"seriously, do you ever get tired?"

casper groaned irritatedly, running a hand through his snow-like hair. blood like rust coated his scythe, spoils from his most recent hunt. the corpse still lay fresh in front of him, but their skin was cold and their eyes dead.

boisterous laughter erupted above him. sitting on the balcony of some person’s apartment, you grinned down at him - that infuriating, shit-eating grin that never failed to tick him off.

you kicked your legs childishly as you leaned back over the railing. nestled against the crook of your arm was a scythe similar to his own, save for the more detailed design and color palette. unlike him, you would constantly say, you liked to live a little.

bold words coming from a bringer of death.