#kuroshitsuji ficlet

[kuroshitsuji-rarepairs]

Missing home

Sebastian rubs his eyes, glancing over at his partner after yawning. He puts on his sunglasses, groaning, after the light burns his retinas. "I know you're not asleep." He rolls over and perches his cheek against his hand. "Is something troubling you?"

Agni nods.

Sebastian sits up. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

Agni sits up and eyes his partner with a frown and sorrowful gaze. He traces an unfamiliar shape that Sebastian can not decipher, especially with dark tints over his eyes. Agni tries again, but he draws a pentagon this time. Sebastian tilts his head so he draws a box with a triangle on top.

"A house."

Agni touches his nose and fake coughs.

"House, nose, and coughing? Sorry you lost me."

Agni sighs and pretends to sneeze.

Sebastian observes him acting out a scenario and raises an eyebrow, putting the pieces together in his mind; He sighs. "This would be easier if you could sign or..."

Agni furrows his brows with a scowl. He crosses his arms and turns away with a pout. A soft moan escapes his lips despite attempting to stay mad as Sebastian leans on him and draws circles around his nipple.

"You're right, and I'm sorry." Sebastian plants a kiss on his cheek and smiles as he has a light bulb moment. "Are you homesick?"

Agni drops his guard and nods with a soft smile. His face heats up and darkens with his smile growing wider at Sebastian's light pecks on his brown skin. They rock together, caressing each other's hair and lips touching.

"Maybe someday we can go visit your country. I've been wondering what it's like to be in India. Would you like that?"

Agni nods vigorously and claps, and hums.

Sebastian laughs, fiddling with his long snow white hair. "I'll take that as a yes." He pulls on the string attached to the light and removes his sunglasses, sighing in content as his sleeping partner breathes.

[bitteraristocrat]

Masterpiece of a Paramour

Just reposting this little oneshot I wrote awhile back, with some new edits. ♡ Ciel is sitting for a portrait painting to commemorate his birthday, and Sebastian begins to contemplate on the meaning of human beauty.

The velvet stool's plushness lacked greatly in comparison to the flesh which plumped atop it. Surrounded by a wall of windows, the milk of the sitter’s legs shone from the hem of his trousers and bled into the pink knobs of his knees. From beyond the collar of frills erected his neck, filigreed with tiny, throbbing veins, and stiff contours. Its heat intensified the ghost of a Mille Fleurs witch hazel fragrance, still glistening at his nape. His jaw never wavered in its structure, sharpened to a delicate point and kissed by the longest tresses of his silken fringe; silver locks framed the flushed complexion of a boyish luxe, contrary to the mature and sunken mauve about his eyes. And, as if some prize bloom arranged exquisitely in a bouquet of rouched, indigo velour, the boy was made up in robes and glittering gold embroidery, suitable for the highest patrician, and nearly suitable for such a feast of a human that he was.

The young Lord of Phantomhive sat upon a makeshift throne in the stuffy parlour where he was scheduled to sit for a court portrait; an overzealous gift from her Majesty the Queen, on behalf of her watchdog’s birthday, much to his chagrin. His distant whines regarding the suffocation of the room from hours prior echoed in the crackling of embers from the hearth, as a faint blush swelled on the apples of his cheeks. The December ice protested from beyond the window glass with twapping and twinkling, assuring the boy there was no chance of an open window. Perfectly illuminated by the alabaster frost, Ciel sat in preparation for his painter, who dismissed himself after a brief preliminary sketching, to recollect his muse with a cigarette on the terrace.

Slouching, the boy's preened positioning was undone by a most sour expression, as he contemplated which was more tedious: the painting or the waiting. His eyes traced the branches of frost that veined the panes of the window beside him, half in boredom, half in aimless curiosity. The ghost of his reflection stared back in pastel hues of blue, and bled into the ashen sky. With a languid roll of his shoulders, he straightened his posture to an immodest pose, neck craned to one side as he admired his picture. Reverently, his hand reached for his lips - they pillowed around the pad of his finger as he blotted them with the tip of his glove. And as if his vain attentions were a lascivious summon, the click of heels materialised from the shadows beyond the parlour door, and his occupied hand darted to his lap.

