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scribbleseas · 5 months ago

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Straight Laced, Chapter VIII: To Be A Keen Observer…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, besides thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for sticking with me. I’m sorry about that last cliffhanger. (Kind of.)

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 10, 1895

The British Museum

The Yard. The press. Throngs of pedestrians fleeing from the museum to catch a glimpse of the chaos. Flashing lenses immortalizing Maisie Stannard’s bleeding body, craning necks, overlapping questions.

“Lord Phantomhive, Lord Phantomhive, who’dunnit?” someone demanded, sick comedy in their voice.

Now the public knew. They no longer had the benefit of a quiet investigation.

The Same Night, Hours Later

Ciel’s Estate

The evening’s fiasco was practically the worst-case scenario for any crime scene, Ciel thought, staring into the lively orange licks of flames in his fireplace. The contained inferno crackled, demolishing the kindling Finny packed inside moments before their return.

The fall night was brisk, the draft blowing against his window, causing balding tree branches to scream.

Finally left alone, the Earl of Phantomhive loosened his tie, slouched behind his desk, and allowed his fingers to knit in his dark hair. He released a frustrated groan he’d long been holding, spat out a curse he’d long bit down in the face of the curious public. They wanted to construct a story that would attempt to broadcast Ciel’s shock, but he would never give them the satisfaction of witnesssing a Phantomhive plan go awry.

Still, the predicament was an embarrassment. He wanted the killer to be William, but the suspect never truly felt proper—even as he watched the Yard escorted the man in handcuffs. He’d merely convinced himself William was completely guilty because it was the most convenient solution, and that was worse than a confident response being wrong.

Ciel’s eye strained from analyzing the list of guests from the gala. The names and titles were forged into his brain, and yet, how could he stop? Another person was dead because of his shortsightedness. It was a smear on his name and reputation, one far worse than courting a prima ballerina.

At the end of the day, he should have known better. It was too convenient for the killer to be William. Ciel doubted he had much of a capacity to kill—not the intellect, not the bravado, and not the motive.

Was he a violent criminal who took what he felt he deserved no matter who he hurt? Certainly. But was he intelligent enough to poison a young woman slowly using dimethylmercury? To lure a young woman to a bridge and dispose of her in the river beneath? Not to Ciel. He had to be missing a significant part of this investigation. What could he be missing? Who could he be ignoring?

Someone had to have known William’s crimes against members of his company, and plotted to frame him. The death had to be connected to the rest of them—too convenient to be a coincidence. Y/n knew her. They were both part of the same company— rivals, even. All of the dancers were a part of this company, at one point in their short-lived careers. Even the victims who were working somewhere new during their time of death or the last day they were seen, worked under William at one point in time.

Y/n said that the incidents all seem to take place on Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Days where the full company rehearsed The Nutcracker in full, and Natasha was occupied with costume fittings. The company was in its last two weeks of playing Swan Lake and now it was preparing to welcome the holiday season with the festive ballet. It always had a popular run, causing it to start at the end of November until the weekend after Christmas.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, either. Ciel thought it incriminated William because it ensured that his company— including his wife — would be at their most distracted. Perhaps, the real killer assumed Ciel would draw that conclusion. They would have needed to break into William’s South Hampton home to plant the weapon used to kill Janet Fischer, as well. It seemed that estate was the only property William left unkept.

“I’ve brought your tea, my Lord,” Sebastian said, his habit of breaking Ciel’s focus entirely too common. The Earl knew better than to be startled by his demon butler. After all, the being was at the mercy of his orders. They both knew the terms of their contract intimately well: Sebastian obeyed all of Ciel’s commands and once they apprehend those responsible for the deaths of the previous Phantomhive heads, Sebastian could consume his soul.

“How damned am I, Sebastian?” Ciel asked, half pressing for what the butler made of tonight’s accident and half assessing the damage dealt between him and Y/n, given that the butler had just delivered her a night snack. She was never one to hide her feelings, surely giving Sebastian an earful about how Ciel managed to offend her. Uncovering just what had sent Y/n into her tirade beckoned at Ciel more than he liked, distracting him even more than the investigation was. The prima ballerina was so nonchalant about her promiscuity; could their relations have truly meant that much to her?

Did she feel an inescapable sense of dread and thrill around him, too? A spark so addicting that all she could do was be near him? Just like a good sip of that sweet wine she adored.

“What are you referring to?” While the butler poured a cup of tea, he lifted an eyebrow at the Earl, questioning him. A knowing smile pulled at his lips.

“Don’t you play dumb. You know whom I speak of.” The irritation in Ciel’s voice filled the room.

Sebastian merely chuckled at him. “How do you think making an enemy out of the Norfolk duchy by refusing his only daughter would end for you, sir?” His question was anything but accusatory— amused at most. Curious to get an idea of Ciel’s honest priorities: the wise match, Caroline and her presumptuous mother, or the correct match. The prima ballerina. His prima ballerina, as they worked so hard to make the public believe.

Except, they didn’t understand how much Ciel was just as much her Earl of Phantomhive.

All there was in polite society was Gwen, insisting she and Caroline come to his estate for tea. A meeting he was far from in the position to reject, out of respect to the current Duke of Norfolk. Ciel should have put a formal end to the slow beginnings of courtship he’d hinted to Caroline. At the time, he felt there was nothing to end, since nothing had really begun.

Had the Norfolk line not been in jeopardy, Ciel doubted Gwen would have continued to pursue him for Caroline with such insistence, especially after he announced his courtship of Y/n. Without a male heir, the duchy needed to secure its new duke by marrying Caroline to a suitable noble. The position had been attractive at the time, but now, Ciel hardly felt the appeal. Instead, he intended to tell Y/n that Gwen invited herself to the estate for tea after she forced him to share a cordial dance with her daughter, but Y/n fled the ballroom before he could.

“I could withstand it. And if I could not, you would see me through,” Ciel insisted, turning his gaze back down to the names on his newest list of names— a compilation of suspects with motivation to either kill company ballerina Maise Stannard or the wife of a plagiarizing artist with a legion of enemies. “Unless something changed in our contract within the last seven-some years?” Ciel prompted, scowling at the supernatural being.

The side of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Of course not,” he confirmed, “though I may not be able to shield you from the wrath of a woman scorned. Those dangers are entirely different from one another, you’ll come to understand.”

Such reflecting over his personal life was a painful waste of effort. He needed to prioritize his thoughts. Another person died, dammit.

The distinction between company ballerina Maisie and wife of conman Maisie was critical because it decided whether the serial killer was bold enough to kill in front of a high-end gala lined with security or if one of Stannard’s enemies was sending him a message.

Ciel’s eyebrows knit together, unsure if Sebastian was referring to Y/n or Caroline. He cared significantly more about the former. Though, it was only fair to note that Y/n never made her intentions clear enough to be shunned in the first place. She was enigmatic, and beautiful with a puzzling charm— Ciel would’ve had to be daft to ignore that about her. But that didn’t translate to wanting him beyond physical companionship… at least it hadn’t until she confronted him.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder: didn’t Y/n know better? Didn’t she understand that she was deserving of someone who could love unconditionally. In what world could he? Ciel couldn’t even promise never to lie to her.

All relationships and promises in Ciel’s life were conditional. He was a self-serving man—the remnants of the disturbed boy who returned to the land of the living seven years ago with a ravenous demon counting the days to the end of their contract. If Ciel couldn’t even promise to never lie to Y/n—how could she expect him to love her? Did she love him?

