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|l ✝ l| for a man grim reaper whose nature in the bedroom is extremely dominant && commanding, the Undertaker’s nipples, due to his albinism, are very light and pink and small, and he doesn’t like people mentioning that. it’s less about him being self conscious (which he isn’t) && more about him questioning what his nipples have to do with anything. it’s also very difficult for him to allow anyone to toy with them, && whether that will be happening or not (regardless of the gender of his partner) might be entirely reliant on his mood that day.

[leoriofromhxh-deactivated201902]

[deathlymemoirs-a]

She's got the elder man laying against her bare and cushiony lap. Not even squirming when he pinches her--she's a good girl tonight! It is a special day, after all. Fingers strum through those ghoulish locks, giving him an earnest scalp massage... Helen has even taken to feeding him the sprinkled toffee she'd bought him today! Kissing away any crumbs that he leaves behind. Always one to show her appreciation through gentle touches and closeness.

It had been a calm day…Never much going on in his life now that Claudia was gone aside from Vincent’s summons && a dose of Helen every now && then when she wasn’t neck-deep into work. It would even seem that, as of late, she’d started spending more time with him && less with her duties by comparison to before, when the female only ever had herself a house because that was a roof she could sleep under.

Cedric felt he needn’t understand what was going on so much as go with the flow, mouth taking in whatever was offered– sometimes a treat, sometimes her finger along with it. It had gotten to a point he started to feel full &&, instead of saying no, the male turned to bury his face into the lass’ lap, taking in the scent of femininity in the process.

[karatasbubble]

Claudia Phantomhive I bet she was a beautiful woman.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

He'd left it by the window where the mortician was sure to find it. Sanded and lacquered, polished to perfection. A beautiful display of craftsmanship. The casket looked to fit a smaller person. A child, perhaps. Five feet long in baby blue. When he returned to check if it had been received, it was with a weary smile. "It didn't seem right to make a man bury family." The butler watched him for any reaction to those words; for an answer that would never come. --- Not to him. not today.

This wasn’t the death of reason, no… && the demon mattered not at this point. He was only ever relevant when on the Grim Reaper’s way. When sparing the spare the same fate which had befallen his brother was still an option. And an option it was no longer… No strong magic or supernatural tricks could possibly do retrieving a soul once consumed justice, && revenge, although better served cold, wouldn’t bring him back the same. So trying, in his view, was moot point, no matter the way he looked at it.

Almost as if the child’s bitter end had patted down his hackles, the Undertaker didn’t react to Sebastian’s presence about, his knuckles devoted in their reach to caress the boy’s cold cheek. Rigor mortis had already set in, it would seem. He would have to fetch this one’s custom coffin && dip him in embalming fluid before decay festered. 

That was the only way to bring him back, the Undertaker told himself. He’s done it before his share of times.

With his lips parting to the soundless voice of a mourning tune, the Undertaker could taste his own tears, quick to neglect them in favour of fetching whatever was needed to preserve the body. 

Sooner or later, the demon would be back to his own realm, so he didn’t bother with him, as there were more pressing matters at stake.

[rhinedottirau]

[deathlymemoirs-a]

"Chocolate is not really my thing, so you can have these," Ciel said. "I've already had plenty. And the cards too, because I got tired of reading them." Despite being engaged, the young Earl had never been immune to the gifts lesser lords sonds him in their daughter's stead, hoping to win his favors. It was all for nothing, of course, so the chocolate was particularly unappealing that day. They did not even seem to care which Earl they were courting! Passing them on was the logical thing to do.

How so very kind of the boy to remind of his grandfather… Even if those were leftovers, he could have tossed them in the trash or asked somebody else to clean up. Yet, he’d chosen the old reaper, of all people. And god only knew the Undertaker wasn’t opposed to these sorts of things… He might not have gone out of his way himself to gift anybody unless they came to him first, but the effort – although little to none – was something to be appreciated.

❝ Ciel fancies strawberries… Isn’t that right? ❞ Almost as if his words had been the cue, Takana excused himself in rolling a trolley along– on top of it were all manners of delicacies prepared straight out of fresh strawberries. Why, there was even a small basket full of those. Plucking one off the basket, the Undertaker neared it to his grandson’s lips, smiling. 

❝ This way we can eat together, no? ❞ The tip of it was gently pressed to the boy’s plump lips, coaxing them to part && take in the fruit. 

Elizabeth should have been about… the Undertaker might as well send for her before they began.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

Oh look, he's brought a vase with a rose for him! Haha, yeah right.. He's actually going to take the rose out of it, turn the vase over, and splash the watery contents at the deserter. Clearly he's still bitter about getting his ass kicked. Andotherthingsthatshallnotbenamed.

