egg/eggs, egg/eggy

Fro/zen, froze/frozen, frozen/frozens, frozen/tear, Fro/og, frog/frogs, frog/froggy, frog/egg

Mount/ain, mount/mountain, mountain/mountains, mountain/road

Obsi/dian, obs/idian, ob/sidian, obsidian/obsidians

Pum/pkin, pump/kin, pump/pumpkin, pumpkin/pumpkins, pumpkin/soup

Seb/sebby, seb/Sebastian, sebby/sebbys, seb/by, sebby/Sebastian, seb/astiolan, se/bastian, sebas/Tian, Sebastian/sebastians

Sou/p, so/up, sou/soup, soup/soups, soup/soupy, sa/shimi, sash/imi, sash/sashimi, Sashi/mi, sashimi/sashimis

Smo/ke, smo/smoke, smoke/smokes, smoke/smokey, smoke/smoker, su/mmer

sum/mer, sum/summer, summer/summers, summer/summery, summer/summertime

Te/ar, te/ear, tea/er, tear/tears, tear/teary

Vo/oid, vo/id, voi/d, voi/void, void/voids

Win/ter, win/winter, wint/er, won't/winter, winter/winters, winter/wintry, winter/time

Titles:

The gamer, the smoker, the mountain dweller

The seasonal smoker, the village smoker

The farmers smoke buddy, the cigarette owner

The void egg admirer, the frog egg fan, the sashimi lover

(prn) who loves sashimi, (prn) who enjoys pumpkin soup

(prn) who treasures obsidian, (prn) who smokes

(prn) who owns frog eggs, (prn) with the cigarette in hand

(prn) who admires void eggs, (prn) and (prns) addicted self

(prn) who plays games with friends, (prn) with the bottled emotions

Coinings:

Sebastian + romance

Smokerscentstellic - dissomeismoker

Stardewanatomic - stardewgender

Voidchickspritic - obsidiagem

Mascorette

Tagging:

@the-church-of-strabismus @sanguinaryfreaks and @hewasanamericangirl

Request status on the inbox

Please read the byf linked in fox's pinned post

[softpine]

character/story inspiration tag

rules: write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your story and/or OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe

tagged by @morrigan-sims & @goldenwaves ♥

FROZEN PINES: Strange Trails by Lord Huron with lyrics from Frozen Pines // The Wall by Pink Floyd // The Sixth Sense (1999) // Life is Strange // Supernatural s4ep1 "Lazarus Rising" // lyrics from Kin by Radical Face // a magic 8 ball // It (2017) // Stand By Me (1986) // Lovers of Modena // SYFY article on black holes

CASPER MAYFIELD: Montero by Lil Nas X // French Exit by TV Girl // Troy Bolton from High School Musical // Carmy Berzatto from The Bear // lyrics from Off My Mind by Joe P // Brian O'Conner (+ Mia Toretto) from Fast & Furious

COCO ARIAS: Lyrics from My Own Dance by Kesha // Fiona Gallagher from Shameless // Back to Black by Amy Winehouse // adult film star Angela White // Lyrics from Gimme More by Britney Spears // Who Really Cares by TV Girl // Xena from Xena: Warrior Princess

ELAINE NGUYEN: Fearless by Taylor Swift // the record by boygenius // quote from Lang Leav // lyrics from Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten // Juliet Capulet from Romeo and Juliet // Jackie Taylor from Yellowjackets // lyrics from Let It All Out by COIN

STEVIE DONOVAN: Lyrics from Big Fat Mouth by Arlie // unknown artwork // Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn // lyrics from Space Cadet by The Technicolors // Broken Bells by Broken Bells // Dreamland by Glass Animals // Nomi Marks from Sense8 // climbing by Lucille Clifton

JADA CAREY: Lyrics from Hush by The Marias // quote from Frank Bidart // When the Pawn... by Fiona Apple // Raven Baxter from That's So Raven // Mystery by Jesse Jo Stark // unknown artwork // quote from Margaret Atwood

ALISA MARCIANO: Lyrics from Under Your Skin by Aesthetic Perfection // Carrie White from Carrie // artwork by griefmother // You Forgot It In People by Broken Social Scene // So Tonight That I Might See by Mazzy Star // lyrics from Desire by Meg Myers

