#ciel the last autumn story

[uselesslilium]

[ducktheverb]

"I was being selfish and that's why Larri left."

All my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I catch fire then I'll change my aim Throw my troubles at the world again It goes, all my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I'll take my turn To burn and burn and burn

Mother Mother - Burning Pile

[cobaltsunflower]

*sigh deeply* perhaps for a short moment they could have had sth good

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter VII: To Be A Prima Ballerina (Act II)...

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: Hi! I don't know what happened. I sat down thinking I'd add a scene and chill for the night...but I just let everything flow. So now it's done! Please let me know how you feel about this chapter! I'm incredibly proud of it.

Just a quick note before you read: Maman is French for Mom. There is also some explicit content in this chapter! Please make sure to double check the warnings above!

Happy Reading!!

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

Early November, 1895

Ciel’s Bedroom

“I’ve needed this,” Ciel mumbled in your ear, planting another impassioned kiss on your lips, caging you in against his bedroom door. “Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre,” he said, insinuating that he had a similar lustful desire to yours, his fingers laced in your hair, tenderly keeping your head in place as he kissed you. 

Goosebumps speckled your arms, equal parts from the late autumn night and the innate sensuality that came with Ciel purring your first language into your ear. While French used to drag you back to the pain that your birth country carried, now it was an inside joke between lovers... 

The Next Morning

You woke before Ciel did, peering at the sunlight that streamed in through the drapes. In your sleep, your naked bodies were tangled with one another, giving you more than a sufficient reminder of last night’s…celebration.

Not that you would ever admit it to the shrewd man, but it was the experience you had with a man until that point in your life. Ciel didn’t treat you like a plaything who was there to enrich his experience; he spoiled you— delightfully so. You had a constellation made of contusions sucked into your skin to prove it, some running down your breasts, your back, and even your backside. Ciel impressed you— especially for a man who told you to cover more skin upon your first meeting. He was too flustered to speak to you candidly at the time.

Ciel broke the kiss to start unbuttoning your nightshirt, waiting for your approval before truly continuing. You nodded your consent, more than confident in your body, and more importantly, more than willing to proceed with Ciel. The chemistry residing between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The Earl sighed, enraptured with the look of your bare breasts on display. His thumb caressed one of your nipples as he returned his attention back to your lips.

Now, Ciel was asleep next to you, his chest rising and falling. From the way the side of your head lay on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat. A glance upwards told you his regal features were relaxed— seldom for a man who tended to sneer and scowl. You felt his idle hand rest on your lower back, keeping your body close to his, even in slumber.

Your fingertips traced up his sternum, between his firm pecs and above his loosely etched abdominal muscles. He was a noble— his body wasn’t trained to be durable, and yet, it was strong and lean under your touch. Just as it performed last night.

You felt his biceps flex as he picked you up once more, only to dispense you on his bed. He pulled your drawers down and spread your legs, unwilling to allow you to focus on his pleasure. He kneeled on the ground, leveling his face with your core.

It was the first time a man’s desire to plunge you into euphoria outweighed his need for you to pleasure him.

“Ciel!” you gasped at the shock of his lips lapping at your slickness. You were wet with tipsy anticipation and desire, surprised that a nobleman of his stature was willing to be so crude in his ministrations. His tongue lapped between your folds, the tip gently stopping at your clit to lick at it slowly. Your fingers wove into his raven hair as if you needed to encourage him further.

The amusement in your voice was palpable as you coaxed the Earl out of his sleep. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper so it only took your ascending touch up his chest to rouse him. His left eye fluttered open, the right remaining closed by instinct, you imagined.

“Good morning,” you flashed a knowing smile as he rubbed at his eye, yawning to shake off the rest of his drowsiness. If you didn’t have a strict morning regime to tend to in moments, you might have opted to retreat under the sheets and wake him a different way.  

“Y/n,” Ciel mumbled, hesitating to say more. He squinted at you, equal parts confusion and surprise. He looked at your hand, realizing that one of his own sat squarely on your ass. As if your skin was burning, he moved his hand.

“What…. Wait. We…?” The Earl started to ask, his eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty. He knew the answer. He didn’t like it. 

Your stomach sank.

You knew this expression. Mild regret, disbelief— all of your patrons regarded you similarly after sleeping with you. It was always at the moment they remembered their real lives. Their responsibilities. Their wives. Their statures. 

You were a fantasy, drawn out in the dead of night under the sweet influence of wine. They preyed on your beauty and your charm only to retreat after realizing that their greed cost them. And yet, they still returned. Night, after night, after night.

Ciel was supposed to be different.  

Even after playing a pivotal role in solving the case, you were a temporary celebration. A reward. A trophy. He didn’t want you beyond the night, and now that the case was solved, he was musing the best way to rid himself of you. After all, your courtship was merely an investigative ploy. A strategy. 

There was simply no evolving. No change. Conditional desire.

“Yes,” you answered, your smile melting. “We did. You remember,” you declared. He didn’t drink enough to forget. You knew he didn’t. Your wine bottle sat a little less than half full on the table to your side. 

“I do,” he confirmed. There was a beat of silence.

Observing your growing hurt, he cleared his throat and spoke again, “I… enjoyed last night.” It was an ironic sentiment, given that he was in the midst of sitting up and ensuring the bed sheets covered his waist and down. He was creating distance between you, purposeful and methodical. 

Why?

As Ciel’s hips sunk into yours, he pressed a long kiss against your lips. “Vous êtes une tentatrice. Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre. J'ai besoin de toi. Maintenant,” he experimented by thrusting his hips, forcing you to gasp.

“As did I,” you replied cautiously. “Though do you—” love me? wish for this to happen again? want to legitimize our courtship?

“— We should discuss how we mean to proceed with the public,” Ciel interrupted, “I think allowing our courtship to slowly burn out over the next month should suffice.”

You felt no different than him slapping you across the face. You winced.“What do you mean?”

“If we sever our public relationship immediately after William’s arrest, it would be suspicious,” Ciel explained, rolling his shoulders back in a morning stretch. He pulled the bedsheet around his waist as he stood.

“Sever our public relationship?” You repeated as if you didn’t understand his English. 

“Certainly. I don’t mean to inconvenience you further, and naturally, I must resume my search for a Countess… as fruitless as it may be,” Ciel explained, blind to your hurt.

Resume his search?

You couldn’t help but recall Ciel’s words to Alexander Huntington: “That is quite enough,” he replied, as cold as a glacier. “You will not speak of her in such a manner. She may very well be the next Countess of Phantomhive.”

