#like if we go from 'ciel wants revenge and is fine having his soul taken' to

[agnimybeloved]

regarding that last post... not that black butler's canon has to be uplifting or have dadbastian or a happy ending to be "good" (i'm actually partial to tragedies especially the cyclical kind and would love for the series to straight up end with despair and the collection on the contract lol) but i do think that toboso's largely fumbled the found-family/interpersonal,/introspective aspects of her story and sacrificed a lot of narrative and thematic meat there for low-brow and off-putting comedy.... which is really exactly all she does with ciel's trauma as well-- shallowly using it for the purposes of trauma porn and/or comedy/inappropriate fanservice.

ciel only seems to have reasonable responses to his trauma when its aesthetically convenient if that makes sense. i honestly could go as far as to say that she depicts his trauma fetishistically-- every instance i can recall of ciel having an extreme traumatic response (i.e. vomiting, flashbacks, psychosis) is represented with (imo but honestly.... i'd be shocked if this wasn't intentional...) sexual undertones. his episode during the green witch arc doesn't have one of these moments within the episode itself as far as i can recall, but certainly i think the preceding/inciting medical emergency that forces him and sebastian to bathe together contributes to the reoccurring sexualization of "sickness" (physical & psychological).

not to mention ciel's subsequent episode is treated as the dramatic peak of his ptsd and something that he "overcomes" through sheer force of will (and the threats of sebastian... neither of which are a proper/reasonable way to handle such an extreme trauma response) and doesn't really battle going forward in the story. of course a lot of stories take this "one dramatic moment and then its fixed" approach to representing mental illness, and it makes narrative sense for toboso to want to more or less settle that thread to gear up for the important blue cult arc, but i think toboso's handling of mental illness in general goes so far beyond suspension of disbelief and tastelessness that i think she should lowkey be brained for it. the way she intermittently writes ciel's traumatic experiences as something horrifying and wrong and to be given sympathy meanwhile relentlessly putting ciel in inappropriate fanservice situations that diminish the severity of csa & pedophilia as well as disrespect the complexities of trauma and turn them into comedy... mind boggling...

overall though i think that black butler shows a real mastery of narrative arcs while falling short in terms of character arcs. most of the time these arcs are shown in retrospect with the addition of new backstory, but it feels as if the characters in present have barely grown at all... not that every story has to be character driven and a static character type makes sense for someone like sebastian, but for all that ciel is a unique and mature thirteen year old due to the circumstances of his life, he is still a thirteen year old, and one that has experienced a significant trauma quite recently at that. not allowing him coming of age-esque character arcs considering all that sort of breaks the believability of his character imo.

but i think that coattails does a lot in staying loyal to ciel's character and experiences while also respecting his trauma and bringing the depth and flexibility of adolescence to his worldview and actions that toboso unfortunately seems disinterested in. i love that aforementioned chapter of coattails and its sentiments especially with how it reexamines ciel's actions at kelvin's manor and the worldview that lead to burning it down with the children inside... not that it was an out of character decision for ciel in the moment, but i think it established a lot more severe facts about his character and worldview than toboso is willing to address in her writing and therefore feels unresolved. coattails' remedy to that awkwardness by coming full circle is so intriguing and fulfilling in contrast... it shows how adolescence and trauma can work together to so completely convince one of hopelessness and yet how just a bit of hope can change that worldview entirely. literally just the honest love of a random dog and the mundane care of a guardian... there is a cure and it is this..... what da helllll....

[wicked-game-black-butler]

Sorry it's taken me a while to speak up, but if you still have spaces, I have a question and a request. My question is this; what's your favourite arc of Black Butler, and why? For my request, I would like to ask for Undertaker x Reader (female) please. As for headcannons, here we go; 1) First meeting 2) Admitting feelings 3) First time having sex 4) Favourite things to do during sex 5) Finding out S/O is sick 6) Ways he gets S/O 'in the mood' ;)

@jasminewitch-blog  No worries, there’s no need to apologize.  Thank you for your interest and for following me.  I hope you enjoy the headcanons for everyone’s favorite mortician.