[pupsmailbox]

AUTUMN ID PACK

NAMES︰ acer. acorn. acre. amber. apple. archer. arden. ash. asher. aspen. aster. auburn. august. augusta. augustus. autumn. autumna. autumnal. autumnelle. autumnessa. autumnette. autumni. autumnine. autumnus. bean. birch. blaire. bonfire. bramble. branch. briar. carmel. casper. cassia. cassiah. cedar. cerridwen. chai. chestnut. cider. cinna. clara. cocoa. cora. corn. cornucopia. cozy. crimson. crisp. crow. ellis. ember. equinox. eve. fall. fallelle. fallen. fallette. falline. fallon. faye. finn. flannel. foggy. forest. forrest. ginger. glenna. goldie. halloween. harper. harvest. harveste. harvester. hawk. hay. hazel. hollis. hunter. jora. juniper. kaziah. keziah. latte. leaf. libra. lief. lilith. linden. luna. maize. maple. marigold. marley. marlow. maze. melanie. mocha. moss. november. nutmeg. oak. oakley. october. opal. orchard. orla. pansy. pie. pine. piper. poe. pumpkin. raine. raven. redd. rory. roslyn. rowan. russet. ruston. sabrina. saffron. scarecrow. september. sienna. sorrel. sullivan. sylvia. tamsin. teresa. tessa. wesley. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ amber/amber. apple/apple. au/autumn. aug/august. august/august. autumn/autumn. branch/branch. brew/brew. cider/cider. cloud/cloud. co/cozy. cocoa/cocoa. cof/coffee. corn/corn. cot/cottage. cozy/cozy. crow/crow. drift/drift. drizzle/drizzle. fa/fall. fall/fall. flannel/flannel. glisten/glisten. glow/glow. gold/gold. hallo/ween. hallow/halloween. halloween/halloween. haze/haze. hazel/hazel. hug/hug. jacko/lantern. lea/leaf. leaf/leaf. maple/maple. maze/maze. mellow/mellow. moss/moss. oct/october. october/october. orange/orange. pie/pie. plush/plush. pump/kin. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pie. pumpkin/pumpkin. rain/rain. raven/raven. red/red. sca/scarf. sept/september. september/september. sip/sip. snug/snug. snuggle/snuggle. soft/soft. soothe/soothe. spice/spice. sweater/sweater. swirl/swirl. syrup/syrup. thanks/giving. tick/treat. treat/treat. trick/trick. tuck/tuck. wa/warm. warm/warm. whiff/whiff. whisk/whisk. wrap/wrap. yellow/yellow. 🌽. 🍁. 🍂. 🍄. 🍎. 🎃. 🕯️. 🥧. 🧣. 🧶.

[arighmaa-dataq]

Are you a fan of the critically acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV Online? Have you wanted to see what your favorite asmr boyfriends would look like in the critically acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV Online? Then you've come to the right place! Decided to boot up the Dawntrail Benchmark and play with the character creator, and bring to you what I imagine the boys of Yuurivoice would look like in this game. Enjoy! Starting off with our favorite pastel punk boy, Alphonse as a bunny boy, probably as a monk or ninja. Can't get any of the job gear sets on here so just imagine something on him and everyone else.

Next up I had to put in Seth, who your usual midlander. And it took me forever to find a hair that I thought would suit him and I'm still not sure if I got it right. As for class, either Gunbreaker, Warrior, or Paladin, but definitely some kind of tank.

Now for our versatile flower boy, who of course HAD to be a viera too. Like I dunno what y'all were expecting. And he makes a cute one at that! For class, I'd say it's obvious he'd be a magic user. If I could give him Y'shtola's Sorcerer job I would, but for this I think a white mage suits him well!

Next up is our Big Red Lucien, who I had to get a little creative with. For him it was either gonna be a Roegadyn or a Highlander. And fun fact, even at min height Roes are still much taller than our demon boy, and while the highlander would be closer to his actual height it just didn't really feel like our devilish himbo, so I went with Roe, and gave him some dark skin and yellow face paint to try and connect to his horn pattern. He'd be rockin as either a Warrior or Dark Knight.