You also recalled Alexander’s response; it seemed to grow truer by the second: “Just because you’ve dressed her pretty, doesn’t mean she’s worth anything more than a common prostitute.”

You used a blanket for your modesty as you stepped out of the bed. You couldn’t be a countess. You were a commoner from France who grew up in a ballet school because you were an illegitimate love child between a maid and a duke. Maman did her best to raise you and your father had no desire to associate himself with you. 

You were an embarrassment to Ciel, too. 

You were not a Countess. You danced on a stage and entertained men in order to feed and house yourself. There was no value in you beyond celebration.

“For your assistance with this case, you will always have Phantomhive support. You’ve brought my attention to a foul practice within the theater industry. I will ensure Her Majesty abolishes it, and if there is ever anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Ciel affirmed. It was a kind offer. A fair one, even. He was severing your only social protection from seeing selfish patrons nightly but committed himself to end the very practice itself. Not to mention, he gave you more than a generous salary--- you could likely afford your own townhouse now without having to rely on pleasing a patron.

He cared for you. That had been his duty from the start of his investigation, after all. This wasn’t a storybook; it wasn’t Ciel’s duty to fall for you.

Your mouth was cotton dry, the rest of your face warm with embarrassment. You had never felt your heart strain in such a painful, deliberate way. It was heavy in your chest, threatening to implode right along with your pride and vulnerability. 

“Thank you,” you managed to reply, gritting your teeth into an appreciative smile. It was the vacant stage smile you used during the performances that required the most technical focus. “I told you that you cared for me,” your joke was wry in your mouth, and there wasn’t enough humor in it for Ciel to engage. 

Instead, he searched between your tired gaze and your false smile, hesitating because he was unsure of how he needed to reply. Ciel didn’t want to upset you; he didn’t think he was. He must have thought these encounters were meaningless to you because they were merely another facet of your career. It must have been meaningless to him because he was a high-powered man who likely had numerous sexual partners. 

He was the Earl of Phantomhive. He could have anyone for his Countess. When would there ever be merit in choosing a prima ballerina?

You had to remain amicable. Your responsibilities with Lord Phantomhive were not complete— you still had to facilitate this slow end to your courtship (the one that had never been real in the first place) and lead it to a very passive and public breakup. 

“As for the art gallery reveal gala tonight?” You asked. Ciel was invited to the renowned painter, Terrence Stannard’s, annual party to show off his newest body of work. He’d invited several prosperous businessmen and aristocracts known for philanthropy in the arts because he was an “avarice-infected bastard that used most art investments he receives to fill his pocket and buy lavish luxuries rather put it towards the production of any canvas of value,” according to the Earl. 

Stannard was influential enough for The British Museum to readily host these galleries, but Ciel wanted to put Stannard in his place by subtly flaunting Phantomhive prosperity. You doubted he would skip the appearance, even if he was on the heels of closing a case for the Queen. There were too many high-profile guests invited— nobility, celebrities, businessmen, government officials. It was too crucial for the Lord of Phantomhive to miss.

“We will be in attendance. Natasha already canceled your rehearsal tonight to manage her husband’s affairs— we can leave ahead of schedule,” Ciel said, stepping towards his washroom meaningfully. He wanted you to leave, and he was blissfully (or purposely, knowing him) unaware of the pain he caused you.  

“Fine. I should start rehearsing if we are leaving earlier this evening. Do not interrupt me for breakfast, please. I can send for Mey-Rin when I am ready,” you declared, allowing your face to fall back into somber neutrality. You fully pulled the blanket around you, tucking a corner under your arm to keep the makeshift robe fastened around your body. You didn’t meet Ciel’s gaze as you started towards his bedroom door, your eyes painfully catching the wall directly next to it. 

That was the very spot he had you pinned not eight hours prior. You couldn’t stand to be in his quarters much longer, ripe with silent mortification. You twisted the doorknob —

“Y/n?” Ciel started, confusion rising in his tone. “Are—”

— and shut the door behind you. 

What made you think this man would be any different?

They all wanted the same thing. Maman was right-- your father, the duke, wanted her for her body and cast her aside like trash after she told him she was with child. With you. 

Later

The Rehearsal Room

The only place you could regain your control was on pointe shoes. You immediately slipped into a practice leotard, stretched on the barre, and started warming up. 

You were Y/n Y//l/n, one of London’s foremost prima ballerinas. Not only that, you solved a series of murder cases and didn’t hesitate to engage in a plot to rightfully arrest the owner of your opera house.

Your skill was so prominent and breathtaking that you transformed yourself every day through practiced steps and expressions.

 No one had the right to demean you so.

You weren’t Y/n Y/l/n when you danced in front of a mirror. You were The Sugar Plum Fairy, Odette, Odie… the character you were pouring your body and soul into encompassing. You were a regal fairy queen, an innocent girl trapped in a curse, a spoiled and deceptive daughter… All you needed was the choreography, the music, and a pair of pointe shoes. You could be anyone.

No one’s validation meant nearly as much as your own, and you were beautiful. A well of talent.

Your breathing came in strained exhales, your hands resting on your kneecaps to support your upper body. You didn’t notice how much time passed — as the autumn grew deeper, nights came sooner. The sun was already beginning to retreat starting the earliest stages of dusk. The sky from the small window looked orange.

Sweat rolled down your back, tracing your spine. You could feel your heart pound in your ears, thumping like a drum. White and black spots danced in your eyes, your head swimming as you leaned against the wall in an attempt to stay upright. 

This was the result of practicing coupé jetés for hours without sufficient breaks and fuel. You knew this nauseous, dizzy feeling quite well. You were old acquaintances, by now.

“Miss Y/l/n, I apologize for interrupting, but I must begin preparing you for the gallery— oh dear,” Sebastian’s approaching voice sounded distant, even though his lanky figure appeared to be much closer as he stabilized you. “Mey-Rin!” he called out, taking you in your arms like a pathetic rag doll, “get water and two slices of banana bread!”

“Sebastian,” you grumbled in protest. 

“You have absolutely no say in the matter,” the butler insisted, crisply admonishing you as he brought you back to your room and sat you upright on the bed. Mey-Rin came rushing in after several short moments, Sebastian thanking her for her efforts while you accepted the water like a woman deprived for years. 

The cold stung your throat and cleared your head. 

“The banana bread,” Sebastian reminded you. 

You looked at it, tempted, but not convinced. Upon glancing back at the butler, he offered you an insistent glare, communicating that if you didn’t take a bite of the thick slice yourself, he would find a way to force you to do so. This very same attitude had to be how he forced his master to be so perfect— at everything. 