The demon strode into view, with a glint of predatory intrigue, though he willed himself to keep that intimate image to himself, lest his master spoil the moment with a tantrum. Sebastian pardoned his entrance, and proceeded with a pitcher of water in one hand, and a goblet in the other.

“Tell me this won’t take much longer, Sebastian,” the young Master made sure to whine before his servant had a chance to comment on Ciel’s private display of self-admiration (of which he knew Sebastian caught a glimpse of). “I cannot bear it.”

The demon proceeded gently, one brow quirked, and served the water. “Monsieur Beauchêne was just complimenting your patience and remarked what a capital sitter you are, I should think you would not want to disparage such a commendation with your impatience, my Lord.” Ciel squirmed at this, and gave a thorny scowl. His expression darkened further with a scrunched nose as the butler’s aroma wafted his way. The typical notes of wool and musk were polluted by a pungent trace of cigarette smoke.

“I do hope you weren’t chittering with the artist for an unreasonable amount of time, I wouldn’t want his unruly convictions rubbing off on my servant,” the young Lord huffed, swatting at Sebastian to ward him off. “I want this session over with as soon as possible.” Sebastian gave a downcast glance to his uniform, taking note of the intruding ghost of smoke that braided with the fibres of his tailcoat. A gloved hand brushed down his attire, and the odour seemingly vanished.

“There is something to be admired in human artistry, I must admit,” said the butler, a hair's breadth away from informality. His master was far too keen not to notice; a blue eye flashed upwards to size up Sebastian’s remark. “Our painter had a few words to say regarding the subject, and as any attentive servant would, I offered my ear.” He discarded the pitcher and approached his employer from behind, hands hovering above tiny shoulders. “May I?” It was times like these that his demon was wont to entertain the limits of propriety with the unspoken rules that the pair shared which blurred those limitations. The boy’s glance altered to a knowing look, as if to give some formality to the situation, before silently nodding to the offer.

The demon’s talons coiled around the velvet-adorned shoulders beneath him and gave a firm squeeze, rolling into a massage. The boy settled into the pressure as Sebastian nursed his aching form, careful not to seem too pleased. What would his valet think of the little Lord indulging in such freely-given satisfaction? Surely, only a fool would take the bait, and his master was not a fool.

Sebastian’s lips parted at the new aroma his counterpart gave off, as it rose up like pearls of smoke and were smothered by the butler’s breath; lax, languid, yet alert and apprehensive at the prospect of being brought pleasure without the prelude of pain. How predictable this human was. “The monsieur was careful to remind me that an artist does not only capture the inner beauty, but the inner desire, all the same. It embodies the subject’s truest representation of himself in his most vulnerable. It, too, reflects the way he wishes to be seen.”

“It sounds like artistic rubbish, and I care not,” Ciel mumbled behind a sip of water.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian scoffed at his young master’s ignorance. “I have witnessed a great number of artistic endeavours in my time-”

“Your very long time.”

“...Quite.” The devil cocked his head and bit his inner cheek in an attempt not to reduce the brat’s bones to splinters. It was evident Ciel’s boredom had coaxed out the child within his faux-adult demeanour. “And, in my time, artists have remained ambivalent to the concept of modesty and their incessant will to assign arbitrary ‘meaning’ to their work.”

“You almost sound offended,” the boy chuckled. “Do be careful, your ego is showing, my servant.” Sebastian frowned at this.

“Please forgive my imprudence.”

“No, continue, I’m intrigued.” The young Master gave a smirk.

“The human concept of beauty is a fickle and ever-changing thing, and, if I may speak freely, I find it most amusing to observe.” Ciel shuddered, knowing the butler was referring to his recent display of vanity in the reflection of the icy window. “The translation of this in the medium of portraiture is something of an enigma. The objective is not to perfectly capture the subject, very unlike the novel invention of the photograph, but to manipulate its essence through the eye of the artist. As butler to the watchdog of Her Majesty, I am inclined to have faith in the ability of our dear Monsieur Beauchêne, but he fails to understand your essence as I do.”