As for your question, the real answer is that I love almost all of the arcs of Kuroshitsuji because each arc had something about it that really sparked my interest, or had development for a character that I wanted to know more about or wanted to see grow, or made me consider deeper questions about humanity and life in general.  That being said, it was difficult to choose, but ultimately I think I’d have to choose The Green Witch arc.  I enjoyed it for multiple reasons, but the top reasons were: all of the servants were present and were able to showcase their abilities and strengths, rather than mainly being a comedy piece (which I am fine with, btw, but I like the contrasting duality between how they’re usually depicted and when they show why they deserve to be Phantomhive servants); Sebastian’s true nature and abilities were brought to the forefront again in spectacular fashion (whether it’s confusion at his tears or when he begins to act on his right to O!Ciel’s soul when it appears he’s retracting on his revenge or when he burns down the lab and we get to see his reveling in being able to flex his demonic powers-I’d be lying if I said that the last one doesn’t make me a little weak in the knees); and that with the addition of Sieglinde to the story, we finally have a female character who is O!Ciel’s equal in both intellect and determination and I really like their dynamic and I’m always for strong female characters in stories, no matter their age.

 Now as for your request, you’ll find it underneath the “Keep Reading” line.  I wanted to be safe and hide it somewhat since some of them are NSFW. (That is, if it shows up this time.  I triple checked that I had added it to the Vincent request, but it disappeared into the void when I posted it...oh well)

Undertaker/Fem!Reader

The circumstances under which you met Undertaker were not ideal.  You had been born into poverty on the East End and it was by some cruel miracle that you had survived until adulthood.  Your days were riddled with anxiety over basic necessities- where your next meal would come from or how you were going to keep warm in the winter.  It was difficult given there were three mouths to keep fed in your household.  So you did what you could to help provide for your parents and yourself, scraping by on thin soups and coin you earned from performing odd jobs here and there for those of the self made middle class who weren’t pretentious enough to let your background overshadow your skills with a needle.  It had been a bittersweet relief when the fever took your parents.  You had loved them, of course, but you couldn’t ignore the inherent practical advantage to having two less bellies to fill, two less aged ones to care for.  However, that relief was short lived when the realization struck you...you now had no home, no protection, and no food.  If you didn’t act quickly, you would be dead within a week or worse.  That was how you had stumbled upon the Undertaker’s shoppe.  You had been searching about for any odd job you could perform, any seamstress who might take pity on your plight and take you on for a day or two in exchange for a warm meal and a corner in their back storage room where you could rest your weary bones, when you heard the pleasant sound of humming coming from down the alley.  Curious, you slipped in between the two buildings and followed the humming to where the back door to the Undertaker’s shoppe, which was propped open to let in the warm summer breeze.  You cautiously glanced around the corner of the to see the back of a tall, robe clad man as he stood by a table where he appeared to be tending to someone’s body.  You were about to continue on your way when, as the man stepped out of the room, having been called by the sound of a bell that had chimed from somewhere inside the building, you spotted a heavily jeweled necklace.  Your eyes grew wide as the sun glinted off the precious jewelry.  That would get you enough money to eat for a week and provide a dry, warm bed for you to sleep in.  So, without a second thought, you rushed into the room, snatching the necklace and fleeing down the alleyway before the man could return.  This went on for two months.  Every couple of weeks, you would stop by the Undertaker’s shoppe and swipe something of value from the room.  They were corpses, anyway.  Why did they need such embellishments?  All it took was one time.  One time when you were too confident, too desperate to refuse the large ruby broach that sat on the table, almost begging for you to take it.  As your fingers wrapped around the cold stone, a firm hand gripped your shoulder, and that was it...you had been caught.  You begged the man not to take you to the police, that you were sorry but that you had no other choice.  Before you could stop yourself, your life story came rushing from your lips until, with cheeks wet with tears, you finished your explanation.  It was after a few minutes of consideration that the man told you he had a proposition for you.  Your stomach sank, fearing the worst, when he explained that his work kept him far busier than he would have liked, given he had a special venture he had recently taken on, and could use the help of someone who had needlework skills.  So, he offered his silence and a room in the living area above his shop, in exchange for your skills and your complete silence regarding anything you saw whilst working for him.  Not having many alternatives, you hesitantly accepted, silently wondering how you could have gotten yourself into such a mess.  With that, he led you upstairs to a small room that was to serve as your quarters, excusing himself to retrieve some sheets and blankets for the currently bare bed.  As he made to leave, you called out to him, giving him a heartfelt thanks before asking him what his name was.  At your question, a knowing smile spread his lips, answering you could simply call him Undertaker.