You had to admit, your body settled much more once you finished the slice of bread (and swallowed down another from Mey-Rin). Of course, it was delicious, and it started to soothe the complaining in your stomach. You were so accustomed to the sharp pain of starvation, that it settled in the back of your mind.

You even accepted a cooked cut of salmon cooked in lemon juice and garlic, paired with a side of rice. Baldroy was putting his finishing touches on his master’s supper, and Sebastian ordered him to bring a plate to you. Ciel never liked to go to events on an empty stomach, as heavily grazing on a host’s offerings too much made him feel much too in their debt. (“I can afford my own meals, I’m Ciel Phantomhive.”)

Sebastian returned to your room after ensuring Ciel had everything he needed to enjoy his dinner. “I told my Lord that you are taking your meal in your quarters to save time, given how late into the day you practiced. We still must prepare you for the gala tonight. You seem up to it,” he gauged your color, given how you must have been shades paler from your previous state. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last. 

“I am,” you started to confirm, only for Sebastian to interrupt. 

“Miss, you are a professional. You should understand that your body requires energy to perform,” Sebastian chastised. “Eating less than an ascetic monk will only degrade those muscles you need so much.”

“Do not tell Ciel,” you grumbled, unwilling to hear this lecture from both the Earl and his head butler. 

“Surely you are aware that I am not permitted to lie to my master,” he replied placidly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Lying and failing to mention something are two different things,” you argued, finishing off the last of the fourth refill of water you guzzled down in the last half hour. You knew Sebastian was correct— you couldn’t push yourself to your limits without properly eating, but sometimes, it was impossible to bring yourself to do so. Ballet demanded particular physiques, and patrons favored the same. Maintaining your appearance was more than a career investment; it was part of your occupation. 

“Touché, Miss,” Sebastian conceded, the corners of his mouth pulling into an affirmative smirk. You could never figure out where you stood with the enigmatic man, but to you, this treatment was a suitable show of kindness. It was uncharacteristic of Sebastian’s strict countenance, but you appreciated the gesture. He could have left you panting on the dance floor and pried you to your feet when it was time to prepare for the fundraiser “I will begin to draw your bath, now,” he turned to your washroom, only pausing when you stopped him.

“Sebastian. Do you know that Ciel and I…” you started, letting the question die on your tongue. You regretted the question the second you asked.

“It is my duty to be aware of everything that transpires in my master’s life, private or not,” Sebastian admitted. “Why do you ask?” he maintained his typically perky intonation, though he seemed to be searching your face.

“…No reason,” you looked away, your cheeks burning. There was nothing to be accomplished in that line of thought. Even if Ciel made you feel seen for anything beyond your looks and dancing prowess, that was never an indication that he felt anything more than physical attraction towards you. In the end, he wanted to sleep with you and maintain the same lukewarm relationship you had prior because it was most convenient for him given your lack of noble rank, or he simply didn’t share the same connection you had so vividly succumbed to.

And you didn’t need him to. You never needed anyone in your life; there was no need to start now.

“As you wish, Miss,” Sebastian proceeded to prepare your bath. 

The long process of preparing you for these events was somehow expedited between the combined and coordinated efforts of Mey-Rin and Sebastian. In half the time it might have taken you to achieve a similar loose updo, soft makeup, and flawless, shimmering accessorization, you once again resembled a Countess’ dignity.

However, you refused to allow yourself to feel that superficial. In the floor-length mirror, you regarded your reflection. 

Again, your reflected visage was never Y/n Y/l/n. Instead, you channeled the Sugar Plum Fairy — her effortless confidence, whimsy, and unfailing charisma that commanded the fairy court and the audience alike. 

Your gown was a statement purple, an homage to Natasha’s surprising decision to make one of your Sugar Plum leotards a vivid lavender with darker purple and gold detailing. This gown reflected the same palette; your skirts fell in ruffled waves, intricate with golden and floral patterns down the sides. Your sleeves were long and merged with purple gloves that ended just before your elbow. 

You were flawless, and you would see this role to its very end. No matter how you felt about Ciel, you had a job to complete, and you would do just that. A prima ballerina never abandoned her role, and she never allowed her personal theatrics to distract from her professional. Ever. 

That Night

The British Museum

“Remember: no one knows about William’s arrest,” Ciel mumbled into your ear, causing your smile to drop for a fraction of a second. It was as brief as a flickering light, irritated by the Earl’s frequent need to remind you of aspects of your performance that you were more than cognizant of. 

You were arm in arm as he led you into Stannard’s gallery, ignoring the nosy journalists snapping photographs of your backs. The displays seemed to show off a particular brand of oil paint, a brand that paid the artist to create such blunt advertisements for the company. Still, they were lovely works from your perspective, displaying different ethereal scenes in nature. 

You merely hummed in response, discomfort stiffening your body. As he had for Huntington’s ball, Ciel’s tie matched your purple gown, making you both appear as a matching set. The rest of his suit was black, causing his blue eye to appear somehow more vibrant, and his pale complexion to glow. You wanted to kiss him almost as much as you wanted to kick him.

“Stannard is making his rounds. We’ll let him approach us later on,” Ciel said, gesturing to a man around his age with his chin. While there wasn’t anything particularly notable about the tall painter, you recognized the young woman at his side. Her name was… Maisie?--- She was a talented dancer, cast as The Snow Queen in your Nutcracker production. After all, she was second in the running for prima ballerina behind you. You defeated her.

Maisie’s honey blonde hair paired with her emerald gown flawlessly as she smiled boredly. Her eyes searched the room for something more gripping than her patron’s conversation. You could’ve sworn Ciel said Stannard was married--- or was it previously married?

Right. Stannard left his wife for Maisie. A proud young woman, she loved to show off her new husband. After all, it used to be the only aspect of her life that was better than yours. Before you and Ciel started this ruse, at least.

Stannard was now Maisie’s husband. No one knew where Stannard’s former wife was after she went missing.

“I know her,” you started to whisper, only for the words to die on your tongue. There was no need to point out your work acquaintance-- it was only a gala. You only needed to play the part of an adoring young woman, polite and thankful. Gracious.  

Instead, you took the opportunity to observe the rest of the gala. Light dancing music played for those who danced in the greater atrium below. The gallery was situated on a balcony that ran around the perimeter.

Everyone was dressed in their best ensembles, the finest materials, their finest jewels. You wondered how much all of these accessories were worth-- how much of a difference even one of these necklaces would make to a factory worker. Even the dusty purple choker around your neck had diamond and amethyst pendants falling from it in the shapes of teardrops--- it had to be worth thousands.

The movement below made the participating women’s gowns appear like blotted paint on a distant canvas.