There was no loving him. Not without letting it destroy her life. They both knew that. And yet… he had already given into his passionate whims with her. He’d already decided to throw his reservations to the wind, the last of his resilience shattering like glass when she broke into sobs caused by him.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Ciel replied simply, taking a drink out of his hot tea. He welcomed the scorching burn as it traveled down his tongue. The warmth filled in his empty chest. ”I did not scorn her.”

It didn’t matter if she loved him, nor did it matter how he felt about her. The consequences of anything more than a partnership between them would be immeasurable no matter what, but he was more than equipped to handle them.

Could Ciel justify trapping a ballerina in a life where the rest of society would remind her that she was an outsider every day? Gwen and Caroline were the least destructive instance of the social persecution Y/n would face for climbing the social ladder so ambitiously as the rest of the world would see it.

When the world looked at Y/n, they didn’t see her natural aptitude for investigation, her intelligence. Her humor. They saw the misdeeds put upon her by forces much greater than herself. They saw the reckless apathy that was placed on all ballerinas, and assumed that it was their own fault.

No one would see the regard in Y/n that Ciel took so long to notice. They misread her. And they would never care to read her properly until it was too late.

Until she condemned them in a tearful diatribe across the street from the British Museum. That spirit was what convinced Ciel that she had the potential to feasibly manage. If such was the life she truly desired for herself.

“Go get another history on Maisie Stannard,” Ciel ordered Sebastian, wanting to be left alone again. He felt the demon attempting to dissect him, and it was suffocating. Sebastian hadn’t even deigned to reply, merely looking at him with unconcealed amusement. He liked watching Ciel wrestle with such foreign conflict, provoking him for sport to further insult the injury— there was nothing insightful he wished to add.

“Yes, my Lord.” After a disingenuous bow, the demon was gone.

November 11, 1895, The Next Morning

Y/n’s Rehearsal Studio

“No,” Y/n’s irritated voice snapped the moment Ciel opened the door of his own estate’s practice room and let himself inside.

Rehearsal studio, rather.

He released a sigh that he’d been holding from the moment Mey-Rin told him that Y/n would be absent from their breakfast table. He knew she would make a childish effort to avoid him, but in all honesty, he lacked the time and the patience to entertain it.

Y/n sat in the middle of the room in a nude leotard, her legs fanned open on either side of her. Her back was straight and elongated, forming a perfect line with her neck. It looked effortless. All of her movements looked light and easy, despite the rage that her pursed lips and creased forehead displayed.

She didn’t need to turn around to look at him. Instead, she ignored his image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror’s reflection in front of them. Ciel had to read her expression from the glass, since she purposely kept her back to him.

Ciel caught the variety of materials sitting between her spread legs, several pairs of newly broken in pointe shoes in a row, scissors, adhesive, and a needle and yarn for sewing. They were the same items Y/n used to break in and darn new pairs of pointe shoes for balance and comfort. Ciel knew this routine well— it cost him hundreds of pounds a week to purchase Y/n five or six new pairs weekly.

“Y/n, we have much to discuss. Skipping meals with me will not put an end to the investigation… nor our personal differences,” Ciel told her, carefully stepping closer with the caution a soldier would in a minefield. He supposed a rehearsal studio was just that for Y/n: a battleground.

“All I wanted was a few hours away from you and your investigation. You cannot even give me that?” Y/n corrected coldly, giving the shoe in her hand a hearty smack against the expensive flooring to further break it in. Apparently, all ballerinas had to make their own custom alteration rituals to break in their shoes the exact way they needed it. Y/n liked to eviscerate her shoes’ insoles and shave down the bottoms, stretch the shoe, repair it with adhesive, and darn the flat bit of it.

His investigation? So now it was only his?

“It is not a crime for a ballerina to break in her shoes—I hardly have time as it is, and Nutcracker opens next week,” she continued, still refusing to look at him. She seemed satisfied with the amount of pressure she put on the shoe and squeezed adhesive into its stretched interior.

Of course she wouldn’t look at him. Ciel embarrassed her because he let his preconceived notions about her professions blind him to the extent of her feelings. Ballerinas like Y/n were not inherently promiscuous, and he, despite having one functioning eye, missed that she felt more for him than lust. In what world does a principal dancer fall for a jaded Earl, anyhow?

And he was somehow even more blindsided by his own intricate feelings for her. It was most likely too late. And that was for the best, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be, but the guilty discomfort that sat in his stomach insisted otherwise. It was simply too late.

“The last time I checked, a certain prima ballerina always insisted it was our investigation,” Ciel replied, watching Y/n’s eyes roll in response.

“Clearly, she did not know what she was talking about,” Y/n put her sewing materials and pointe shoes to the side once she was satisfied with the layers of adhesive applied. She continued facing the mirror, spreading into a center split and pushing her torso to the floor in a deep stretch. “Being wrong about so many things makes a person a true lavette, no?” Her stretching position muffled her voice somewhat, but the vitriol was clear to him.

She was comparing her intellect to a dish towel? Honestly? Ciel fought the urge to reflect the prima ballerina’s scornful eye roll to her.

After all, she purposefully referencing both their investigation and their personal matters— enough to show Ciel that there was little to be achieved with the stubborn ballerina at that time. The blows were too fresh.

“What is there for us to discuss, anyhow? That guest list will take ages to sift through, and Sebastian’s interview notes…” Y/n rolled her shoulders back and sat back up only to inhale and bring her torso back to the floor. Her arms stretched in front of her, showing off the sculpted muscle she forged through dance.

Her leotard clung to the trained muscles down her back and arms, causing Ciel’s mouth to run dry as he adjusted his trousers. (Unintentionally recalling her body’s warmth and strength under his fingertips did little to help.)

That realization caused Ciel to moisten his lips, quietly thankful that Y/n was pointedly averting her gaze from him. She would’ve caught and translated that pensive— scandalous — look in seconds, and rightfully called him out for it.

“I want to visit William today,” Ciel managed, barely maintaining his stable tone in the face of his straying thoughts. “The Yard said the bullet found in Maisie was consistent with his Winchester collection. And I still dislike that the Southampton house is William’s only unstaffed possession.” It was all too convenient. Too connected— down to the murders matching the company’s rehearsal schedule.

Even the gala was on a Nutcracker rehearsal evening: a night where it was guaranteed Natasha Wood had her hands full and the company was half alive after such a rigorous day.

“That sounds like the perfect plan, Lord Phantomhive,” Y/n answered bitterly, extending an arm over her head while she leaned to the side. She still had her legs parted in a center split.

Lord Phantomhive was a gut punch. It took all of his composure to hide his crawling discomfort. That had to be the first time he recoiled from the weight of his surname.

To her, he was Ciel. She had seen to it— demanded it, even.

“You can handle that on your own. He will not talk with me there, surely,” she added, her bored tone causing his fingers to curl into a frustrated fist at his side. Finally catching her stare, he noticed that her eyes were bleary as if she had been crying. Even her lips seemed bitten.

Ciel had to ignore the striking urge in his body that begged him to kiss her. Now that he knew her prowess, the way she moved her lips with the same elegance she did the rest of her body, it made her allure all the more intense. So much so that they forced Ciel to skip several heavy seconds before replying to her poor excuse for not wanting to be in the same room with him. He had been occupied with admiring her.

“I would prefer—” he started to object, only for Y/n to interrupt.

“Please see yourself out. I must rehearse, I am running on borrowed time as it is. The last Swan Lake showing is tonight,” Y/n said expectantly, assuming Ciel didn’t know her performance schedule. He merely happened to have committed it to memory.

Y/n rose to her feet. She was already wearing an older pair of pointe shoes, suggesting that she had been practicing before deciding to break in new shoes.