As with many things with your relationship with Undertaker, the confession of his feelings was sudden and fairly unexpected.  It had only taken a few short weeks for you to realize that you felt something for him and six months to know that those feelings were true.  He was odd, both as an employer and a person.  You would often catch him mumbling things about balances of chemicals and temperature and the like before disappearing to the cellar for hours on end-a cellar you were forbidden from entering.  He would often answer your questions with cryptic sayings, which would leave you more boggled than when you had first asked the question.  And he seemed to enjoy his work...a little too much, given that he dealt with death every day.  But you soon accepted his quirks as part of his eccentric personality and found yourself comfortably settling into life with him.  In all your time with him, he had never done or said anything untoward, never asked for you to repay him with sexual favors, something you had continued to fear would occur even a month into your employment.  In fact, he had never so much as touched you and, though you found the desire for him to do so growing with every day you continued your lives together, you appreciated his respect of your person.  Undertaker had not given much indication as to his feelings towards you, both romantic or platonic. Just a phrase here or there that would rekindle the spark of hope within you that maybe, just maybe there might be a whisper of a chance he would return your feelings.  However, almost a year into your employment, not a word of true confirmation had been spoken and that hope eventually died.  As despondent you had been at the realization, you took comfort in the fact you had a roof over your head, a warm bed, a full belly, and protection from a man who didn’t take advantage of your situation.  That was infinitely better than the alternatives of starvation or having to sell your body you were faced with but a year ago.  So to say you were caught off guard when Undertaker finally confessed his feelings for you was quite the understatement, especially given the circumstances under which it happened.  A customer had come in, demanding to speak to Undertaker directly.  He seemed to be one of the more unsavory clients from the Underworld who would occasionally visit, either for information or either needing to use his trade.  Undertaker had been working in the cellar all afternoon, so when the client continued to insist on speaking to him immediately, you found yourself at the top of the cellar stairs, calling down for him.  After several tries, he gave no acknowledgement of having heard you and, despite your better judgement, you began descending the dark staircase.  With each step the air became thicker, laden with chemicals to the point that by the time you had reached the halfway point, you had to cover your nose and mouth to stop your coughing.  That was when he cornered you against the wall, his voice low and threatening as he asked why you were there.  You stammered as you explained the situation, to which he sighed and ordered you back upstairs.  Shaken by his behavior, you sprinted back upstairs to the shoppe, quickly mumbling to the client that Undertaker would be with him presently before hiding yourself in the mortuary for the rest of the time the shoppe was open.  After your work was finished, you did all you could to avoid him until you had safely, and uncommonly early, retired to your room for the night.  Awhile later, a knock came to your door, Undertaker’s weary voice requesting that you let him in.  Not wanting to anger him further, you obeyed his wishes, cautiously coming to sit beside him on your bed.  After a minute or two of tense silence, he apologized for his actions and explained that the reason why he had forbade you from entering the cellar was because of the special work-dangerous work he was doing down there.  He looked down, thumb rubbing over one of the mourning lockets that was always on his person, as he continued saying he reacted so strongly earlier because you reminded him of someone he used to be close with, someone he had loved.  He pressed on, silver locks still covering his face, as he confessed that he had, in fact, come to love you as well and he never wanted to see you harmed by the dangerous things held within the cellar.