“Yes, thank you,” Ciel accepted two glasses of champagne from a server and offered one to you, leisurely investigating the painting closest to you both. He peered at Stannard’s signature in the lower right corner of the canvas, appearing stoic to the common acquaintance but askance to you. 

“You do not believe Stannard is the artist behind these,” you claimed, turning your back to the rest of the party. Like Ciel, you faced the painting. You took a smug drink of your champagne.

“What?” he asked, pulled out of his train of thought.

You took a drink from your champagne to settle your irritation with the Earl. “You think he is lying about his talent,” you reiterated as if he didn’t understand you the first time.

Your lips pulled into a poisonous half-smile at his silence. You were right, and the realization made you chuckle to yourself. 

“Don’t say such things so loud,” Ciel admonished with no real force behind it. If anything, he seemed amused, casting a barely-there grin at you. You had to make a clear effort to kill the flying butterflies in your stomach. 

There was nothing between you.

But even so, the familiar exchange helped unravel a great deal of tension in your shoulders. There could be normalcy…at least for the last few days he was at your side for. Without the butterflies, there was a melancholic guilt to fill the space in your abdomen, not unlike the pain of starvation. You could push it to the back of your mind all the same. You would.

“Lord Phantomhive? Is that you?” An aged, motherly voice greeted. You both turned to meet its source. 

You didn’t recognize the woman, nor the young woman at her side. They hardly resembled one another, the young woman’s fiery red hair a stark contrast to the mature woman’s graying brown hair. 

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Ciel bowed, the gesture causing you to lower yourself into a curtsey. Of course, their rank was higher than his; no one dared approach Lord Phantomhive without a looming stature. “And to you, Lady Caroline,” he addressed the young woman. Her black gown made her red hair and deep brown eyes all the more soulful. She blushed at him.

“Hello, Lord Phantomhive,” Caroline smiled, chuckling as if he did more than greet her properly. 

“You know how I feel about Your Grace,” the elder woman joked but it was far from reaching her eyes, despite the smile lines that creased next to them. It was a quip that was intended to make her seem humble and approachable, but it was a mere reminder of her status. “I want you to call me Gwen,” she said airily, lying through her teeth. Ciel was smart enough to know that.

“I could never do such a thing, ma’am,” Ciel replied, mirroring her fake smile. His was much more convincing. Painfully so. The fact you couldn’t introduce yourself to another human being was horrifically demeaning. At least Lord Tiverton addressed you at the last ball--- Gwen and Caroline couldn’t seem to care less about your presence. In fact, they had yet to spare you a glance.

To your relief, Ciel started to introduce you. “I’m here with---”

“This is a lovely gala tonight, wouldn’t you say? I heard they had this orchestra sail from Germany,” Gwen cut in with her dazzling smile. “I wish we could have found you an accompaniment tonight, my dear.” she fixed her attention on Caroline for a moment, only to resettle her expectant gaze on Ciel. “It’s such a once-in-a-lifetime waltz.”

There was a distressing lack of courting suitor at Caroline’s side. Your mouth was dry, your eyes stinging. You didn’t want to be right. You prayed you weren’t.

“It wouldn’t be too much to ask you to go with her for a number or two, would it?” Gwen ordered. She spoke as if she was simply asking Ciel to fetch her her own flute of champagne.

Your stomach plummeted to the gates of hell. 

There was a beat of silence, Caroline’s big eyes pleaded, and Gwen’s cold gaze demanded.

You were being suffocated--- socially executed. They may as well have pulled out a gun and aimed.

He wouldn’t, would he? Could he? Honestly?

“Of course,” he answered after a second too long. 

Ciel pulled the trigger.

“I will only be a moment,” Ciel finally addressed you, dropping his unfinished champagne on a server’s tray. Before you could reply, Caroline was leading him down the stairs and to the bottom level. You remained at the top, an unfamiliar rage igniting in the front of your head. You could feel the stinging of lingering eyes on you, the soft hum of hushed chatter around you --- about you. 

Your mind raced between unmitigated rage and desperately wondering what Sebastian might tell you to do. He never prepared you for an incredibly acerbic duchess and her entitled daughter, or a situation where you would be left adrift at one of these events without Ciel. 

Do not engage in argument, do not interrupt anyone when they are speaking, do not lose temper or speak excitedly, do not speak of personal matters, you remembered Sebastian say. But there was nothing of substance there. Nothing to train you for watching the man you had butterflies for and kissed and touched simply… walk away from you and dance with a woman you’d never heard about. 

From the balcony, you watched Ciel bow in front of Caroline, her black gown pooling on the floor as she curtsied. They looked striking next to one another, stately and striking. Caroline knew the etiquette expected of a young woman, she was a noble. She didn’t need hurried lessons, and she never had to lay her dignity bare for a man.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? It makes perfect sense,” Gwen’s voice returned at your side.  

Your head jerked to look at her, startled. “Oh--- hello,”  you couldn’t recall her title quick enough, it seemed.

“Your Grace,” Gwen prompted. All kindness aimed at Ciel was now absent from her face.

Do not lose temper. Do not argue, Sebastian reminded you.

“...Your Grace,” you finished pathetically. 

“Do you know who Caroline and I are, Y/n?” Gwen asked, showing that she did know who you were.  

“No,” you replied breathlessly, keeping your gaze steady on Ciel and Caroline as they moved with one another.

“I am the Duchess of Norfolk. Caroline’s father is the Duke of Norfolk, Henry Fitzaland-Howard. The new Postmaster General--- he was just appointed this year, isn’t that amazing?” She over pronounced her words for you, making a joke out of your first language being foreign. The same one Ciel whispered in your ear and kissed into your lips just last night. You hated the language, once again. “Caroline is our only child. We need a Duke of Norfolk. You understand.”

You wished you didn’t understand. Unfortunately, you recalled hearing of the Howard line, carelessly skimming an article that traced their lineage back to 1425. Your line traced back to a beautiful maid and an enamored--- yet embarrassed--- Duke. You were his secret shame.

Caroline was her father’s pride.

You felt hollow.

“We cannot have Ciel distracted with you any longer,” Gwen said, regaining some of the sick kindness she spoke with, now that individuals were passing behind you. By now, most of the gala attendees were dancing below you. “And it’s clear that he no longer wishes to be distracted.”

Despite your silence, Gwen continued. “But perhaps we might see you on your way out of the estate; Lord Phantomhive invited us for tea next week,” she added pleasantly. “Be sure to start packing. I’m not sure he’ll allow you to keep all of this.”