Having risen from the center of the floor, she took graceful steps closer to the mirror, fully turning her back to him as she put herself in the starting position for the Sugar Plum Fairy Variation. After putting in hours of labor as her unpaid pianist, Ciel could recognize those soft, exaggerated steps anywhere.

His stomach only twisted into a tighter knot, offended that Y/n would prefer to rehearse in complete silence than in his piano playing. After all, she once told him that she couldn’t keep time without it.

In unexpected surrender, Ciel closed the door behind him, softly letting the knob click back into place.

It was simply too late.

The Same Day, Hours Later

Scotland Yard’s London Headquarters

Even for a man living in a holding cell, William Wood did not look well. His facial hair, what was formerly a tasteful goatee, was now untamed and slightly overgrown. Deep exhaustion carved bags under his eyes. His sudden fall from grace seemed to age him years, even though it was only a week or two since Ciel made the arrest.

“They told me you’d be coming to see me today,” William grunted, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t formally charged yet, but Ciel and the Yard agreed that the threat of allowing an arrested serial killer to remain free before his sentencing was too great to risk. Ciel also needed easy access to William in the event they were wrong.

The criminal’s gray eyes attempted to bore into Ciel’s soul, but really, they were tired. Unfocused. Desperate. He reminded him of a cornered tiger— too proud to submit, but too exhausted to finish the fight.

“Yes… I have questions that demand answers. From you.” Ciel answered carefully. He exchanged a look with the officers guarding the door, silently urging them to clear their throats and seeing themselves out, guarding from the outside of the room. William’s holding cell sat in an isolated room from the rest of the headquarters. The basement was fortified with cement, making the area drafty and dark.

He wouldn’t reveal the news that there was another murdered ballerina, but there were other means to extract the information the situation required.

A condescending smirk twitched at William’s lips, unsurprised. ��And you expect me to talk? To you?” He asked, his jubilant tone dripping with malice. “You’ve ruined my life, my wife’s…our livelihood.”

“No one forced you to cheat on your wife. Or assault defenseless young women. Or murder them in cold blood,” Ciel snapped, raising his tone. Natasha, from what Y/n said, was running the entirety of the company without William in the first place. She didn’t need him— he was a pathetic excuse for an heir to a business. That had to be clearer to her than anyone.

Only now, he made her work infinitely more complicated. Especially since the body of Maisie Stannard was plastered all over the front pages of most newspapers that morning, each depicting the mysterious murder that occurred near one of the side entrances of The British Museum.

“You don’t talk about my wife to me,” William’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he took a step closer to the cell’s bars that separated them. His complexion was shades lighter. “I never killed anyone, either,” he was sure to remind Ciel.

“You will answer my questions, one way or another. How much of your blood gets spilled depends entirely on you, William,” Ciel replied, appreciating the cell wall that separated them. One of them was vulnerable, and it was certainly not him. It would never be.

The Earl pressed the nose of his Nanget Revolver into William’s hip, sliding the nose of the weapon between the bars. He smiled at the defeat that fought the stubborn ferocity in William’s colorless irises, placidly putting the weapon back into his jacket pocket just as smoothly as he’d taken it out.

“Do we have an understanding here?” Ciel asked impatiently. “I am only interested in the truth.”

It was exhilarating to watch the desperate fire extinguish in William’s face, the fighting militance in his shoulders dissipate. His fists unfurled as he sighed, coming to terms with his defeat. He was just smart enough to understand that concept— a lesson Ciel and Y/n fought hard to teach him.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” the former businessman crossed his arms, ignoring the weapon that Ciel threatened him with.

“Your Southampton house,” Ciel started, “why is it unstaffed? When was the last time you were there, before you instructed Y/n Y/l/n to meet you there?”

“I told Natasha I sold it, but it’s been my family’s for generations. I used the place for… meetings I didn’t want her to know about,” William sighed, choosing his words cautiously. “That time with…Y/n… was the first time I’ve been there since my trip to France. So I haven’t been since the end of September. Do I get to know why you’re asking?” He asked sarcastically.

The last time Janet was seen was September 27th.

“When did you leave, William?” Ciel asked with a newfound sense of urgency overriding his frustrations with the man. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat picking up. “Do you know the exact day you departed?”

William shrugged, either not noticing Ciel’s pique or not caring. “September 28th, probably? Early morning.”

Is that enough time to murder a woman— she was projected to have died late that night — hide the murder weapon in Southampton, and return to the London ports by dawn to leave the country? It wasn’t.

”Did anyone have access to your property? Anyone?”

“No one should have. I only… asked my wife to dispose of hers, after I told her I sold the property,” William frowned. It seemed it was only dawning on the careless man that his wife might have lied to him, curious as to the lack of official documentation from the sale, any shift in finances, given the major role in managing their company, according to Y/n.

“She wouldn’t… think I still use the property…” he mumbled the afterthought slowly with disbelief.

The more Ciel asked of William, the more of him and Natasha he understood. They fell in love because she transferred from a ballet school in Russia and starred in a company production of Sleeping Beauty. William was still learning how to run the company, one of the investments out of a larger corporation, but he fell in love with Natasha, the prima ballerina, at the time.

Natasha overworked herself in the role, causing a hip injury to end her professional career only a year into it. And that was two years ago. Now she was the company’s director—nothing like the inspired dancer she once was, William insisted.

He lost sight of his love for the young ingenue because the injury killed her. What was left was a completely different woman. Tired, bitter, frustrated from what she lost...only for her marriage to slowly decline the more she lost herself.

Opportunity, motive…was there a means? It was now of the utmost importance that Ciel found the answer to that question. No matter how Y/n would feel about his investigating Natasha, her mentor. Ciel trusted his instinct—the tugging in the pit of his stomach. The alarm that he felt.

How could he not have seen it sooner? He needed to leave. He needed to stop her before she left for her performance.

It took a frenzied carriage ride through the crowded London streets, but Sebastian’s demonic carriage driving managed to put Ciel in front of his manor just as Y/n was leaving for the opera house. He was always chasing after her, it seemed, but he didn’t care.

For her, he would. She would, for him. Or before he broke her heart, she might have. He was too late, in that regard, but he could stop her here and now.

“Y/n, stop, this is important!” Ciel stumbled out of his carriage, having stepped out of it before Sebastian could stop entirely. He had to intercept her.

The ballerina scoffed at the nerve of him, begging her to stop in her tracks and hear him out for the second instance in a row. At the same time, Ciel demanded that Finny keep Y/n’s carriage stationery for the moment through a brief look, causing his gardener’s superhuman grip to tighten on the horses’ reins. He gave Ciel a resolute nod, his jaw firm.

“What? Is this chasing a daily occurrence?” Y/n quipped bitterly, just as Ciel expected her to. “You have never cared to attend one of my performances before,” she accused, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her hand fell still on the carriage door’s handle, frowning at him.

“I have reason to suspect that Natasha is—“ he started gravely, pronouncing his words carefully. He knew what Y/n would say, but he could only prove this theory with her help. If Ciel was right, one misstep could make them the adversaries of one incredibly violent, envious, and dangerous criminal who played the role of a wistful, wise mentor. And played it well.

Immediately, Y/n’s face reddened, defensive. “Stop,” she insisted, her voice hoarse. She turned the handle on the carriage door, causing Ciel to reach out and grab it himself, his hand engulfing hers.

He needed her to approach this logically.

Y/n’s face jerked to look at him, her hand attempting to move with the same speed, but Ciel’s grip kept hers stagnant. She gave their hands a long, hard look.