Ah, the unruly reaperling struck again. And what a display! It was almost as though he hadn’t been moaning the Deserter’s name just the other day… He hasn’t changed much ever since, has he? Picking fights with alphas was no wise skill to be had when one couldn’t handle the brunt. Not that the old reaper saw that as such &&, in a sense, he was even happy to have been reminded of on such special occasion.

Ronald could have chosen to spend the day with anybody, yet, he’d come to him.

❝ Your gift is in the coffin. ❞ The mortician laughed about it, combing back his damp tresses to get them off his eyes– not that he needed them or anything, but it couldn’t hurt to pore over Ronald’s reaction upon finding out that old reaper had gone so far as to dig up his human remains && give the reaperling a proper funeral. Ronald Knox was, after all, the lad with a hole in his head whom the Undertaker recalled to have buried not too many winters’ past. ❝ Your family… they didn’t have the cash to pay for a proper burial, did they? And cremation is an awful pricey. Well~ There you have it. Are you happy? ❞ 

What an odd sense of pleasing another, the old reaper had. But, as opposed to all reason, it would seem the act was strangely genuine on his part.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

As per tradition of the holiday, the surprise arrives in a bundle of flowers, but with the bouquet — forget-me-not's than roses, a modest blue than vibrant red — a touch too tall than the carrier itself, it'd seem the gift was approaching Cedric with two feet in sandals until he poked his head from the side. "Do you remember these, from that day?"

Though it was something beyond him, even with an eyesight as poor as his own, not to notice the damned bouquet wobbling his way, the best gift the Deserter could ever have received was the kick he’d gotten out of that imagery alone. It all started with giggles – is those odd sounds could even be named such – only to melt into a full blown laughter, drowning out the sound of Othello’s voice in the wake of his mirth.

He did ask something, did he not?

Hunched over the Earl’s desk, his hat gone as the male shook with laughter still, Cedric leaned flush against his seat && combed silver tresses back all the way, unable to wipe the smirk off his features when chartreuse eyes shifted to the head poking out from behind the walking bouquet.

❝ Are those for my funeral~? ❞ He drawled, not seeming offended so much as he’d been tickled amused. ❝ Relieve yourself of the flowers and take a seat, Othello. The best gift you could’ve given me today you already managed. ❞ It was then that he pushed a black urn filigreed in white lace around it the little reaper’s way, inside it were biscuits that took to the shape of a soul covered in chocolate, black and white.❝ Pray help yourself to them. My weapon of choice is the scythe, not poison. ❞

[deathlymemoirs-a]

He's never been big on this holiday, PDA being something he shied away from both with others and himself. But this is the first time he's actually had someone he cares to spend it with, the need to show his appreciation gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks despite not knowing if Cedric liked this holiday. It's lead to a rather unconventional gift; A full sized, black and white portrait of the woman he'd already drawn for him once, placed carefully where he's sure Cedric will find it later.

Though Cedric could not care less about whatever meaning marketing had cooked up for most holidays, there was no shame in enjoying them nonetheless. From parties, to good food && equally nice company… A lone man had little room to be picky, && the old grim reaper knew.

It wasn’t exactly something he expected– as a matter of fact, just how long had it been ever since the last somebody even bothered to gift him something? With his eyes locked on the portrait, the ghost in his memories transcending into physical realms, Cedric could almost instantly feel the smile gone from his face.

Ah… What a truly gifted lad, Gregory Violet was. Never had he even dreamt of meeting the woman, yet somehow, he was able to depict her just as though she’d been posing for him.

It took Cedric a while to so much as realize a tear, hot on his cheek, had stained the charcoal, seeping into the paper && making a botch of her dress’ lace ends. But he was blind to that, before his eyes she spun && she swayed, offered him a hand almost as if asking him, inviting the man to join her in death.

No… It wasn’t the time. Not yet. But the day would come eventually, that much, like an animal seeking shelter before a great flood, the grim reaper could feel crawling on his old bones.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

gcmeovertime‌:

Ronald has broken fingers for far less than the old man had gotten away with tonight—yet he’s done little more than follow along with his drink addled grin. As they walk the wisps of ghostly hair caressing his face would serve as further stimuli for the already conflicting sensations within his body. 

The Undertaker seems to have taken it upon himself to help with undressing, causing the young lad to purse his lips and stare off–wondering if he’s been lured away for something less innocent than idle chit chat… or if it was the alcohol corrupting his mind. Ghoulish fingers at his jaw force him to make eye contact, only briefly distracting him from his confusion in favor of some banter.