Even after having confessed his feelings for you, things did not progress quickly between the two of you, at least not physically.  Undertaker would touch you now, oh god, how he loved to touch you.  Every moment the two of you worked together, his hand would be somewhere on your person-your hand, your arm, your shoulder, your back.  He seemed to take comfort in finally allowing himself to ground his being in your presence.  On occasion, you would even kiss.  But his actions never moved beyond the realm of loving tenderness...and you had reached your limit.  However, you had resolved to extend him the same courtesy he had shown towards your person and never forced the issue.  But, you realized as you stared up at your bedroom ceiling, chest heaving as your body relaxed in the wake of your climax, you didn’t know how much longer you could last without his hands being the ones to work you over the edge.  It was after the accident that things changed.  You had been unintentionally careless with a bottle of embalming chemicals and it broke, slicing and burning your hands in the process.  Lady Dalles said that, thankfully, the damage would not be permanent, but it would take some time to fully heal and regain the function of your hands.  So, to spare you from having to overtax your hands, Undertaker began assisting you with daily tasks, including dressing.  A few weeks after the accident, he had joined you as he would in the evenings to help you out of your day things and into your nightwear.  In those weeks, your daily dressing and undressing began to become increasingly tense, each day he would take a little longer, his touch lingering on your skin a few breaths more, and you found yourself wishing you could see his damn eyes so you could know what he was thinking.  One of those nights, your ritual continued as always. Except there was something in the stiffness of his stance, the faltering of his warm breath which fanned over the back of your neck and shoulders, the intense focus he seemed to be giving your reflection as your breasts swelled within the confines of your corset with every breath you took that told you that tonight would be different.  A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers ghosted across your shoulders and trailed up the sensitive skin of your neck.  Your heart thrummed with eager expectation as you watched his reflection as he leaned against you, his hands coming to grip your hips as he lowered his lips to the curve of your neck, whispering against your skin that he was sorry, but he couldn’t resist any longer before placing a searing kiss on your flesh.  Things quickly escalated, ending in the tangle of your sweat slick bodies lying together in mutual post coital bliss, the floor of your room littered with garments long forgotten.  It was a night of many firsts for you, but the part you came to treasure the most was the first view you had ever gotten of his enchanting, phosphoric eyes.

Undertaker’s love of physical touch is, if anything, amplified when you have sex.  He cannot get enough of the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, his lips and he is vocal in reminding you of that.  That being the case, one of his favorite things to do for foreplay is for you to restrain his hands in some way, depriving him of being able to touch you while you in turn explore his body with the same care and attention he would show yours.  You work him up into a dizzying state of anticipation and longing until he can no longer bear it, easily escaping or breaking his bonds, no matter their construct, before eagerly grabbing hold of you, driving you wild with the same skill you had executed on him.  He appreciates your vocal nature as well, having an undiscovered praise kink.  There’s nothing that will make him come faster than your moans of pleasure as you’re in the throes of your orgasm, screaming his name, praises of how good he makes you feel falling from your lips like a mantra.

You find Undertaker’s ineptitude when it comes to knowing what to do with you when you’re sick as endearing as it is frustrating.  When you asked him about it one time, he shrugged his shoulders and explained he hadn’t worried about such things in some time and, given he now worked exclusively with the dead, he had lost whatever knowledge he had gained about treating the infirmities of the living.  So, whenever you become ill, you have to be direct in communicating what you need.  However, once he has instruction, he is more than willing to provide you with what you asked.  His tries, but his bedside manner just isn’t the best.

Undertaker isn’t often in the mood for sex, which he explained has nothing to do with his desire for you, but rather his body’s condition doesn’t allow for frequent sex.  At first you hadn’t believed such an odd explanation, fearing he had found something about you that displeased him, but just hadn’t worked up the courage to tell you about it.  However, there was once when you had managed to fuck two days in a row and after the second time, he had quickly fallen asleep and remained in a slumbering state...for three days straight.  You had begun to worry, frequently coming up to check and make sure he was still breathing.  Fortunately, the third day he awoke, rather disoriented and ravenously hungry.  It had taken the rest of that day to nurture him back into his normal self and it was then that you realized he had, in fact, been telling you the truth.  So when he is in the mood, he likes to draw it out as much as possible.  The whole day will be spent with him touching and kissing places that he knows will work you up, whispering the things he’d love to do to you if you weren’t working, but never proceeding beyond teasing until you’ve closed the shoppe for the day.  If he’s feeling particularly adventurous, he will disappear underneath your skirts while you’re still working in the shoppe and will tease you with his tongue until you almost climax, but will stop just before you do, giving your cheek a quick kiss before whispering in your ear that good things come to those who wait.

I hope you enjoyed those headcanons.  My apologies for some of them being pretty lengthy, but I wanted to give some context to some of them and I got a little carried away, lol.  But thank you again for your support and for following me.  I appreciate it so much!

Also, if anyone else is interested in a “100 followers celebration” ask, feel free to send one over.  There are still three available. For guidelines, check out the post I made about the celebration or you can reach out to me directly. 

*Note: Credit goes to Kumaqi for the incredible Undertaker cosplay that I used in the creation of the moodboard. (https://twitter.com/kumaqiii/status/925669701266563072)