“You have no idea what Natasha has done for so many of us, how little I would have without her. She would never do this to any of us,” Y/n’s voice wavered.

And what has she done for you? She allows men to abuse you. She encourages you to skip nourishment to maintain some shallow aesthetic. She hasn’t reported any of these missing cases to any of you—

“—She does not know about them!” Y/n interrupted, wide eyed, tears threatening to fall. He had said that out loud. “I would not have this opportunity without her. I have known her for years. You, I have known for? A month? You care about me as much as she does? At all?”

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n,” Ciel replied, trying to keep his voice measured, in spite of his pounding heart. He could feel his pulse racing.

“You do not.”

“I do.”

“Then you show it by dancing with another woman in front of me? By inviting her to your home where I live as a guest the night after we were intimate?” Y/n asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ciel’s stomach sank. That was what had caused her outburst at the party: Gwen had lied to her. He didn’t invite the duchess; the duchess had invited herself.

His crime was failing to properly refuse her at the gala. Ciel intended to send his regrets the following day by insisting he had an overseas meeting.

“I did not invite the duchess and her daughter. Gwen seems to have lied to you,” he said, the force behind his words extinguishing. “I realized… that… I don’t want my marriage to be a business venture. I don’t want Caroline to be my Countess—I’ve hardly ever spoken to her! I would want…” he let his next word hang in the air. It filled the few centimeters that separated them.

You.

“I need to leave now or I will be late,” Y/n’s free hand wiped away another tear that escaped her tired eyes. “This is my last Swan Lake performance, Ciel. Please.”

She didn’t believe him. And he didn’t blame her. He had warned her about himself a long time ago.

Every instinct in Ciel refused, but he released the hand that he held stagnant on the carriage door handle. “Fine. You may,” he sighed, exchanging the same look with Finny. Y/n opened the carriage and sat inside, closing the door in his face. Again.

“Sebastian, this is an order. You will protect her as you would myself. Now go. Stay out of sight unless the situation demands it.”

In the meantime, Ciel could escort himself to the performance. He had a chance. No way in hell would he let himself squander it.

The Same Evening

The Royal Opera House

For the entirety of his life, Ciel was a keen observer. He could see through a liar’s carefully constructed facade by a glance, the bravado and charismatic grace that Y/n enlisted to maintain her confidence. The Phantomhive empire was as prosperous as it was because of his ability to read and interpret those around him… and manipulate them accordingly.

Now, all of his expert focus fell on the prima ballerina, just as blazing and intense as the spotlight that illuminated her.

Until this point, Ciel avoided attending Y/n’s performances because they knew they were spellbinding. He was more than aware of her talents—even watching her mumble through her moves as she rehearsed was enchanting. He had pointedly refused to allow himself the indulgence necessary to freely watch the woman act in front of an audience, encapsulating a character through mood and movement when he had grown so accustomed to admiring her individualism.

Rather than tell her so, he’d only insinuated that he was too occupied to attend these performances, despite her frequent invitations. Selfishly, he used to prefer her subdued look of disappointment than run the risk of her noticing the way he fell for her. Without meaning to. In fact, while actively trying not to.

Her raw pain was clear as she depicted Odette grieving the prince’s betrayal, having fallen for Odile’s impersonation of her. It wasn’t unlike her face moments before she stepped in the carriage in order to fulfill this very performance, or even her expression in the studio, or in front of the museum the night before. She channeled her hurt into her work—just as he did. She evolved with each step, every twist, in spite of him. Because of everything he put her through.

The bouquet in his tightening grip crinkled, the decorative paper around it crumbling from the frustration he let out on it. Ciel could hardly hear it over the orchestra in the pit, the assortment of musicians and their quality instruments masterfully recreating Tchaikovsky. But that wasn’t the most impressive aspect of the show— that recognition belonged to Y/n entirely.

He had to correct this gnawing worry in his stomach. The feeling that he was, once again, on the brink of being too late.

The moment the curtain drew after the company’s final bows, Ciel sprang from his seat.

He wouldn’t be too late. At the very least, he owed Y/n that.

54 notes · View notes

fancyfeathers · 3 months ago

Note

Yandere Vincent Phantomhive would, objectively speaking, be worse than any of the Moriarty brothers, wouldn't he? Unlike them, he's actually legally sanctioned for murder, arson, and (controlling) crime, if it benefitted the crown. To the then monarch, his darling and her family falling into his hands might have been an acceptable compromise if it meant winning loyalty and dedicated service in a time of where the underworld was rampant.

Perhaps the next ruler might not think so. A man might be unsympathetic to the sufferings of women, but a female ruler might be horrified and think it not worth the price, especially if the Phantomhive Estate still burned down and Vincent (and perhaps, the older son Ciel) killed early.

But what if... it wasn't one of the twins, but the Darling that was the one that summoned the demon? At the end of her rope, her assaulter pressuring her to have another child, and her left alone as her family broke apart after members either left or were disppeared, for rebelling. But she summons the demon that would be called Sebastian, and feels a twinge of mockery at his resemblance his human vishe has of her tomentor when they make their contact.

Not sure where this would go. Maybe she packs up and flees the country or to the countryside. She raises her remaining son and eventually charges Sebastian to serve and protect him when he decides to take up the Phantomhive Estate. Or she could die soon after summoning him, but commands him to serve her son for his natural lifespan.

Poor Ciel has to see his fond image of his father&early childhood shatter into pieces as he reconnects with his remaining relations on both sides. In this case both Francis Midford (born Phantomhive) and Angelina Durless are disgusted with his late father. His mother's sister particularly loathes the guy in contrast to canon, considers his untimely death as good riddance, but assists Ciel out of love for her sister and worry that her remaining nephew might run into the same fate.

(Honestly, the latter idea is kinder than my first one where she lives longer but firmly remains uninvolved with the 'family business'. That one had Sebastian eventually going yandere for Darling which would be a new traumatizing for her.

He would never force her like her husband did, and rarely gets jealous, but that's only because he's already won in his perspective. Since in this plot bunny Darling made the contract, her soul is his. He only has to uphold his end of the bargain, and a human lifespan is barely anything to him.)

Fancy is the one who normally writes for Moriarty the Patriot but in my opinion Vincent is by far the worst mortal yanderes someone could have. Him as a yandere is like playing chess with no experience against a grandmaster, no matter what you try you are going to loose.

Like honestly I think Vincent would have prepared for any scenario, so the chances of escaping him are slim to none even in death. Vincent could maybe make a deal with the Undertaker in the case of his death to bring him back as a “perfected” Bizarre Doll like R!Ciel in the manga or perhaps he would go as far as to cut a deal with a demon before his darling does.

So even if his darling made a deal with Sebastian it would all be in vain because no matter how he survives he will be back to drag her down with him once again. Though I think it is more likely that O!Ciel is the one who makes the deal with Sebastian since I would kind of view the twins as platonic yanderes for their mother, getting their father’s tendencies. O!Ciel having Sebastian look after his mother since she is supposed to be a grieving widow, and it irritates O!Ciel when she does not act like that given how his father and her husband just died. But soon enough Vincent would return as I said before, if that is alive or somewhat alive, he is not going anywhere any time soon.

#kitty’s thoughts #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere black butler #yandere vincent phantomhive #vincent phantomhive x reader

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psych3-delic · 5 months ago

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I adore your Phantomhive family au <3 to the point that while making a scrapbook I had the thought of Sebastian and Ciel taking Charlotte to the Phantomhive manor years after leaving and then coming back to England. Maybe it’s a historical museum now and take a tour or go in after hours. They take their daughter back to her childhood home and show her around while also mocking any information on the house that’s absolutely incorrect.