The boy gawked, frozen as the kneading of his shoulders continued. “How very forward of you to say,” he stuttered, tone edging on the threat of a scold. He would not be flattered by the demon’s words, no. Not in the light of day, where their midnight profligacy was unwelcome. Nevertheless, Sebastian’s gloved fingers snaked to the front of his lord’s neck and cupped the tip of his chin.

“Oh, how would I paint you...?”

Their eyes locked in the reflection of the window.

Ciel snapped and swatted at Sebastian with a vexed glare. “That’s quite enough, Sebastian,” he clipped, eyes meeting the smoulder of a glowing, port gaze head on. “I thought my butler had more self-control than this. Clearly, all this prattle of artistic interpretation has made you impressionable to the same queer convictions as some lowly artist.”

“My Lord,” the butler gave a toothy grin. “Is it not the retainer’s sole duty to praise his liege to the utmost degree? Had I the privilege of hiring a court painter for you, I would have selected one more aligned with what is deserving of my Master.”

“Oh, don’t give me your insufferable excuses,” the boy shouted, his voice then doused by an air of caution and dropped to a hissing whisper, “you know such talk is entirely inappropriate whilst hosting a guest, let alone during the hours of the day which prying ears may overhear, you idiot!”

“Who, might I ask, will overhear such a conversation, sir?”

“Do you mean to quarrel with me, Sebastian?!”

“Not at all, my Lord.” The two exchanged a moment of gripping silence before Sebastian rounded the boy on his pedestal. The raven drank the image of his fuming little lord and thumbed his own chin. How he loved watching his feast squirm under the scrutiny of admiration, as if he were a fruit about to be plucked.

Sebastian collected the empty water goblet from Ciel and greedily took another inhale of the boy’s scent. He sought beyond the pollution of witch hazel which clouded his contractor's true fragrance: subtle notes of brandy and honey, and a powdery finish of his youth. This was merely the smell of his flesh, the devil mused, his human mouth dripping inside; the perfume of his soul was enough to make Sebastian mad beyond comprehension. “The technology of photography could never truly capture your opulence, either. I would not dare threaten your perfection by replicating it with some still image of time.”

“I said that’s enough,” Ciel barked. It was moments like these, he reckoned, that commanding his servant to cease would sour this game that Sebastian was proposing; the little lord’s protests did nothing but envenom the devil’s intentions, and he knew this. It was enough resistance to credit his obedience to propriety, but not enough for him to deny he enjoyed being looked at. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yes, I would paint you,” the butler ignored. “I seek to seize your essence in each stroke of my brush and let it linger, encouraging its festering into the canvas. And revel in how your beauty bleeds between colours of the entire spectrum. I want to imprison your delicacy in a painting.”

Sebastian observed in his master’s eyes the way he vacillated between rage and allure. But, as any mortified Englishman, and young boy, Ciel was paralysed with the construct of propriety digging into his gut.

“And how I would dress you,” the incubus cooed, tone oozing with a guttural moan. A flash of fangs as he grinned. "Surely not as modest as befitting a court painting."

Sebastian bent at the hip, his eyes level with his charge's glower. "Did you know, sir, it is a common practice in France to paint one's subject in the nude?" He whispered throatily.

“Shut up,” the boy shuddered, no longer able to bear the weight of Sebastian's gaze for fear of losing his composure. The lids of his eyes came crashing down in an attempt to hide from that poisonous stare. The heat of mortification mixed with the chill of disgust churned in his stomach and made Ciel ill with conflict. No matter how he wavered, how his knees trembled like two pink marbles knocking together, a glare peaked from beneath eyes hooded with a dangerous menace. Sebastian met it with a leer that begged to be tested. “You deplorable beast,” the young Lord damned him.