“I need to go to the washroom. Excuse me,” you snapped, finishing off your champagne. You shoved the glass into the duchess’s hand, storming down the staircase and through the onlookers as they watched couples dance. Tears blurred in your eyes, threatening to fall, but not quite doing so. 

You pushed past attendees, walking as quickly as you could in the heels Sebastian put you in. They were short, but your feet ached from your vehement rehearsing. They were probably bleeding.

“Y/n!” You heard someone call. You continued.

You had no obligation to let yourself fall to the back of Ciel’s agenda. You solved his murder case. You thought you could love him. You thought he could love you. That wasn’t something he could simply erase by scheduling afternoon tea with Her Highness. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much you embarrassed him.

You could exit his life on your own. You didn’t need help. You weren’t Maman--- you had more to offer than wiping windows and dusting bookshelves. Maman made sure of that. She put you in a ballet academy so you were assured to have a career. To ensure that you would never have to sweep after the wealthy or beg for their scraps on the street. You were her kindness, her smile, her patience. You were the best of her, and she used her final breath to tell you just that.

You owed it to her to stand with pride as Y/n Y/l/n, prima ballerina. To stand as a star; a brilliant supernova on stage and en pointe. 

And now, you had the financial freedom to rebuff any man who tried to change that.

“Y/n! Stop!”

You took to a run, pushing past the security guards near the museum’s entrance, ignoring their confused shouts. Surely you were moving too fast for them to recognize you, but that wasn’t what informed them of your identity. You held up your gown the best you could as you navigated the front stairway. The front of the museum was barren, reporters bored with being on the wrong side of the armed guard, and all gala attendees successfully captured in the throes of revelry and opulence.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, catching your hand in yours.

“What?” you demanded, the tears welling in your eyes finally falling down your cheeks. “What is it, Ciel?”

“Just let go of me,” your voice broke with a sob, your tears warm against your cold cheeks. “Please, just let me go.”

Ciel was never at a loss for words. His grip was still iron around your hand as he regarded you, panting from the exertion you put him through. His exhales came out in puffs of condensation from the frigid evening. 

“I know what this was,” you continued. “I know what it was supposed to be, but what was here between us was real. And you- all you want to do is…throw it away. And why? Because I’m not h-her! Maybe I’ve never met my father, and I only have a small closet of a townhouse --- that you had no desire to even sit in! --- to my name, but I---.... we…were---” you were at a loss for words. 

There was no putting this into words.

Not the stolen touches last night, not your intuitive knowledge of one another, and certainly not the euphoria of waking up entangled with one another.

You wiped your eyes and pulled your hostage hand from his. Swallowing deeply, you put all of your emotion into six words: “You are a coward, Lord Phantomhive.” You turned to continue on your way. You didn’t know where. All you needed was away. 

“That’s not! Y/n, stop!” This was the most frenzied you’d heard the Earl’s posh accent get. You didn’t care.

“Stop!” He followed. “You don’t understand!”

“What is there to understand?” You turned on your heel.

Before Ciel could reply, a distant gunshot rang out, accompanied by a choir of shrill, terrified screams from the far side of the street. The back of the museum. The security that had been at the museum doors --- now a sizable distance from you --- ran towards the source. 

In an instant, Sebastian was poised both in front of you and Ciel. Ciel brandished himself in front of you, as instinctive as his butler’s desire to protect him. You hadn’t even seen Sebastian nearby at all--- but then again, you were more than a little distracted. 

“Call the Yard! She’s bleeding! Fast!” A man called out.

“Come, Y/n. Sebastian, watch for gunfire. Let no one within an arm’s length from us,” Ciel ordered, separating his personal distress with ease. He was trained for this. The man guiding you to the source of the calamity wasn’t the man you were berating across the street from the museum. This was The Queen’s Guard Dog, and he needed his partner.

Someone was shot. Not even you were selfish enough to continue your tirade. “Fine,” you mumbled, drying the last of your tears. You let Ciel guide you, Sebastian trailing behind your back. 

Within moments, you were staring at the dead body of Maisie Stannard. 

[whumpsday]

Annie's Prisoners

Writing Masterlist | G/t writing tag

g/t sideblog here! @smallsday

content: g/t, whump, tiny whump, fairy whumpee, begging, rescue, captivity, wing whump, magical exhaustion, bullying

Whumpmas in July Day 21: "Please" GT July Day 21: Secret

here's the last of the GT July "crossovers" i'm doing during WIJ! it was fun to write more tiny whump :)

-

"Okay, but you don't tell anyone."

Annie got down on the floor, pulling a pink plastic hamster cage out from under her bed.

Parisa could hardly believe what she was seeing. Inside the cage was what looked like a fairy, no more than four inches tall, cowering in the corner. He had wings, but they stopped abruptly about halfway through, leaving him with uneven little trapezoids.

The fairy didn't look pleased to see either of them, hiding himself as well as he could inside the plastic tube running up one wall of the cage- which wasn't very well at all, considering the tube was transparent.

Parisa knelt down on the carpet to see closer, star-struck. "What is this?"

"My fairy!" Annie boasted. "I caught him myself, he was drinking from the birdbath in the backyard! I just shot him with Calvin's Nerf gun and grabbed him while he was all dazed and stuff. Don't act surprised, it's not like you haven't insisted fairies were real since preschool."

Annie was right, Parisa had always been obsessed with fairies. Her notebooks were covered with fairy stickers, she'd spent her whole childhood playing Pixie Hollow, and she'd read book after book on faery mythology. A part of her had always believed that with so many different stories and accounts of them, fairies had to exist in some form, somewhere. Even as she got older and felt more and more that she was being silly, a small part of her always knew.

And she was right.

She would normally be jumping for joy, but... the fairy was obviously not as enamored with Annie's recollection of his capture. He teared up a little, hugging himself as he cringed as far away from them as possible, his severed wings tucked behind him.

Parisa frowned. "He looks kind of sad."

Annie waved away her concern. "He's always pouting. But I haven't even shown you the cool part. He can do magic and stuff!"

The fairy's head snapped up at that, a look of horror dawning on his face.

"But I already did a spell for you today!" Though it seemed like he was attempting to shout, his voice came out tinny and quiet, just as small as he was.

"You can do another for Rissie," Annie said firmly. "But yeah, seriously, you can't tell anyone. Can you imagine? Some government prick would totally take him away from me to experiment on him or whatever, like in the movies."

"Do your parents know?" Parisa asked.

"Oh god no. But I'm taking him to college with me in September, so I won't have to worry about that anymore." Annie sat cross-legged, picking the cage up and moving it into her lap to rest her arms on. The fairy grimaced as she began drumming her fingers absentmindedly on the lid.