Also I’d love to hear what they actually do with the manor in your au.

Hope you don’t mind this, but it made me smile and I felt like I should share.

Ahhhhh sorry for the late reply. I had been sick for 2 weeks and my grandma died lol (here’s a Charlotte WIP for you 😘)

I think the Phantomhives in general go around the world and mocks misinformation in museums/books as a hobby. Sebastian and Ciel started it; and then Charlotte just kinda joined in. They’ve all lived so long.

Ciel would start picking up several languages as well. He enjoys translating literary works and does it in his free time to keep his mind from being idle. He also watched every adaptation of Sherlock Holmes on TV and in Cinema as soon as they came out, but he’s rather ruthless in his critique. (His favorite iteration is the Granada version, ofc!)

As for the estate, it remains under the Phantomhive’s ownership still. Some forged paper here and there passing it down to imaginary descendants to keep it in the family; but it is never lived in. Rumor has it that the mansion is haunted. Despite never seen lit from the inside, the place remains in pristine condition. The grass is trimmed and watered. Flowers bloom. Some teenagers attempted to vandalize the place all came back scared, feverish and uttering nonsenses. Local knows better to meddle with it. Occasionally, ghost hunters broke into the premise for some viral footage; all of their equipment somehow malfunctioned. Those who were brave enough to spend the night talks of seeing a man in butler outfit holding a lit candelabra politely asking them to leave, only to wakes up finding all their luggage packed and themselves halfway through the main entrance. In the end, they all settled to admire the Phantomhive’s seat from afar…

…Until a fortnight ago. On one stormy night, neighboring houses reported seeing light shining through the Phantomhive’s windows; and not just from a few rooms like someone was trespassing, no. The whole place lit up in all its glory like the palatial structure that it was in its prime. And look! Smoke rising from the chimney, welcoming its beloved Lord or Lady’s return.

Another fortnight went by before the rumors made it round around the small town: The Phantomhive’s manor residents consisted of a Child, a Black-clad man, and a fine young lady.

#charlotte phantomhive #SebaCiel #au #family au #ciel phantomhive #Sebastian Michaelis #Sebasciel #o!Ciel #ask #anon

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anonymousewrites · 1 year ago

Text

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Eight

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Eight: One Hell of a Dog

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian arrive in a town obsessed with dogs and meet a strange woman.

“A trip?” asked Sebastian and (Y/N). “In this season?”

Ciel sipped his tea. “Sebastian, (Y/N), do you know of the pastime called ‘bear baiting?’ ”

“Of course,” said Sebastian. “The phrase has a most fun and pleasant ring to it. The truth, however, is far different. The bears are tied up, whipped, and have packs of wild dogs set upon them until, finally, they are killed. That is so incredibly like humans.”

“Strange pastime,” said (Y/N).

“It was banned under the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835,” said Ciel. “However, a loophole remained. If the bullying dogs were not goaded, what would happen?”

(Y/N) considered. “It would become a case of one animal baiting another.”

“There is a village where they do that,” said Ciel. “Houndsworth. It’s famous for raising hunting dogs. However, beneath that, it has another side. Dogfighting and abuse of animals. This wrenches at Her Majesty’s heart, therefore we are to investigate this village under the pretext of making it her resort. That is the true goal of this trip.”

“A village of dogs?” (Y/N)’s nose twitched in distaste.

“Hm.” Sebastian wasn’t a fan, either.

“What is it?” asked Ciel.

“It was just that I had believed securing a resort location was somewhat beneath you, Young Master,” said Sebastian.

“There is a reason, a reason why, I, the Queen’s Guard Dog, must be the one to go to this Houndsworth village,” said Ciel. “People are going missing and dying under strange circumstances.”

“Resort! Resort! We’re on cloud nine!” cheered Finny, Mey-Rin, and Baldroy as their cart-like carriage carried them through the countryside behind (Y/N), Sebastian, and Ciel. “Resort! Resort!

(Y/N) smiled. The poor things had no idea there was no resort yet, so really they were just being dragged on to deal with whatever issues were stopping Her Majesty from creating a proper resort.

“They really are in high spirits, are they not?” said Sebastian, smiling with the same mischief beside (Y/N). “It seems they are thanking you, kind Young Master.”

“It would be problematic if we left them behind at the mansion and they ended up destroying it,” remarked Ciel.

“Indeed,” said Sebastian.

“It is a possibility,” agreed (Y/N).

They passed a wooden sign saying “Welcome to Houndsworth.” A dog collar hung from it as a raven cawed.

“This is the village entrance,” said Sebastian.

The rest of the servants looked up eagerly. Instead of a resort, however, they were met with dead trees with dozens of dog collars hanging from spindly branches. Dog skulls scattered the earth beneath the bare trees.

They screamed.

“I forgot to mention it, but this is the planned construction site for the resort,” said Ciel calmly.

“Young Master…” Tears ran down Finny, Baldroy, and Mey-Rin’s cheeks. Tanaka calmly drank his tea.

Finny brightened as they saw another person. “Yay! First villager spotted! Tanaka, stop for a moment.” The carriage paused, and Finny jumped out to help the old lady with her stroller. “I’ll help you, Miss.”

“Y-You shouldn’t do that, Finny!” said Mey-Rin. “If you’re not careful, the baby inside will be hu—!” Her eyes widened as she and the rest of the servants saw inside the stroller. It was just a dog skull wrapped in cloth.

“You know, this little one was eaten by that,” said the old woman. The servants walked her in shock as she pushed her stroller away. “The white dog is a good dog, good dog. The black dog is a bad dog, bad dog.”

“Eaten?” stammered the Phantomhive servants.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. There really was something strange going on here.

“I’ve heard there are quite a few people in this village who were murdered or are missing,” remarked Ciel. “The population of the village has decreased by a third in the last ten years. Investigating and resolving this situation is one of the jobs I was given.”

“It’ll eat you down to the bone,” murmured the old lady as she disappeared into the fog.

The carriages continued on until they came upon a large, blue lake and a village sitting beside it.

“Now, that’s a bit more like it,” said Baldroy eagerly.

However, the actual village was dismal and grey just like the rest of the landscape. Angry dogs barked from cages. The only happy dog was being trained by a young man.

“Bending their wills via a carrot and stick approach instills obedience in them,” observed Sebastian, smirking. “Such a wonderful scene, is it not? However, the dogs themselves are also to blame. Doing everything they can to court humans and gladly accepting a collar around their neck…It is a completely unfathomable concept to me.”

(Y/N) nodded emphatically. They much preferred the independence of cats as compared to the domesticity of dogs, especially when it came to obedience to humans.

“If you have something to say, say it,” said Ciel.

“Well, then, heeding my words, I shall,” said Sebastian. “While I am quite the cat person, I do not like dogs. Actually…” He smiled. “I detest them.”

(Y/N) sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would prefer dogs to cats.” They flashed a smirk. “We’re far superior.”

A grin curled over Sebastian’s lips. He certainly agreed.

“Woof!” replied Ciel.

(Y/N) rolled their eyes as the carriages finally came to a halt before a mansion. A maid with white hair in a purple dress and crisp white apron waited for them at the entrance.

“Would you be the Phantomhive party?” she asked with a soft smile on her face. She bowed. “Welcome to Barrymore Castle. The Master is awaiting your arrival.”

Everything about her spoke of innocence and humility, but something in the way she looked over the group had (Y/N)’s canines sharpening. Inhuman. Beside them, Sebastian’s eyes remained cold and unflinching at the maid’s civility.

