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love how the reapers just went “yeah there are demons and angels walking around in plain view in London and therefore we know there’s a heaven and hell but we’re entirely unaffected by it and treat them like regular humans bc what are they gonna do? kill me? do it, you won’t”

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Person: “So, how do you feel about what happened with Eric and Alan?”

William: “It was a tragedy and a great loss for our division. God rest their souls.”

Ronald: “It sucks how things turned out, but they shouldn’t have broken so many rules in the first place in my opinion. You can’t change the past though.”

Grelle: “lol it is what it is”

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Pairing: Undertaker x Reader

Words: 1,031

Prompt: 13. “I believed you were different, guess that goes to show monsters are all the same!”

[ taglist ] [ commissions ]

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Silence fell upon you like a fresh snow—light yet cold. At first you could not comprehend why there was no answer from the other side, why did Undertaker become so quiet all of a sudden, when barely a moment ago he was defending his rights so vigorously. It was rare for you to fight, but when it happened, you could sense the divide growing wider between you with every next word spoken. The ones which left your mouth just now were strong enough to move the mountains and caused an avalanche.

“I believed you were different, guess that goes to show monsters are all the same!”

Undertaker said nothing.

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Here’s another photo of my current WIP! I’m using watercolor paints for the first time in a while, I’m hoping to make more Kuroshitsuji, specifically Grell Sutcliff, content for you guys cause I do have a lot of people that follow me that seem to really love Grell

I’ll keep posting about this piece up until it’s finally finished and done!

Please do not use my art without my permission, thanks!!

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His Butler Cemetery, Chapter 3: The Problem of the Nights

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji (manga)

Fic Summary: Four visits to the cemetery, each growing in emotional intensity, and spanning backwards in time. (Spoilers for the manga!!)

(I’ll put the links to chapters 1 & 2 in a reblog!!)

Chapter Summary: “Young Master, Edward. If something you held most dear suddenly shattered one day…What would you do?“

"Dear, God. What a terrible ordeal you’ve tasked my sister with….”

Character Focus: Edward and Lizzie Midford

Notes: Eyyy remember this fic? The one I planned to finish in October 2018? Hehe…Yeah…

I never forgot about this fic… life just kinda got in the way and I moved on to other things. I have so many fics on my computer that I just can’t seem to figure out how to finish, and this chapter was one of them. Lately I’ve been trying to go through some of them and either just slap an ending on them, or split them into multiple chapters so it’s more manageable, haha. So I just picked a way to end it, even if I’m not entirely satisfied XD

I actually really really like Edward as a character, and was kind of inspired by the quote above to write this. I was excited to write for him for this fic, and really really liked this chapter, so I couldn’t go without posting it at some point!!I hope people still like it, even though it’s been so long…I’d deeply appreciate it if you could leave a comment to let me know!!

By the way, I am NOT caught up on the manga, so please don’t spoil anything from the recent chapters for me!!

Chapter 3, the Problem of the Nights:

Edward never could win against her.

Father would laugh and say that the Midford women had always been strong, and it was no cause for shame.

Still, there’s something particularly humiliating about getting your ass kicked by a cute little girl….Especially when she’s your younger sister.

The world would coo over her: her pretty shoes, her curly blonde hair, her frilly dresses, and sigh in awe that someone so cute could be so skilled with the sword.

And, if he was perfectly honest, she was incredible. He would never deny that, never say the praise was undeserved. Often he was her biggest fan, her loudest cheerleader, and if anyone dare lay a finger on her, or say a single syllable of slander, they’d certainly have a sword to answer to.

And, he supposed, her proficiency was good for him too, in a way, because it pushed him to work harder.

But no matter how many days he spent waking up early to wave his sword at empty air, no matter how much mastery he had compared to his classmates, he could never catch up to her. Sometimes it felt like the race was rigged, and he wasn’t moving at all.

He applauded her, admired her.

But sometimes he would throw his sword into the wall and demand that it listen to him. That he, a thirteen-year-old boy could and should be better at swordplay, than a ten-year-old girl who decorated her world in pink plushies and bonnets.

When the other nobles chatted with Lizzie, and about Lizzie, and then turned to him to ask what he’d been doing, sure he had a story to top hers…

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