“Ha! You make it sound as if I wasn’t better at something before, old man~” The Undertaker’s wrist is seized within his grasp, but he does not move it away from his face. Rather, he uses it as an anchor to lean forward, arching slightly to flash his teeth in what was meant to be a challenging grin, but… the longer he holds the other’s gaze, the more Ronald’s expression begins to read come hither. Slowly he does move the deserter’s away from his jaw, but only to lower it so that hose gnarly nails briefly meet with his exposed and protruding collarbone. 

The shudder and rise of color within his cheeks that this act causes is one too vulnerable. It is only then does he bat the old man’s hand away, turning to shed himself free of his jacket.. “I think I ought to make like Sleeping Beauty and pass out, huh?”

Because I am clearly losing my mind.

It would seem the additive in that fancy spirit was beginning to take its toll, not that the Deserter was particularly immune to its effects, but he was old... far older than a lad of nary twenty winters’ old who often seemed to have switched his brains with his cock, or something along those lines.

His lips were a line until the ugly head of this young reaper’s narcissism reared, urging the elder to snort at what playful dispute he was on about.

❝ Are you now? ❞ His knuckles && ghoulish nails alike followed an invisible path south of the reaperling’s jawline until the younger male swatted off his hand like it’d been a fly. Come to think of it, he was about as tall as some women the Undertaker knew... Quite the slender little fellow, too. ❝ Well, I can’t say I’m quite convinced... How am I to beee~? I’ve never seen any of it... ❞

Like a doting father, the Deserter picked up the jacket Ronald had relieved himself of && tossed it on a nearby armchair, sitting himself beside the reaperling to aid him in the unbuttoning of his vest, a humdrum ‘allow me’  leaving him almost politely.

❝ This is rather starting to sound like some cock measuring contest to me. ❞ He pointed it out, a sneering remark to go with a sneering lad. ❝ You could always correct me when I’m mistaken... ❞ Swiftly did a digit curl around the knot of the other’s loose tie, tugging him so close Ronald might as well have been able to taste the mild grapefruit sweetness that lingered in the Deserter’s breath ghosting over the plush of his lips. ❝ That is,  if  I’m mistaken. ❞

[deathlymemoirs-a]

gcmeovertime‌:

Hands were stuffed away deep in his pockets. A distinct frown of someone who was completely and utterly spent… he hadn’t lifted a finger against Sullivan, but dealing with one of her violent fits was not without its exhaustion. So down the alley he goes, muttering something about needing a drink… that is until an unsettlingly familiar voice interrupts the silence.

Chartreuse raises to get a look of him, dejected expression turning into one more defensive. This man… the garish old man… was the last person he needed to see after getting into a ‘lover’s quarrel’. Already he feels heat rise to his cheeks.

“Oh shut it. You ought to mind your own business and run back to the retirement home before I should you how much bravado I got.” He groaned, fingering the handle of his switchblade within his pocket.  

Though it was dark && his vision hadn’t gotten any better over the years, there was no missing the hue dusting over Mr. Knox’s darkened features as embarrassment -- or perhaps even annoyance -- crept in. Why, he could almost even taste the other’s absolute mortification when those features turned vile as though the Deserter’s breath alone did well to sour the taste of that lad’s beer.

❝ You’ve gotten better over the years, I’ll admit... but you’re still green. ❞ 

Despite the lone reaper not exactly seeking after anyone after his tussle with the younging, he didn’t hold it against Ronald either to have found himself a lady. Quite the adorable little thing, she was... It went to show that height didn’t play its part in another’s resolve so much as their might did.

❝ Why, I’d love to hear about this bravado of yours over a glass or two of wine... but are you sure you should leave your lady to her own devices in a place like thissss~? You hear about what demons do to little she-reapers like those far and wide. Why do you think they’re hardly part of collection’s division, mmm? ❞ Of course Cedric would have known as much, half a century was hardly enough to erase such details from his head.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

gcmeovertime‌:

“Guess I wasn’t much in the mood tonight…” he remarks, whipping out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on his brow. Too much to drink… way too much. And not enough wingmen to remind him of his limits. Stuffing the cloth back into his pocket he notices even more of the tonic being poured into his glass.

If he had his wits about him, he’d worry that the deserter was using his inebriated state to his advantage. How easy it would be, to kill he drunken fool in his sleep and keep dispatch from knowing where he was? But alas, the world is spinning much too fast for Ronald to resist. The prospect of a warm bed beckoned him so… and somehow… after taking another gutsy drink, he felt less and less hostile towards the old man.

“Any more champagne and I’ll never wake up. Like sleeping beauty.” He sets the emptied glass aside, flinching when it drops due to his sloshed state—shattering to pieces on the floor. “Shit….” he bursts into laughter. Running his hands through his golden hair while his cheeks redden, ear to ear across that youthful face Chartreuse eyes looking more inviting by the second.