“I shall take you to the Master,” said the maid, gesturing for Ciel and his servants to follow. (Y/N) and Sebastian remained close behind Ciel as they walked inside. “This way, please.”

Inside a small parlor, bear, hog, and deer heads from hunting expeditions lined the walls. Before they could make a comment, a whip snapped behind them. They turned to find a burly man whipping the maid as she cowered on the ground.

“What’s with this little chihuahua?! I told you to welcome the Queen’s envoy!” cried the man, undoubtedly Lord Barrymore.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed at Barrymore’s abuse. Yes, something was inhuman about his maid, but Barrymore��s actions suggested he did this regularly. If there was one thing (Y/N) despised about humans more anything else, it was those who took advantage of the powerless.

“Angela, are you not even capable of something as simple as that?!” demanded Barrymore. Angela cried out as each strike hit her.

“Sebasti—” before Ciel could even finish ordered Sebastian to stop the abuse, (Y/N)’s gloved hand grabbed Barrymore’s wrist.

Angela looked up in surprise, and Barrymore glared at them as they smoothly pulled the whip from his hands.

“What are you doing, you husky?!” cried Barrymore in an outrage. “Are you trying to bite back at me?”

(Y/N) gritted their teeth about being called a dog and instead gripped the whip tighter in an effort to not use it on him.

“I ordered it to be stopped,” said Ciel, stepping in before there was an incident. He smirked. “I’m assuming the letter was delivered. I am Ciel Phantomhive.”

“Are you saying this little toy poodle is the Queen’s envoy?” questioned Barrymore.

“Are smaller dogs not acceptable to you, Lord Henry?” remarked Ciel.

Barrymore tsked before letting go of his whip and sitting at his desk across from Ciel. The young earl set down the papers from the Queen and allowed Barrymore to read them. Behind the nobles, (Y/N), Sebastian, and Angela prepared tea.

Angela’s hands shook from her injuries as she tried to lift the teacups, but (Y/N) took them from her. They seemed polite, but really (Y/N) just didn’t want her to fix anything since something was untrustworthy.

“This isn’t even worth discussing,” said Barrymore, crossing his arms. “No matter what you propose, I am not willing to sell.”

“State your reason,” said Ciel.

“The curse,” said Barrymore.

“The curse?” asked Ciel.

“In this village, where man and dog have lived together since antiquity, there is a curse against those who would try to get their paws on it,” said Barrymore. “A fearsome hex. Even if it were the Queen herself, that would not change. A terrible fate will befall anyone who tries to go against the Barrymore family in this village.”

“Oh? How interesting,” said Ciel.

“What?” demanded Barrymore.

“In that case, I shall remain here as long as it takes to witness this terrible fate firsthand,” said Ciel, smirking.

Barrymore and Angela looked at him in surprise.

“Enter,” said Sebastian as he and (Y/N) finished putting away Ciel’s clothes for their stay.

Angela opened the door, her head bowed. “I am sorry to disturb you so late at night,” she said.

“The Young Master was just preparing to sleep,” remarked Sebastian.

“I-I have a request,” said Angela demurely. “Please withdraw from this village. You must not stay here!”

“Why?” questioned Ciel, unconcerned.

“That is…!” A howl echoed across the countryside, and Angela gasped. “No! It’s come! The Demon Hound has…!” She cried out.

On the curtains covering the windows, the silhouette of a large dog head appeared. Ciel jerked to his feet.

“Sebastian!” shouted Ciel.

Sebastian threw the curtains open to reveal nothing behind them.

“What was that?” murmured (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

“Look,” said Sebastian.

Ciel and (Y/N) peered outside with him. Glowing pawprints illuminated the path away from the mansion. In the distance, a glowing dog was bounding away into the mist. (Y/N) and Sebastian glanced at each other and then headed outside to investigate.

“Young Master! Miss Angela!” cried the other Phantomhive servants, running outside.

“Just what is all this ruckus about?” asked Baldroy.

“The Demon Hound appeared,” said Angela.

“The Demon Hound?”

“The one that will bring disaster to the village,” said Angela mournfully. “Those who have disobeyed their master will be punished by the Demon Hound. That is one of the laws of this village.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. A Demon Hound that punished those who were disobedient? They didn’t like dogs, but at least this could prove interesting.

“Miss Angela,” said a villager as a group of them appeared at the edge of the estate. “Please inform Lord Barrymore that the Demon Hound has appeared.”

“Who was punished?” asked Angela.

The villagers grimly placed a body down on the ground. It was the dog trainer the Phantomhive household had passed entering the village. Bite marks shredded his clothes and skin.

“How cruel…” murmured Finny.

Ciel knelt to examine the body. “I see.”

“Don’t touch him!” shouted the angry voice of Barrymore. He looked down at the body. “So, the bad dog was James…”

“Yes. He broke the rule of having five dogs per person,” said a villager. “It seems he was keeping a sixth.”

Too many dogs is having any at all, thought (Y/N) in distaste.

“I see,” said Barrymore. “Then, I suppose there was no helping it.”

“No helping it? What?” questioned Baldroy.

“This village has rules set down by myself,” declared Barrymore. “Those who break the rules will be punished by the Demon Hound that serves the Barrymore family!”

I doubt a man such as you has tamed a demon, dog or no, thought (Y/N).

“As the cat meows, the white dog is a good dog, good dog. The black dog is a bad dog, bad dog,” chanted the villagers. “As the cat meows, the day falls.” They picked up the body and departed once more, their words never faltering.

“I was sure that it would be an outsider who fell prey, but it seems you were spared,” said Barrymore. He turned with Angela and followed after the townspeople.

(Y/N) and Sebastian made eye contact. It would do well to end this ordeal sooner rather than later.

(Y/N) watched Baldroy, Finny, and Mey-Rin run about in the lake Houndsworth bordered. They remained safely out of the water beside Sebastian and Ciel.

“Are you not interested in swimming, (Y/N)?” teased Sebastian with a knowing smirk.

(Y/N) folded their arms. “You know perfectly well I don’t.”

Sebastian smirked in fond amusement. “Are you not going to swim, Young Master?” asked Sebastian. Ciel ignored him and flipped to another page of business happenings. However, the demons could detect something else. Sebastian smirked. “I see. Of course, you are unable to—”

Ciel interrupted him. “If you are still able to swim here in this season, it may yet have some merit as a resort.”

“Are you still considering this place as a resort?” asked (Y/N).

“Of course,” said Ciel.

“What of the Demon Hound?” asked Sebastian.

“You’ve noticed as well, right?” remarked Ciel. “The truth behind that ‘Demon Hound?’ ”

(Y/N) nodded beside Sebastian. However, there still felt like something inhuman lay about the Houndsworth village.

“Find me the proof of what I suspect,” ordered Ciel.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Sebastian. “Immediately.”

“You’re quite eager,” commented Ciel. “Don’t you hate dogs?”

“Of course,” said (Y/N).

“That is why I want to get this over with as quickly as possible,” said Sebastian. He and (Y/N) began walking away, and his gaze darkened. “Before it degenerates into the worst possible situation.”

“You sense it, too,” said (Y/N), glancing at Sebastian. “The…inhuman air around this village.” They bared their teeth. “It makes my skin crawl.”

“Yes,” agreed Sebastian. His gaze was dark. “Something rotted is in this town.”

“So, we have everything?” confirmed (Y/N).

Sebastian nodded. “And just in time. It seems my Young Master has gotten himself into a spot of trouble once again.”

“He has quite the penchant for it,” remarked (Y/N). “What is it this time?”