“Come,” as if the wintry wind from beyond the window swept away the tension, Sebastian’s eyes dimmed to a wine hue almost indistinguishable from ebony and knelt in reverence before the child. “Let us not forget it was you who encouraged my musings, sir. Our esteemed painter is approaching the enfilade as we speak. What would he think of his capital sitter if he saw you in such an unsightly state? Ah… here we are.” Gloved hands ghosted over the young lord’s calf and drew it into a gentle caress. Naturally, the boy recoiled at being touched, leering down at his demon with a venomous disdain for making his master so flustered. Steadily, Sebastian positioned the leg just as Monsieur Beauchêne had done so earlier. The artist had made a subtle remark regarding Ciel’s porcelain figure, although Sebastian could feel the man’s swarming thoughts of debauchery as unwelcome eyes marred his master’s inner thigh; the mere, perverse thought was enough to threaten rot on his perfect meal.

“Honestly, what’s gotten into you?” Ciel’s voice was husked by a heady breath. Sebastian blinked, having momentarily lost composure, pupils slit with envy. They frowned at each other, and Sebastian bent closer, black locks of hair tickling the young Lord’s knee.

“May I take an artistic liberty?”

“Oh, have you remembered how to ask for permission?” Ciel scoffed, his eyes following Sebastian’s to the hem of his shorts.

“I only mean to present my Lord in a state most true to his nature.”

“...If it is in my best interest, then I suppose it can be permitted.”

Gloved fingers buried beneath gathering fabric guided the hem farther up the earl’s leg until the fat of his inner thigh was illuminated by the sterling winter sun. The demon’s lips, wet with ardour, pressed therein. As if biting into the succulent fruits of Eden, his master’s ichor pooled in the devil’s mouth. Ciel squirmed, eager to pull away yet greedily holding still. His chest heaved, ensnared by the grip on his ankle as Sebastian sucked at his skin. Lips reluctantly withdrew, a web of slaver connecting them to a fresh bruise.

The doorknob rattled, and the demon seemingly evaporated between Ciel's legs. Flustered in a fit of gasps, albeit (somehow) sufficiently positioned so their sin was hidden from view, the young Master's eyes groped the room before him to locate the butler. "Sebas--!"

A hand ghosted over the nape of his neck and settled on his shoulder as the door flung open. "Ah, Monsieur. We were beginning to worry. My Master is growing quite restless. It would be wise to resume your study posthaste."

[blackbutlerjumbo]

You know, I’ve always wondered what Jumbo felt like when this mess was going down in his life; so I���m gonna write about it...This takes place around the time Father first starts asking them to kill people. So basically, the scene where Beast finds Joker covered in blood, but Jumbo's take on events.

Murderer

Jumbo looked down at his hands quietly. His mind was blank. Usually, the culmination of his being would be turbulent, aiming for any chance to get him to crack mentally, but there was nothing. Not a thought, not a peep, nor a murmur.

The large boy was only fifteen and a half years old and could not, for the life of him, understand how this could have happened. There was no sadness or anger to speak of, nor feelings of joy at the spectacle. There was just... nothing. An empty silence, much like a void welling up within him, only to yield a factual state of confusion and fear. What had gone wrong? Had his mind finally snapped? Had his sanity been severed? Regardless of what had happened, someone had been killed.

The person in question had been a drunk, meandering about the alleyways. Peter had alerted Jumbo and Joker to the new person's presence. The group had believed they wouldn't have needed to encounter anyone and much less kill them! Try as they may have, but they couldn't let any witnesses live. It was Father's direct orders.

Blood had gotten everywhere. While Jumbo held the man still, Joker slashed the guy's throat. Pitiful gurgling had been the only last words uttered. Peter was the only one lucid enough to remind them to keep moving.

The pang in his chest at the mention of Father seemed to jumpstart his heart again. He did not want to seem ungrateful, but...was it for this exact purpose that they had been taken off the street? A labored sigh shook his being as he pressed into the couch.

Even though the older male had showered and scrubbed himself thoroughly, he still felt the sticky red coating...smelled the tang of it...saw their eyes. He placed his hands on his face, almost to hide himself from the image.