Next is Auron as an elf boy, and much like with Big Red, even at minimum height it's much taller than he is irl. Had to futz a bit again with the hair but I think he'd rock the elsa braid really well. I also see him very much kinning Estinien, which should make @jackieeleanor very happy. Aside from the obvious Dragoon, could also see him as a mechanist or bard.

And now for Faust, who ABSOLUTELY go as a catgirl. And a fabulous one at that. Like you can't tell me he doesn't stream FFXIV every so often and rock the Keeper look like the diva he is. Would have a whole backstory for his WoL and everything. And he would very much be a very tired and annoyed Astrologian.

Last but certainly not least, we have our favorite rat Charlie, who even here is a silly little guy. The most pathetically adorable lalafell you've ever seen, and very much bullied by everyone else in the party. Will likely die a LOT, and have to be carried by his Casper through dungeons. He's a little monk trying his best.

[blkvxmp]

spencer or zach, he/it/vamp/lurk, gnc transsexual fag ♱ prnpage ♱ rentry ♱ muttfail on sp ♱ hoard

yo, i'm spencer. i'm an autistic plural boything who loves girls and dudes, mainly dudes. think of me as the flamboyant gay man, lesbian in theory scared to practice, emo drag queen. girlie in a gay way, fagirl if you will. i love being a goth girl but don't get it twisted, i'm a boy despite my desire to be the typical girl. please don't use she/her on me. uhm other stuff is uhhhh.. i'm intersex, i LOVE body mods and bats, ginger ale and metal/rock carries my soul, and i'm the co-host of a system. my dude casper (a member of my system) might come on here from time to time but he's not much for publicity despite his big mouth. if you couldn't tell, i'm a vampire kin along with a ghost, zombie, werewolf, and banshee kin. i'm also a monster lover so there's that. i'm mixed ethnicity and i'm racially black. my fav bands are msi, ac/dc, mcr, evanescence, slipknot, deftones, blink-182, weezer, and limp bizkit. i believe in god but not organized religion, but idc what religion you follow as long as you aren't an asshat. no real dni but i ask heavy ns/fw accounts to not interact with me, it makes me mad uncomfy. that goes for sh/ed blogs, heavy political based blogs, and just the basic dni stuff. if i don't vibe with you i'll just block, and if you're confused, you can reach out, but depending on the reason i blocked i may ignore you.

i curse, i try not to but it gets annoying trying to be pg. i do art and i'll post some once i can. i identify as nb and genderfluid as well. i'm afraid of spiders and deep water, plus some irrational stuff like church bells, alpacas, and pigs, i don't need trigger warnings for them since i really only get scared seeing them in person, but i ask that you trigger warning trypophobia, videos involving deep sea creatures meant to scare you, emetophobia, and videos that play the toll of a church bell since the sound scares me. i'm also afraid of the dark, ironic for a vampire i know, so please trigger warning scary videos related to having things follow you in the dark. i have trauma around unwanted advances and flirting so PLEASE don't do that, it really messes with me. you can call me pretty/handsome or whateva but please don't flirt. please use tone tags. i'm in a system of over 100 so like if i seem grouchy for no reason it's because i literally have over 100 roommates talking all at once. if you'd like to be moots, don't hesitate to ask! i may be socially inept and anxious for literally no reason but i love meeting people who have the same interests as me! but i am painfully shy so keep that in mind. more may be added.

vamp divider

[jaspercasperthecatghost]

˙⋆✮ intro !!!

welcome to my blog! :3

DNI LIST: racist people, homophobes, transphobes, proshippers, speedofiles, jkr supporters, you know. dont be a horrible person. (also please dont be odd to me or any of my mutuals, thank you.)