"I've had him for almost two months now. I would've shown you sooner, but I wanted to wait until after graduation so you couldn't tell anyone at school. It's not like you talk to anyone besides me anyway, but can't be too careful. But Ciel can change that!"

She held the cage up triumphantly. "I knew you'd be totally helpless without me since we're going to different schools, so I wanted to make sure you were aaaaall set. He can't do like, big things, he's not a genie. But he can do little things. Like make you a little luckier for a while, stuff like that. I use it for studying, too. But I figured he could do a charisma spell on you or something, and it'd help you make new friends at your little state school!"

"I can't do another spell yet, please, I already did one! I don't have enough magic left," Ciel pleaded, looking up at Annie as his tears started to fall. "You said college isn't something that starts until autumn, there's time! It'll hurt too much if I do another now, please no more!"

Parisa's shock slowly gave way to horror as the fairy's deplorable conditions became more and more apparent. She wanted to say something, but she knew Annie would just get defensive and guilt her if she did.

"Yeah, it'd probably be more effective closer to September anyway," Parisa agreed quickly, unable to push down a feeling of hope that Ciel would like her for agreeing with him.

"Fine, whatever," Annie sighed, roughly shoving the cage back under the bed. Parisa got the feeling she was more interested in showing off than actually helping. "Then you can see him more then. He's my fairy, after all. Let's go back downstairs."

Parisa followed Annie, but didn't take her eyes off the dark space under the bed until the door was firmly shut behind them.

It was hard to go back to hanging out normally, and she couldn't keep herself from asking question after question about Ciel. Parisa really wanted to just see him again, but she knew he would hate that, so she didn't ask to.

But as Annie told story after story, it only solidified the fact that what was happening here was wrong. She was practically torturing the delicate little creature, draining him of magic to his absolute limit.

Parisa dreaded the answer, but she couldn't not ask. "What happened to his wings?"

"Don't be a baby about it, but I had to trim them after he tried to fly away one time," Annie said, like it was nothing.

"Wouldn't that hurt?" She tried to do what Annie said, to not be a baby about it, but it was getting ridiculously hard. She wanted to cry, hearing her best friend had done something like that.

"No, it was like getting a haircut, I think. Except permanent. He didn't like, scream or anything." Annie shoved her lightly on the arm. "I said don't be a baby."

"Right. Right." This was all wrong. This wasn't how discovering fairies were real was supposed to be. She had to get out of Annie's face. "I feel like I'm gonna be sick," she lied.

"Ew, go." Annie pointed upstairs. "God, you're so sensitive."

Parisa darted up to the bathroom, where she felt like she could breathe a little better. How was she supposed to live the rest of her life knowing Annie was torturing a fairy? They weren't even going to schools in the same state. She wouldn't be able to do anything to help. She might not ever get to see him again after whatever spell Annie wanted him to do.

Unless she took a peek right now.

Parisa snuck into Annie's room, hoping she wouldn't come to check on her, and carefully pulled the cage out from under the bed.

Ciel clung to the metal spout of the water bottle, like she'd interrupted him while he was drinking. He looked around wildly, relaxing a little bit when he realized Annie wasn't here. "Is she coming?" he asked, his voice so quiet Parisa could just barely hear him.

"No. I'm not supposed to be in here," she admitted. "I just wanted to see you again. And, um, check if you're alright."

"I'm not," he answered without hesitation, eyes still shining with tears. "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Please, I desperately need help, Miss." He tentatively stepped forward, though his little hands shook. "Rissie, she said your name was?"

"Parisa. You're Ciel?" she asked.

"I am. Please, I can- I'll come back and do a spell for you, once I've had a chance to rest. If you would just..."

He pointed toward the window with a trembling finger. "Please?"

Oh, Parisa wanted so badly to help. "But your wings? How will you get down?"

Ciel sobbed. "I don't know. I need to be away from here, she plans to keep me imprisoned for life. She's careless, she's going to kill me and I won't even get to die outdoors!"

Parisa had to do something, even if it meant she would lose her only friend. She was probably going to lose her either way anyway, once they left in September.

She unlatched the cage, holding a hand bigger than Ciel's whole body out to him. "I'll help. You just have to trust me."

It was obvious from his face that Ciel had a strong distaste for being grasped in human hands. But with no other options, he climbed readily into Parisa's palm. "Please be gentle," he begged.

She was holding a real fairy. It was like a dream, but Parisa couldn't get caught up in that now, she had to focus on protecting him. She brought Ciel to the front pocket of her hoodie, carefully placing him inside. "Try not to make any noise or move around too much. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

Parisa could feel the fairy's little heartbeat thrumming away against her as she headed back downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm really not feeling good," she told Annie. "I think I'm just gonna go home."

"'Kay, whatever." Annie shrugged. "If you get over yourself by tomorrow, you can come watch him do a spell for me."

Annie would figure out it was her, Parisa knew. But what could she do? It wasn't like she could tell anyone she stole her fairy. And now that they'd graduated high school, she could just... never see Annie again, if she felt like it.

"Goodbye, Annie." Parisa walked out the door without another word.

She waited until she'd walked far enough away from Annie's house and she couldn't see anyone else around to stick her hand in her pocket, offering it to Ciel. "Coast is clear."

He crawled into her hand, and Parisa lifted him out. His eyes instantly went up toward the stars, and she saw him smile for the first time.

"Thank you," he breathed. "It's really over?"

"It's over. I won't let her take you back," Parisa assured him. "What do you want to do?"

"What I want...? I can't just fly off," Ciel lamented. "I'm not sure yet. I- I sort of just want to rest now. She keeps me so tired all the time."

"You can rest. Do you wanna go back in my pocket?" Parisa asked.

He nodded. "Yes, I think I do."

Parisa softly set him back down inside, both of them feeling freer than they'd ever been as she walked them home.

-

tune in monday for some alien whump! 👽 and the following thursday for some kane & jim

this is ciel's cage btw. never put a living creature in this monstrosity

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

one-shots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

g/t whump taglist:

@whumpinthepot

@cupcakes-and-pain

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @gianttol

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Day 3: Trick-or-Treat

Autumn. October.

The season and month many mortals seem to love despite the many flaws it could have.

Humans complain over the cold season.

Humans complain of the ghastly things that happen in the night.

Humans complain of the “harsh scares”.

Humans complain about being scared and not scared enough.

Besides popular beliefs, demons like Sebastian aren’t tied to All Hallow’s Eve in the slightest.

During this time, demons do wander about the mortal realm but not to wreak havoc among the humans that he finds so amusing, no no no, but to just… wander. Hell is rather small I have you know!

