#undergrell

[unethical-business-practices]

No you don't get it they're not fighting they're just fucking with their fists

[dorkafricska]

[mysticbb]

Happy Shinigami day to the sillies ever ⚰️🌹

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

undergrell? damn i sure wish I was

[honeybuns3110]

[zeebugs-overcoat]

I just woke up and had a dream where Undertaker was in a shopping cart, Grell was holding it and they were spinning.

Grell didn't make him spin. They were just spinning like that one low quality fish with low quality music in the background.

[jasperthecaspers]

Undertaker calling Grell his ‘red rose’

Grell calling Undertaker her ‘lily of the valley’

Because like both flowers are associated with death in thier own different ways, like the two of them. And also I imagine because if this they give each other bouquets that are a mix of both flowers, as like a sign of their love.

[apocalypticromantic666]

Frosted Rose - Undertaker x Grelle

The biting December chill crystallizes the petals of delicate blooms.

They're beautiful like this, dusted with frost. More beautiful in death than they ever were in life.

Grelle clutches the bouquet of red roses to her chest before carefully laying them before the elaborately carved headstone.

They remind her of a splash of blood on concrete.

‘You're just another woman. You aren't fit to wear red.’

Such a cruel thing to say, especially to the only one who loved her unconditionally. And in the end, Grelle regrets it.

Madame Red had a mere moment of weakness, and Grelle reacted in haste as she always does.

Had the tables been turned, Madame Red would have been sympathetic, Grelle thinks. She was more level-headed, and always did have the bigger heart.

Grelle sighs wisps of steam, looking up at the full moon.

She may not remember much from her life, but she does remember the moon glaring down at her as she died.

It's strange. She should have been terrified as she felt the blood draining away, an icy numbness setting in as she grew pale. But she wasn't. As she gazed up at the celestial body, it made her feel as though she were in a spotlight, a star on stage. The glittering stars, her adoring onlookers.

Grelle wonders if she were once a performer. An actress or singer, perhaps. Or maybe a dancer.

The sound of a shovel biting into the earth breaks the silence.

Graverobbers.

Well.

At least she can take out her frustrations on them.

What's a few more corpses, after all? Headquarters will be on her ass, no doubt, but she couldn't possibly be in more trouble than she already is.

It might even give her an excuse to get manhandled by William again, too. Mmm.

Revving up her chainsaw, she flies over several rows of tombstones to find the Undertaker stooped over a grave, shoveling out dirt.

Grelle freezes.

For a stagnant moment, they just stare at each other. The shadows eat into the moon above.

She waits for him to draw his own weapon, and tenses when he moves. But he only removes another scoop of earth.

“Well? Are we going to fight or what?” Grelle finally says.

******************

A little snippet of Frosted Rose, a Grelle x Undertaker short fic I'm working on.