now thats out of the way, salutations! im casper (he/him) im trans and bi, live in australia, i try to reply but i cannot for the life of me but my dms are open i promise! you may see a-once-in-a-blue moon helpol / witchy post. im a riot grrl, anarchist, hellenic polytheist and am willing to answer any questions regarding that :)

fandoms: marauders, the owl house, arcane, gravity falls, she-ra, steven universe, pjo and more (mutifandom loser)

kin list: remus, regulus, barty, evan (marauders era), pearl, spinel (steven universe) jinx, powder, isha, viktor (arcane), nico, will (pjo), wybie (coraline), marcy (amphibia), spiderman (specifically andrew garfield. loser nerd.)

music taste (warning, its top tier): indie, rock, emo, metal, indie rock, midwest emo music though i rock with a lot of different things

do i have a blog theme? no, fuck you.

posted: nov 22 2024

last updated: march 17 2025

[borisvonshweet]

WELCOME TO THE ARCADE

Hi! My name is Boris! This is a Remake of my Pinned post! :D Enjoy the Radical ride and make sure you read this in its entirety or I'll ban you from my page

About me! Name(s): Boris/Pip/Mal Pronouns: He/they/Pup/Zomb/Ender/Freak/Titan/Grr/Piglin Age: 19 (11/8) Taken by: @waffledrop @casper-cryptic @airwavecreature(Qpr)

What do I do here? -Fandom content -Shipping content (ocxoc. ocxcanon. canonxcanon) -Original character content -Headcanons -Kins/Kinning/Kinsonas -Writing -Adoptables -Commissions

Things to watch out for! -Heavy Topics! I.E: Suicide, Harassment, Death, -General Phobias. I.E: Clauraphobia, Arachiniphobia -Artistic Gore I.E: Candy gore, Robotic gore, Plush gore

How to Interact with me? Do's and Don'ts! Do! -Use the Ask box! Ask me questions about my Ocs! -Request Headcanons for my Fandoms! -Draw SFW Fanart of my Ocs/Aus/Headcanons! With Credit! -Message me about Commissions or questions you have! Dont. -Harrass me about my Headcanons/Art/Ships -Unsolicited Sexual advances and flirting -Show me gore. -Follow my DNI and try and Interact with me.

Fandom List! This is partially incomplete because I don't remember all Fandoms

Fnaf//Undertale//Poppy playtime//Popee the preformer//Corpse party//Sally Face//Franbow//Welcome home//OHSHC//Mouthwashing//Cult of the Lamb//Untitled Goose//Deltarune//Regredavator//Animatic Battle//Tpot & BFDI//Burner//Inside out 1/2//The Owl House//Gravity falls//Steven Universe//Boku no hero Academia//Vocoloid//TADC//Finding Frankie//Hello Puppet//BATIM//Henry Stickmin//The Promised Neverland//Object Shows//Andy's Apple Farm//DOORS//Pressure

Links DNI: https://borisvonshweetdni.carrd.co/ Rentry: https://rentry.co/BorisVonShweet Strawpage: https://borisvonshweet.straw.page/ Carrd: https://borisvonshweetinfocard.carrd.co/ Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/borisvonshweet

Tags #ShweetsDoots: Art Tag! For full Drawings #ShweetsHeadcanons: Headcanon tag! Fun Headcanons #ShweetsAdopts: For Adopts and Character trade or sales #ShweetsCommisions: For Art Commissions! #ShweetsDrabbles: Little Writing Blurbs! #ShweetsBullshit: Anything outside of the other tags

[casper-bitez]

HAIIII HAI HAII :3

my name's Casper but you can call me Cas

he/him/they/them/it/its pronouns please

this is a silly side blog for me to be canine and free

my main blog is @smowyashe

im a part of an OSDD system and have multiple personality disorders, im also a diagnosed autistic

kin list:

broad

all canines

shadow creatures

werecreatures

vulpes (foxes)

dead and decaying things

specific

spotted hyena

african wild dog

coyote

border collie

maned wolf

coastal sea wolf

vampire

nautical twilight

(more to be added)

im here to have fun and be myself and avoid these ppl:

DNI:

endos and endo supporters (they make me uncomfortable)

anti furries and anti nonhuman/alterhumans

pedos, zoos, nsfw/mdni accs

anyone who doesnt like my content

(i will block freely)

more funky stuff

[mayisgoingnuts]

Casper would totally kin Jax and be extremely proud of it,,,

Yes he's still in my head