But ever since becoming a butler to the small human he somewhat grew to respect, he got used to the humoring buzzing in his chest about the ghost stories and impressions of his species to these humans on the night many enjoy and fear.

The butler watched as his young master fixed the gell of his hair that groomed back in a formal attire his aunt would adore to witness, nails painted black like the outfit he wore in a formal frilly design like a haunted doll from the dark shadows of his mind.

Today is the boy’s annual Halloween party he must attend and impress. Despite being in his teens he seems to have this eager joy still while doing these parties and wearing costumes and eating sweets, things Sebastian sadly can’t quite enjoy due to his upbringing but pretend is the most fun a demon can have.

“Do you think Lord Trancy will arrive, Young Master?” Sebastian asked, quirking a smirk at the tease. His little lord has been heavily surprised by how much his heart can handle from little things a certain little circus performer and a certain blond noble boy, his thoughts and smirk only growing in being proven right thanks to Ciel’s ear turning a lovely shade of pinkish-red.

The boy turned his head to his butler in a blushing crazed mad expression, blue eye wide and glaring. “Oh shut up!” He hissed at the demon, only getting a chuckle from Sebastian in return.

The party was settling in a calming motion, the scent of treats and the fire that burns and crisp in the little bonfires that were made earlier in the night, the cold hair mixing well with the warm ambiance of the crowd of party guests blending well in harmony, the sounds of laughter and fire popping echoing around.

Sebastian worked hard on having the event a fun memory for everyone, making sure every treat was done well and that every inch of the manor’s gardens and halls were decorated accordingly, having such great care and time with every activity and predicted event that will happen in the night so it wouldn’t be ruin by any means.

And yet he lost his Young Master somewhere in the night.

As the butler in black walks around the party, mingling with those who decide to speak to him with a warm smile, his red eyes glance and cross every nook and cranny for the boy wearing an eyepatch.

At long last after what felt like hours he found the boy in the manor’s halls taking a breath. His eyes soften some, same goes for his movements as he watched the teen take a wheezing breath. From all the years he’s known him, he has become more than aware when his Master becomes anxious or upset in crowded events, especially ones where his heart isn’t able to take the haunting memories of what life he had prior the Hell he was in…

Carefully, Sebastian made his way closer and knelt beside Ciel. “Young Master,” He spoke, soft and careful as if the boy was a bird that’ll fly away high any second now with his presence, a gloved hand just on the air to wait for that sense to take action. Once he was sure he was slightly calmer when he’s near, the demon reached up and gently rubbed the silky soft blue gray hair that became somewhat iconic with the noble’s many envious talks about the Phantomhive Estate, sensing the wheezing weak breath under his palm of the frame that shakes on the floor.

“Do you need me to cancel the other plans for tonight?” He asked, curious and generally worried for his Earl’s safety and mental health.

Ciel sighed out, lifting his head from his knees and blinking away swollen tears that were threatening to escape their socket prisons, white powder now slightly messy but luckily not too noticeable for concern of his appearance. His lone blue eye looked up at the older, sighing again as his shoulders slumped. “. . . They looked nice.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow quirked up.

“Pardon, my lord?”

“They looked amazing even!”

Ah, now it makes sense to Sebastian.

He honestly has no right to smile and hold snorts with the idea the first thing his master could muster to say was the costumes Miss Doll and Earl Trancy wore for the party, with the blond wearing a rather simple yet well crafted outfit of a black cloaked creature of the night in dark velvets and ribbons and bows while the tightrope walker wore something that brought flashbacks of the scandal of the Sphere Music Hall’s star theme with silky whites of the gown fluttering musically with the glittering golds and silvers that address and complements her pale and freckled skin and the white roses that wrap her brown hair like a angelic halo humans humor about in pictures, the little Lord Ciel Phantomhive’s personal demon and angel as so.

The teenage boy glared at his butler with flushed cheeks and a hissing tongue, “Oh hush up, you have no right to mock your master about this!”

Sebastian finally let out a chuckle, a small snort leaving out his perfectly shaped thin nose, bringing the hand that was previously petting his master in calm now to his face to hide his crooked giggling grin, “I apologize Young Master, but isn’t tonight a night that’s perfect for this occasion?”

The youthful doll expression twists and turns into a confused sour expression, only to ease and brighten when the butler presents a goodie, an apple coated in caramel and chocolates on a stick, he very obviously snuck off from the public eye.

Blue eye clashing on red ones as the butler spoke again, “After all, aren’t Halloween Parties one of the few places the youths can charm and swoon with one another without other people’s opinions holding them back?”

Sebastian picked up right where he was left off, handing out goods and compliments to the guests as they enjoy the games and party activities as children run around enjoying the fun memories they’ll keep forevermore and the adults who now have stories to tell to those who somehow missed such an amusing night, his red eyes glancing to the garden’s roses at the three shadows that linger there with muffled noises of voices.

He smiled some seeing as his Young Master ate his apple happily while chatting and laughing with Alois and Doll who seem to enjoy the energy of everything and settle in the quiet area away from everyone else. 

“Well, Happy Halloween, Young Master. I hope you enjoyed the many treats and tricks it had to offer.”

I'm VERY late to the Dadbastian Week event @dadbastianweek2023 is doing but I'll catch up the best I can and if not, here's first entry!

Costumes inspired by this beautifulness:

Doll's

Alois':

And I wanted to add nods of officially art so Ciel's and Sebastian's:

Happy Halloween yall

[antro-dei-fumetti]

Ciel - The Last Autumn Story - Sequenza 1/16

Ciel: The Last Autumn Story Sequenza 1/16 Serie attualmente ancora interrotta in Italia (completata in patria – Corea del Sud) Questa opera di Rhim Ju-Yeon racconta le vicende di una ragazza di umili origini che entrerà in una scuola di magia. A spingerla a lasciare la sua casa, oltre alle doti, sono le pressioni che sta subendo dai nobili, che mirano a lei visto il suo bel aspetto. Il viziato…

[orcagami]

I dug up this wip from 2014 to keep my monthly art streak but now I'm crying about #ciel #lastautumnstory again pic.twitter.com/BqNQ5OlbVP

[vganimefanatic]

Doodle of Master Krohiten from the manhwa Ciel The Last Autumn Story. Shout out to all my fellow CTLAS fans out there on tumblr, which is like around 10 people or something.