He didn't know if he would sleep tonight. And he couldn't let the others see that something was wrong. Stoicism was a trait that he wore well... All he needed to do was bury all of his feelings and emotions about the matter, and everything would be better... right?

As he took himself upstairs to rest in his bedroom, one last thing had crossed his mind, sowing this experience and the emotions into the very fabric of his being.

'You. Are. A. Murderer.'

[shinigami-mistress]

The odd part is I wrote this a long time ago - BEFORE I drew the picture.

It was a still, dark night on the ocean floor. Most of the residents of Bikini Bottom were snug and safe in their beds; unaware of the terror that was soon to engulf their underwater community. Deep in their dreams, they did not hear the cries of pure torment emanating from one particular pineapple.

In his dimly lit library, SpongeBob knelt on his floor as he cradled the shattered remains of his most prized possession - Ol’ Reliable. The sponge had nearly cried himself dry as he screamed, “Why?!? Oh why?!? Why did this had to happen?!?” His tears flowed freely as he bawled.

Suddenly, a pink mist began to fill the room and swirl around him. SpongeBob stopped crying briefly as he looked up the stairs. “Gary!” he wailed, “Did you leave the fog machine on again?”

“SpongeBob Squarepants,” a voice cried from the smoke, “Your cries have called me from the abyss. I have come to help you....for a price.” The smoke receded as the portly, pink figure of a familiar starfish emerged.

“Patrick? What are you doing here?” SpongeBob asked, “Did you get lost again on your way home?”

Patrick shook his head. “You poor, simple creature,” he said, “You only thought you knew me all these years.” He laughed. “But tonight, I will show you my true power.”

“True power? Patrick, what are you talking about?”

Patrick laughed again; his voice echoing through the fruit. “It is always the ones you don’t suspect. Haven’t you figured it out? I’m here to grant you whatever you desire for a price.”

“You mean…” SpongeBob’s eyes grew big as he pointed at Patrick with one shaking hand. “...You’re a demon?”

“Works for me!” Patrick announced, “Now, what is it you desire?”

“If I tell you, will it cost me my soul?”

“No, it will cost you something much more dear. More precious.” He stepped closer so that he was now looming over SpongeBob. “It will cost….ONE PERFECT KRABBY PATTY!”

SpongeBob dropped to his knees sobbing. “No! Not that! Anything but…wait.” He stood up. “Did you say a Krabby Patty?”

“Yes. That is the cost of my service.”

SpongeBob smiled. “If you wanted a Krabby Patty, all you had to do was ask, buddy.”

Patrick, however, didn’t seem to be listening. “Now, there needs to be a seal. Something visible.” He looked around a minute before rummaging in some nearby drawers, where he found a jellyfish stamp that SpongeBob often used on letters. “Perfect,” he said, as he grabbed the stamp and approached SpongeBob. “Now open your eyes wide.”

“What are you-” SpongeBob began only for Patrick to suddenly, and painfully stamp his eye. “Ow!”

“The contract has been sealed,” Patrick said, “Uh...you might want to put an eye patch over that. It looks like it’s going to bruise.” Taking a step back. “Now, give me, your loyal servant, a name.”

“Patrick, you…”

“So it’s Patrick then. Was that the name of your pet snail?”

“You know his name is Gary. What are….”

“Never mind the small talk,” Patrick said, “Now, it’s time to get revenge on those that have wronged you.” He ran up the stairs; tripping several times on his way before running through the wall into the night.

With Patrick gone, Gary slithered up to SpongeBob. “Meow!”

“I know, Gary,” SpongeBob said, “It WAS a mistake to let Patrick buy that manga at the comics store.”

Who lives in a manor under the sea?

[scattered-irises]

In the Shadow of the Sun

I said I'd write an heir and spare analysis essay on Thomas and Christopher someday. Here it is, preceding a ficlet I'm gonna upload soon.

“The heir is born to a life laid out neatly and rigidly. The spare gets precisely the opposite: an uncertain place, unspecified duties, unreliable income and the unappealing promise of dissipating influence as the next heir and spare come along to bump you aside.” —David Von Drehle

Two brothers. One to rule and one to follow. One guaranteed a life in the sun, one a life in the shadow of his resplendent brother. A tale as old as time. 