Sebastian tsked. “Dogs.”

(Y/N)’s nose twitched.

“Then, know what happens to those who disobey me!” cried Barrymore. “Do it!” The dogs he commanded barked and ran towards the restrained Ciel.

The barks turned to whimpers as Sebastian and (Y/N) landed between them and Ciel and sent the dogs flying away.

“You’re late,” said Ciel.

“Please forgive me, my Lord,” said Sebastian casually.

“Are you trying to get in my way, you Doberman?!” demanded Barrymore. He glared at his dogs. “What are you doing? Go and bite them all to death!” The dogs barked ferociously.

(Y/N)’s nose twitched in annoyance. “I always detested that sound.” Their eyes flashed fuchsia, and the dogs whimpered and cowered. (Y/N) smiled in satisfaction.

Sebastian smirked at Barrymore’s astounded face as he dogs lay down.

“Wh-What?” cried Barrymore.

“The farce ends here, Barrymore,” said Ciel. “Listen, you village mongrels. The only thing here is an old man who was bitten by the delusion of authority.”

“Wh-What proof do you have?” asked Barrymore.

“This,” said Sebastian, holding up a dog skull. “It was in the basement of the mansion. The shape of the teeth matches the marks on James.”

“Observe the sky,” said (Y/N), gesturing up. The townspeople gasped as they saw the silhouette of a hound stretched across the clouds. “This is the truth behind Barrymore’s Demon Hound. The shadow of the Demon Hound is just a projection.”

“The shining dog in the night was pure phosphorous,” said Sebastian. “He just poured the powder on an ordinary dog.” He poured out a vial of phosphorous.

“The Demon Hound was an illusion choreographed by one person,” said Ciel. “And that person was you, Henry Barrymore.”

“Where’s the proof that I did that?!” demanded Barrymore.

(Y/N) knelt beside the sixth dog of James that had been tortured by Barrymore. They held out a hand. “Release it. You did your job.” The dog opened its mouth and allowed (Y/N) to pull a scrap of fabric away. “Here’s the proof.”

“Th-That’s!” stammered Barrymore.

“Correct,” said Sebastian coldly. “While trying to protect James, it bit your leg and this tore off. It is a piece of your trousers.”

Barrymore turned to run, but the villagers closed in around him, angry at his manipulation. And he wasn’t going to get away.

(Y/N) rather hoped he’d die, but this would do.

A scream pierced the night air, and (Y/N) turned in interest. They followed their fellow servants down to the cells of the mansion, and their eyebrow rose.

Barrymore lay in pieces, blood strewn across the floor.

(Y/N) had to say, although this meant there was a filthy Demon Hound around, they had never been so proud of a dog.

Taglist:

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@im-making-an-effort

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@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

#one hell of a love #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #demon reader #demon!reader #sebastian x demon!reader #sebastian x reader #black butler sebastian #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #black butler x reader #black butler fic #black butler ciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader

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phxntomhives · 6 months ago

Text

I'm resurrecting from the dead

Did you get the joke? No? Ok

Small analysis of this pic

But I'd like to remind you I am no expert on the topic, it's just my 2 cent lol

End of S4 spoilers + manga spoilers under the cut

I am quite confident this is dedicated to the midnight tea party of the anime right now. His identity has been revealed so what better way to celebrate than such a wonderful art?

The first thing I personally noted is the pose. Our dear yandere pose (I got Yuno war fleshbacks ngl) The smile, the hands, that eye. He has the full pack. We can all agree he goes a little insane when we talk about the Phantomhive... but yandere? I wouldn't say so (at least not yet, tho he may be on the correct road to become it). I guess he is dancing on the line between sanity and insanity and this is just the result of it.

Someone already said the liquid that is falling is tea. But I am also very much reminded of blood when looking at that color (and knowing his story, it also fits). Thought it may be just me. I would also like to point out how the tea is not just spilling over from the teapots, they are breaking. And Undertaker is just staring at the scene with insanity.

I am also going insane about all the hands: there is a right hand holding the sugar bowl. Then there is another right hand, holding a teacup which is also crumbling down. But that teacup is being "filled" of tea, that is dropping from above. Then there is also a left hand on the top, holding the teapot's handle (that is now detached from the main body). And there is a fourth hand, holding the dessert. So, here is my idea: the three hands that are holding the tea set represent 3 of the prefects: if I were to take a guess from here I would say that the broken teapot could be Herman Greenhill (the most broken one since he likely feels worst about the situation since he technically started everything). Then the sugar bowl could be Lawrence Bluewer: it is just being destroyed and has no power in the situation. The broken teacup is Edgar Redmond: he tried to hold it together but in the end he still lost control over the situation. Let me first go to the dessert now, I'll go to the other hand in a second.

The dessert. Listen, I am no expert in those but I know a strawberry when I see one. And I believe that is very much R!Ciel's favourite snack a strawberry cake. So listen, if we can discuss that the hand holding the teacup could be X or Y, here I am quite confident it is just R!Ciel. Not to mention that Undertaker is technically staring at him with the yandere look so it would make sense: he would be staring a Phantomhive AND an almost perfect Bizzare Doll he has created. I would go yandere too ngl. The dessert is being "watered" by the tea, which if I am correct and it does also symbolize blood, it could represent the idea/the begin of the blood transfution to keep R!Ciel alive. AND the dessert is being held by the last hand. Who were we missing of the P4 again? Violet. And who has casually the same blood type of R!Ciel? Violet. So I think this is him.

One last thing I noticed of the hands is that three of them are "in the dark" (both at the top and left one at the bottom: Lawrence, Greenhill and Redmond), while the one in the bottom right (Violet) is a little more illuminated than the others. Does this confirm/imply that Violet does already know a little more than the others? I'll let you make a decision I feel it may be just the light and I am becoming paranoid.

I absolutely LOVE how the background is the midnight flower glowing. It gives such a nice contrast in the picture. It also helps in making undertaker look even more ominous lolol. It's so bright and maybe it stands for everything pure you can think of. But Undertaker has turned his back to that light and is just enjoying the chaos. I am trying to find more stuff about the flower and its meaning let's see if I find something eheh

That is all thanks for bearing with me lol.

On a side note: did he always had that ring "tattoo" on his pinky? I am blind ✨✨

(I may check later for grammar mistaker I am tired now)

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #black butler season 4 #ciel phantomhive #undertaker #kuroshitsuji theory #kuroshitsuji analysis

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valentinesdaydate98 · 6 months ago

Text

The Phantomhive Butler Three

Word count: 1.7k

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

She knew this was all a game, a losing game. However, despite everything, she loved Sebastian. What a cruel punishment. She should be relieved. Once Sebastian and Ciel fulfill their contract, the demon will leave. Her heart cracking, though it's not broken. In the short time spent together, they became friendly with each other. Friends turned into a complex relationship. A relationship with kisses and affection without being intimate. A relationship without love. The demon with his human companion. The predator with his prey.

It was a cloudy afternoon, which meant it was time for Charlotte’s afternoon tea at Ciel’s garden. What she didn’t realize was that Ciel wasn’t feeling well until Sebastian informed her before she got out of her carriage. In a panic, she rushed towards his room to take care of Ciel.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Charlotte,” Ciel said before he started a coughing fit.“Sebastian has been taking care of me. I apologize for not informing you in advance about my illness. If you want, you may spend your afternoon tea with Sebastian instead,” Ciel said as his dry voice became more pronounced.