[disjunkt]

The end of volume 6 was on my mind today as I walked home under the late afternoon sun. The pages leading up to it have always been among my favourites in the series due to the shift in the volume’s pacing, and Yvienne’s quiet thoughts on the prelude of summer on the last three pages. It’s their phrasing in particular, even if I’m not a Krohiten/Yvienne shipper - when she says that the temperature is the beginning of her memories of that summer: the combination of the midmorning summer, Krohiten’s room that faces away from the sun, the cold air inside, the lonely air around Krohiten, but also the cold needle that literally and figuratively pierces her, and presumably the temperature between the two of them in that very moment. It’s a passage that remains vividly in my memories due to its prose alone.

(I’ve been thinking about prose and other passages in manga - anything that isn’t a speech or thought bubble, or background chatter - and how that is one element that sold me on the medium. It’s very much like books, and it’s not something that you can just transfer to anime adaptations, especially in the case of such text boxes that aren’t necessarily a character’s inner monologue. Daytime Shooting Star, although a mediocre and not necessarily well-rounded manga in terms of high school shoujos, remains memorable to me because of Suzume’s thoughts, for example. Another example are Kaori Yuki’s works, where prose and other kinds of texts outside of speech and thought add not just to the mood, but to the setting itself. Or NANA with ongoing letters that have yet to find their recipient, or the first page in, say, some of NANA and Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne’s chapters, that sounds like a silent prayer whispered into the night...)

So much of volume 6 is dramatic and glamorous due to Yvienne’s rise to fame as part of the Pentagon Crisis, but in the last chapter, Summer Vacation, things perceptibly seem to quiet down, Yvienne now having grown accustomed to her new powers and position. Yvienne and Lariatte get to catch a break and spend some time together (before leaving Lowood to spend the break in each other’s company!), and new plans are made as other things come to an end. I think most of my favourite parts of Ciel are like that - transitional scenes, interim periods, shifts in pacing, departures and new beginnings. Rhim does those really well!

Anyway, thinking of that chapter made me recall this precious Yvienne/Lariatte moment in it, so I put the translation of the German version on Evil Flowers’ scans to share that translation too. (I love Evil Flowers’ as well! I think theirs makes it more of a Lariatte characterization moment than a shipping moment though haha.)

[uselesslilium]

I expect perhaps two people will find this funny other than me, but once I thought about it I had to make it.

[ducktheverb]

Normalize making memes for dead fandoms!!!

(I think it’d be really funny if:

They are a throuple

Yvienne likes playing around

They are really supportive

But she has Really Bad taste)

.

References:

This drawing inspired the meme, and the girls are wearing sth like the dresses below

In a Roman Osteria by Carl Bloch

[cobaltsunflower]

post this meme again since it's correct

[roseprlnce]

anybody want some gotdang URLs

hey y’all I have too many saved URLs and I hate deleting them because I am a hoarder at heart so...I’d rather give em to people if anyone wants em. 

URLs available

- 21stcenturycrimelord (reference to Oswald Cobblepot) released into the void

- sassplatinum  (reference to Star Platinum from JJBA) released into the void

- yuriyplisetsky (YOI reference; Yuriy is a common Russian spelling of that name)

- yviennemagnolia (canon URL for Ciel The Last Autumn Story)

- transjonathan (JJBA reference)  taken!

- saturninesky released into the void 

- findingulmo (reference to The Silmarillion)

- whalesharkfacts released into the void

- veridianknight (reference to Arthurian legends)

message me or IM me if you want any of these! if I don’t respond within a day it’s cuz the message didn’t go through. 

[kurorealciel]

Problems with the "R!c poisoned his brother" theory.

Story-wise, it doesn't add anything. Ciel was already established to be a true phantomhive who is by any mean not a "pure 13yo child". recontextualizing the milk scene serves nothing to the story nor it add anything to Ciel's character.

In fact, it takes so much away from O!c's character. Turning a twin whom we know is a sadistic, selfish and mostly evil into a victim of everyone, even his own twin - might be the lamest thing ever.

Recontextualizing would result to new plotholes we really don't need. For example; If O!c got sick almost after every mission because of the lasting effect of the poison on his immune system, then why didn't he get sick during that month too? If your answer is "they gave him some kind of injection", the entire theory losses it's ground as the answer for why he didn't get sick that much after the month would be the same.

If you noticed, O!c stopped getting sick much after a year from ch133. We saw him celebrating Easter outside with his family, going into summer vacation, spending time outside in the cold autumn and being healthy and fine during the cold December of their birthday. If Ciel was poisoning his brother since they were 5, why he suddenly stopped? What, did his mental illness just disappear...?

Why would Ciel feel the need to stop O!c from joining the boating trip but not the summer one? I don't think sickness works that way.

The fact he openly mentioned the lemon cough drops, rules out the possibility of him secretly scheming to poison his twin. Unless Vincent was the one encouraging him to poison O!c in the first place. There's also the comment of them being "tasty", which means he tried them too lol. If anything, he would give them to O!c because they are TASTY. Just like how Honey is yummy and good for the throat, but the milk is what irritates one's cough and makes it rougher. Unless this info is available in the Victorian era, I really feel bad for Ciel. He wanted to lessen his cough, only to make it worse with the milk choice. Especially if it was cow milk lol.

Destroying one of O!C's comfort memory is something I personally would do without.

I will add more if I remember something.

[kholran]

I was tagged in a couple different things, so I’ll do them all on one post and spare your dashboards.

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

tagged by: @aurawolfgirl2000 Thank you!

Favorite time of the year -> Autumn

Comfort food -> Vegetable soup

Favorite collection -> Model horses. I’ve been collecting since I was 8, and I have a couple hundred at this point.

Favorite drink -> Cherry Pepsi.

Favorite songs -> Oh god my favourite songs change by the day. But some long-term faves include “Kuchizuke” by L’Arc~en~Ciel and “On My Own” from Les Mis.

Favorite artist -> L’Arc~en~Ciel/HYDE, Within Temptation, Anthony Warlow

Favorite fic -> I refuse to play favourites for fics I’ve read because there are way WAY too many amazing stories and authors out there. So I’ll plug one of my own instead. I’m quite proud of I Can Carry You.

Tagged by @hils79 Thank you!

Last song: “Wait For You” by Tom Walker that @amidalogicdive sent me (it’s good!)

Last movie: Drum Youth with the Guardian watchgroup

Currently watching: Just finished Legend of Yun Xi and Advance Bravely, started Unique Lady

Currently reading: Advance Bravely (hoo boy you guys, this one’s bananas)

Currently listening to: Usually my CDrama OST playlist.

Current obsession: Still living my entire life on the houseboat SS Risang.

I was tagged by @hils79 for a WIP tag game too but I’m such a slow writer (and I took a break from my WIPs to do the DMBJ Small-Medium Ship Exchange) that my list hasn’t changed from the last time I was tagged ^_^;