We see it throughout the Bourbon Dynasty, with the struggles of Monsieur to define himself in the shadow of his brother Louis. We see it today with the Duke of Sussex and the Duke of Cambridge. This trope has been replicated in media as well, from Succession to the Phantomhive brothers in Kuroshitsuji. Although not particularly highlighted in the Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal anime, the sparse interactions between the oldest and middle brother of the Arclight family hints at the tensions between the heir and the spare. 

The tension is demonstrated throughout the first season, where Christopher commands while Thomas grudgingly follows. Whenever Thomas attempts to rebel, he is silenced. He has been taught his place a long time ago, raised in the shadow of his brother.

Meanwhile, Christopher has been raised with an air of superiority. He wields his power without qualms, seceding his power only to his father. Christopher insults Thomas without hesitating, calling him “distasteful” in episode 33. When Thomas guardedly retorts, Christopher escalates the situation until Michael intervenes. 

Christopher casually insults and lords over Thomas, signifying that this has been happening for a long time now. In episode 41, it is even implied that Christopher trusts Michael over Thomas.

The rift between Christopher and Thomas was definitely exacerbated after Christopher sent him and Michael to the orphanage, but I would suggest that these tensions have existed since the very beginning. 

In the flashbacks at the Arclight mansion, we see that Thomas and Christopher are already established as opposites. Thomas is spirited and lively. Christopher is sedate, either overlooking his brothers at his father’s side or quietly asserting his power over them. “Be good boys and I will teach you how to duel next time” (Episode 46). This promise of good behavior is preceded by Christopher’s warning that the two would be scolded if they continued to fight. In typical tweenage behavior, Thomas irritatedly replies “Tch! I know,” which implies that this has happened before. Causing fights has always been Thomas’ forte, it seems. 

Historically, an heir and a spare would have been raised as equals (in theory). Due to high child mortality rates, a spare would ensure that the family name would continue if the heir were to pass away due to disease or accident. Despite that, only one would inherit the family estate. If fortunate enough, the spare would inherit a piece of property from their mother’s side of the family (Spangler). Growing up, many spares would attempt to find other ways to distinguish themselves from their powerful sibling. In the Bourbons’ case, Monsieur, the title granted to the king's brother, would patronize the arts or distinguish himself in wars (Spangler).

Louis XIV and Philippe (the future Monsieur) as children:

Thomas’ efforts to distinguish himself from Christopher can be seen in his worldwide success as Duel Champion IV. Note that he signs with his stage name, the Arclight surname nowhere to be seen.

He is a new man, reborn in this modern world of duel monsters and spectacle. Despite his immense success, Christopher’s provocations continue to anger him. 

The sibling rivalry between these two is inflamed by the tensions involved with raising a spare and an heir. Thomas owes his foundations in dueling to Christopher, who had taught him. No matter how successful Thomas is, he knows that a part of his older brother will always be with him. Therefore, he can never truly escape his brother’s shadow. 

Thomas’ dual personality—one of cultivated manners versus one bristling with anger—represents the dutiful spare and the resentful spare cast into the shadows. The dutiful spare has been raised as his older brother’s equal, yet acknowledges that his place is not to rule but to follow. He is an appendage to his older brother, serving him in lands beyond the estate. He is affable, yet able to deflect attention onto his brother if needed. Thomas’ outward personality is gentlemanly, charismatic, and cheerful, lightening his brother’s severe nature.  

His true personality is a product of constant sibling rivalry and family derision. Like any other child, he was scolded for causing fights, yet, growing up in the shadow of the composed Christopher must have brought up constant comparisons. Why couldn’t he be calmer? Why couldn’t he control himself like his brother did? Thomas desires attention because he is a spare cast into the shadows. Despite abandoning him and Michael, Christopher continues to be lauded as the rational, responsible, and most trusted brother. Seeing his brother favored over him even after his terrible actions further exacerbated Thomas’ behavior. 