His room was spotless before Charlotte barged in with her bag full of medical supplies she had on her carriage. On Ciel’s night table were her first aid kit, Ciel’s asthma medication, an ice pack, and much more that cluttered his table. There was also clutter on his bed. She laid an extra blanket on the edge of the bed. A stethoscope, an inhaler, and a small bell for him to ring for help.

“I understand, Ciel, but you shouldn’t. Sebastian is busy with his chores and all. I don’t want to be a burden to both of you,” Charlotte said as she laid a wet, cold washcloth on his forehead. She sighs out loud. “He didn’t even bother to change this washcloth. You were burning up.”

“I insist. You traveled all this way to visit me. Besides, I’m sure he won’t mind. He seems quite fond of you.” Ciel said.

“Fond of me?”

Ciel replied, “I was surprised as well.”

“And when you say he is fond of me, what do you mean by that?” Charlotte asked.

“What do I mean? He seems to tolerate you. Granted, you’re a more competent person to help around. Though, you overdo it,” Ciel explained before he paused. “Why are you interested in knowing his opinion about you?” Ciel asked.

Charlotte panicked inside. Ciel suspected her relationship with Sebastian for a while now. If Ciel were to find out…

“I know Sebastian is fond of you, and you’re fond of him. I don’t understand why you tried hiding when you knew I would find out eventually,” Ciel interrupted before he sighed out loud. “However, that’s beside the point,” he tried speaking before having another coughing fit.

Charlotte laid him down on his bed as Ciel gently grabbed her wrist. Despite his illness, her eyes widened at his tight grip.

“Charlotte, I want you to listen to me. Listen good. Don’t get close to Sebastian. Don’t be friendly with him, don’t be affectionate with him, don’t do anything with him. I understand you’re being nice to him for my sake, but don’t do anything beyond being polite to him. He has no interest in you beyond consuming your soul. Besides, once I fulfill our contract, Sebastian will leave. He will not love you, he never will. Promise me you won’t become intimate with him,” Ciel said with a scowl.

Charlotte stayed quiet before she reluctantly responded. “I promise, Ciel.” She said with a fake smile on her face. “Besides, I’m not interested in mingling with demons,”

Ciel hums before he closes his eyes. “Enjoy your afternoon, Charlotte.”

“Feel better soon, Ciel.”

And with that out of the way, he was fast asleep.

Time skip

Charlotte felt bored. As she sat on her chair and looked around Ciel’s garden, she couldn’t help but want to sleep. She couldn’t speak with the other servants, as they were busy with their chores, and didn’t want to be a burden on them. Nothing to do but drink and nibble on her biscuits. She stared at her empty tea cup until she felt goosebumps in her body and a scowl appeared on her face. Only one person has that effect on her.

“Already finished, my ladyship? Are you perhaps dehydrated?” Sebastian asked.

“Why can’t you open the door like a normal person?” She asked with an annoyed expression.

“I suppose I should, but I don’t see the point since you know my secret. Is something troubling you, my lady? You’ve been quiet for a while now. If this is about Ciel’s health, I assure you he will live through.” Sebastian said.

“No, it’s not that. Well, that’s part of what’s troubling me, but not the whole reason.” Charlotte said before she let out a huge sigh. “There’s been something plaguing my mind and I need to get it out of my system.”

“I’m listening, my ladyship. Although, I do advise you to make it quick. I am quite busy today.” Sebastian said as he sat across from the table.

Charlotte gets up from her chair and walks towards him. She embraced him as her tears landed on his tailcoat.

“My lady? What’s the matter?” Sebastian asked as he caressed her hair.

“Why? Why does it have to be you?” Charlotte asked with a cracked voice.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?” Sebastian asked.

“Why is it that whenever you speak to me, your voice replaces the one of the Lord? That your mere presence makes my heart flutter? And that your touch makes me feel more calm. I’m supposed to be revolted by your existence. I should despise you.” Charlotte cried louder as she buckled her knees and laid her head on his lap. “But with you, it’s the complete opposite. You’ve stolen my heart, Sebastian. I hate you for that.”

Sebastian took a step back from her confession but couldn’t help but smirk. “My ladyship, please sit back down. I’m sure your knees are hurting right now. Besides, no gentleman wants to respond to a confession when the lady is full of tears and snot.” With the gentle touch of his fingertips wiping her tears, she sits on her chair.

“My lady, I appreciate your honesty and your bravery. Now that you confessed, what do you intend to do with your feelings?” Sebastian asked.

“I understand that you don’t feel the same, Sebastian. I do. However, I am aware that once you fulfill your contract with Ciel, you will leave. Am I right?” She asked as she tugged her clothing.

“That is correct.” He responded.

“With that information, all I ask for you to stay.” She said.

Sebastian chuckled at her silly suggestion. “And how do you intend to make me stay, my lady? I’m quite sure a leach won’t be enough to trap me with you.”

“Let’s form a contract, Sebastian.” Charlotte declared.

“My lady, I don’t believe you understand how serious of a situation this is. You should…”

“I understand what I am saying, Sebastian.” Charlotte interrupted him. “A fruitful life is being in your arms, and if I am a fool to desire that, then let me be your fool to toy with. I’ll keep you in my heart and mind until you consume my soul. I will remain faithful to you. No other man will come between us. By the time I die, you may have my soul. No one has made me feel this way before. I don’t care about the consequences, Sebastian,” Charlotte declared. “So, please, let’s make a contract. I don’t want to be away from you. Never.” She said as she extended her arm to him.

Sebastian smiled before he shook her hand. “Certainly, my dear. I must inform you, however, you won’t get into heaven after this and…”

“I am well aware, Sebastian,” Charlotte interrupted. “Like I said, I don’t care. May the devil’s hand strike me down and caress me so. Fulfill my desires, Sebastian. Don’t leave me,” Charlotte ordered him.

Sebastian, ecstatic with her response, extended his hand for Charlotte to hold.

“Very well, my ladyship, we shall shake hands and I will brand you as mine, and I shall be yours. I shall serve you, as well. I will protect you from any danger, I will be an affectionate being, and I will heal you from sickness. Anything my ladyship wants, she will receive,” Sebastian declared their contract.

With that, they made the contract official with the burning, stinging sensation of Charlotte’s skin in her hand. She hisses throughout the process until she sighs in relief once she survived this torturous moment. She pauses for a moment before taking a glimpse at her mark. Their Faustian contract symbol imprinted onto her skin glows a soft purple light.

“Now, my dear, give me an order,” Sebastian said.

Charlotte stared at her mark and later into Sebastian’s eyes. “Sebastian,” she spoke in a soft tone. “Clean up the mess.” She said with an angry tone as she showed her bloody hand. “You should’ve warned me ahead of time about the pain? So much for a gentleman, so much for a butler.”

Sebastian smirked before placing his hand on his heart and bows. “My apologies, my dear. It slipped out of my mind.”

“Hmph.” She glared at him. “Well? What are you waiting for? For me to bleed out? Take care of the injury you caused. That’s an order, Sebastian,” Charlotte demanded as her mark glowed.

“Yes, my ladyship, I shall take care of you,” Sebastian said. However, before he walked away from her room, he felt Charlottes tugging on his tailcoat. “My lady? Is something bothering you?” he asked.

Charlotte stayed quiet as her cheeks flushed red. “Can we make this more affectionate?” she asked. Though her question was vague, Sebastian knew what she was asking. He laughed, which humiliated Charlotte. She felt like a child asking their family to take care of them after a nightmare.

“My dear, I should teach you more manners. It’s quite a nuisance to have other people guess what you’re asking. However, just this once…” He leaned in and kissed her lips. He trapped her. It’s only a matter of time before he will consume her being.

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