“Hahahaha… I dunno’ what the usual tolerance is for blokes your age… but I swear I’m not a lightweight. So don’t go poking fun at me.” Stuffing his mits in his pockets he makes a gesture, towards the inside of the manor. “Let’s be off somewhere more quiet then, yeah?”

❝ Well, it’s not as though you would never wake up then. I could have sworn sleeping beauty stirred awake with a kiss... ❞ Or so they told children, for the reality of one such story was too bitter a pill to swallow.

With a hand resting on the reaperling’s shoulder && another holding his glass, the Deserter motioned the way theatrically, steps carrying them back inside the manor && down along one fancy hallway smelling of rosewater sweetness. Obnoxiously long locks of silver hair tickled the youth’s cheek as they walked-- for once, it looked to have been recently washed.

Upon their arrival at the Deserter’s quarters, Cedric was so kind as to usher the reaperling to bed, setting down his glass of wine on top of the nightstand in favour of helping the lad out of his oxfords.

❝ As for tolerance, ❞ he picked up where they’d left off, stuffing the reaperling’s socks into fancy dress shoes for safekeeping. ❝ I can only speak for myself, you see~? Though I suppose I’ve never been as dauntless a drinker as you are. ❞ He could almost taste the alcohol from the other man’s breath lingering in the air around them. 

Standing back up, the old reaper gently seized a firm hold of Ronald’s chin as to keep his drunken eyes pinned under the male’s piercing stare. ❝ Does it feel like a victory to youuu~? Being better than your senior at something... ❞ The drawl of his voice caressed those words as they abandoned lips wearing something of a sneer to them. 

[anhaima]

So I learned how to do this for another fandom, and figured Kuro could use one too.

Here is a automated rpc directory. No more waiting around for someone inactive to add you to a list– You can just do it yourself. Functions include; Searching by name, searching by distinction, more search options that I’ll probably add later, and it just generally looks cool.

You can check it out here And if you so desire, you can add your character to the list here

[deathlymemoirs-a]

@gcmeovertime || closed starter

❝ My, my~ ❞ A drawn out falsetto resonated darkly just shy of where the little reaper had trudged, his figure foreboding as the bitter end itself having materialized from what looked to be the shadows when, in reality, he’d always been standing there in the first place, very much pleased to find something -- or rather, someone -- that caught his interest among the dimly lit streets of London. 

❝ If I’m so bold to say, you look to me like somebody who’s just had one fierce encounter with a feline of sorts, which does beg the question: is it often all that bravado of yours turns tail when it comes to women that height? ❞

It would appear he’d seen it. He’d seen it all... Just how that project of a death god got his arse handed to him by a she-reaper closing on a foot shorter than him, && the deserter very much doubted she was any older or any more experienced in battle.

[deathlymemoirs-a]

grellrot‌:

“Are you calling me large?” Grelle snapped, scandalised—but only because he’d dared imply it, not because she believed it. She’d crushed that particular insecurity long ago by telling herself she wasn’t tall like a man, she was tall like a supermodel: tall and slender and elegant. She wasn’t wrong.

“In any case, I daresay we shouldn’t have that difficulty with you, handsome,” she purred, recovering from the slight as quickly as she’d reacted to it. “You don’t look like you’d have any trouble tossing me over your shoulder for a little… shall we say, historical reenactment.“

She sat back and stretched out her legs to prop her heels on the footboard, tugging off a glove to inspect her manicure. At some point she also casually slipped out of human visibility.

“Alas, I’ve all but forgotten the sound. It’s so difficult these days to find a man who can handle me.” It didn’t help that the sort of men she was attracted to wanted nothing to do with her—and that was often half the reason she was attracted to them in the first place.

Historical reenactment? A tittering laugh, unhinged as it came, escaped him at that one. What a funny fellow, this odd reaper was... Perhaps the Deserter could use some fun by his side, as their next stop was Germany && France was still a ways off.

❝ Large and tall are quite different. ❞ He pointed out, tipping his hat at the ticket collector all the while ignoring the male’s curious stare. 

His quarters should have been in the first class, a bed big enough for two. If anything, however, the Deserter wasn’t opposed to taking the couch-- this one reaper well reminded him of Master Druitt, && god only knew how Aleistor would take nothing less than a queen-sized feather bed  with the finest vintage nestled on a chamois cushion before sleep wherever he went. 

❝ If you keep your scythe to yourself, I doubt anybody will question your ladyship about. ❞ Meaning the odd reaper had no more reason to conceal herself, even though she stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the crowd. Wasn’t scarlet a flashy hue? Seated in bed, the Deserter propped an ankle to his knee && slowly unbuckled his boots. ❝ A man who can handle you? Are you implying those whores you’ve murdered would have been able to take the brunt had you gone any softer~? Fufufufu~ ❞