The desire to impress his father signifies that Thomas wishes to be trusted like his brother. Although heirs and spares are theoretically raised as equals, the sibling hierarchy remains. Thomas knows he can’t become Christopher but tries on his own terms regardless. He was not raised with a sense of superiority like Christopher. He compensates for his insecurities by lashing out and attempting to fight the system that he was born into without knowing exactly how to dismantle it. The system of the spare and heir must be combated with wiles and subtlety, neither of which Thomas is particularly talented in. I must slightly digress and note that Michael possesses these qualities in greater abundance than Thomas.

Given a few years, Michael can choose between usurping the family title or creating his own legacy. I'm saying the latter.

In Zexal II, the only significant interaction between Christopher and Thomas is their farewell before his duel against Nasch. Instead of insulting Thomas, Christopher attempts to assert his power by preventing Thomas from dueling his “only friend.” He questions if Thomas can duel Nasch not because he wishes to demean his brother but out of concern for his emotions. This marked change in behavior is never explicitly explained. Perhaps at the end of the WDC duels, as the brothers faced death, they realized what was truly important. More reasonably, the period they spent missing from Zexal II was one of reconciliation. 

Christopher’s behavior in episode 124 signifies that he no longer views Thomas as a threat to his role but instead as a collaborator. This contrasts the archetype of the jealous heir. In 1569, King Charles IX rushed to join the siege of Saint-Jean-d’Angély due to the amount of praise his brother Henri was receiving on the battlefield. Instead of stealing Thomas’ glory for himself, Christopher allows Thomas to fight, granting him a card upon departure. Perhaps in his own way, Christopher was fighting alongside his brother during the duel. Thomas reciprocates his brother’s behavior and affectionately calls him “aniki,” affirming their brotherly relationship. Instead of admonishing him for the casual title (equivalent to ‘bro’ in English), Christopher accepts it with his characteristic quietness. 

Their improved relationship likely continues after Zexal. However, in Duel Links, it should be noted that Thomas has no unique lines when dueling against Christopher. Although Zexal’s duel links timeline is set in between Zexal I and II, the brotherly interactions around Christopher’s arrival still contain a fraction of the tension seen in Zexal I. While sibling rivalry is commonplace, I believe Thomas and Christopher’s rivalry is one heavily informed by the politics behind the spare and the heir. The “dissipating influence” continuously hangs over Thomas and he constantly finds himself at odds with his brother. Thus, he strives to create a life of his own outside of the family, traveling the world and creating a name for himself. 

Thomas is not an overly covetous spare seen in the likes of Claudius or Richard III. However, Zexal alludes to his envy of Christopher’s position. He wishes to be trusted and seen by his father instead of pushed aside. If he had been raised as his brother’s equal, why was he not deserving of the same trust? His fiery personality is built upon a foundation of resentment that festers in his heart. He attempts to fill this hole in with unchecked sadism and cruelty. At the end of Zexal, he is seen continuing his career as a Duel Champion, still attempting to create an independent identity from his brother’s. 

Cited Sources because why not

Spangler, Jonathan. Monsieur. Second Sons in the Monarchy of France: 1550-1800. Routledge, 2021, https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003165897.

Von Drehle, David. “Harry and Meghan Are Product of ‘an Heir and a Spare.’” Indianapolis Business Journal, vol. 40, no. 48, 2020, pp. 14-15B.

[ciel-phone]

that fag, contemplating

(1915 words) by

ghostbuns

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom:

Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Underage

Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomhive, Diedrich (Kuroshitsuji)

Additional Tags: POV Diedrich, Emerald Witch Arc (Kuroshitsuji), Not Beta Read, Ficlet

Summary:

On the train back from Wolfsschlucht, Diedrich overhears a rather...interesting conversation—and wishes he hadn't.

[calimera62]

Title: The Damned and the Blessed Characters: William Twining, Kevin Cecil, Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis Summary: William Twining and Ciel Phantomhive looked at each other and saw a mystery they were determined to solve…

I'm trying my hand on (another) Makai Ouji/Kuroshitsuji crossover, because there's so little content about this crossover and I'm starved for more. This will be a ficlets collection, and more tags will be added as the story will progress.

[makiville]

rules & guidelines ! ♡

────꒰👾꒱ 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖.

this blog sometimes creates and interacts with [n]sfw content. if that’s not your cup of tea, please block the specific tag or simply leave my page.

don’t pressure me into updating. i write whenever i feel like it. the same goes for gif sets.

read my works’ warnings before you start reading, they do serve a purpose.

dark content and all kinks are included in a detailed content warnings list at the beginning of every single one of my fics. they are also tagged with cw.[insert warning]. make sure to curate your dashboard and block tags accordingly.

i write for kakegurui, jujutsu kaisen, kuroshitsuji, bungo stray dogs, kimetsu no yaiba, chainsaw man, tokyo revengers and shingeki no kyojin.

────꒰🦇꒱ 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐅.

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[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Challenge of the Day: Your Finnian creation

Six-sentence Sunday, sort of (more like paragraphs). Contributing to the @kuro-morale-events’ Challenge of the Day: Your Finnian creation.

When the carriage was a speck of dust in Ciel’s eyes, there was a lump in his throat. He was unsure for the first time if he did the right thing with his demands. There was a lot of stake in this. Tanaka knocked on his door to bring him a message from the Queen. He also asked him if he was ready for lunch, he shrugged it off, but took the envelope. He could read it later. “Where’s Finnian?” He asked the house steward instead. “He is still in the greenhouse, Sir. Mister Sebastian instructed him to replace the soil of the greenery. The dypsis lutescens, the Chamaedorea, and the ferns need to be tended to. Spider mites and other pests are damaging the plants.” “Call him, would you, Tanaka? I have to ask him something.” Ciel was restless, still looking at the window. “As you wish, Sir.” Tanaka watched the progeny of his former master attempting to act like an adult and it seemed the young man was failing. Ciel was finally alone. The Queen was still constant sending her messages discreetly. He touched the monarch’s wax seal. Usually Sebastian would stay until he opened the letter. But he wasn’t here. He could, of course, command him back to his side, but he wouldn’t do that. He wanted to prove something to himself. But he was unsure what that was. Two knocks. A click. Finnian entered then closed the door. “You called for me, Master? Is everything all right?” Finnian, he��d be 20 in a few months time, was taller than Ciel by a foot. His eyes were still blue and his hair was strawberry blond. But his face was tanned, which gave the young man a more cheerful countenance. He also gained in muscle mass. And always loyal to Ciel. Gazing at his employer, the gardener’s face hardened, worry lines decorated his forehead. “Come here, Finny,” Ciel beckoned for him, reaching for his left hand. Finnian drew the curtains close, looked at Ciel’s eyes and hugged him close. “I don’t like it when you look so melancholic,” Finnian told Ciel touching his head and neck. “Finny… I…” It was a droll to feel like this. He knew Finnian’s devotion was more than skin-deep. He’d challenge Sebastian if he found out what the demon had put Ciel through. “May I stay with you? This time? We never have the chance whenever Mister Sebastian guards you like a hawk, you know?” It was true. Ever since they began their clandestine affair, Ciel tried his might not to ire suspicion from his butler. But he was certain Sebastian knew ever since that happenstance months ago and he was only quiet about it. These petty human relationships didn’t matter to the demon anyway.

This is the going to be the second part of the “Lovers, disdain your loves!” I have laid out the outline. But I cannot seem to formulate the words very fast. Every day I have a new idea popping into my head. This chapter is going to focus on Ciel and Finnian.

I feel like I am playing with the Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler characters as if they are Barbie dolls and smash them together wherever and whoever I see fit.

[justonemorechapternicercy]

Being Niccolò took longer than he expected when he took the contract. It was a strange experience, considering that there were decades prior when he didn't even have use for a name, not to me too behaving like a human. He's never worked so hard for the taste of somebody's soul, but every time he caught himself wondering if it was worth it, worth the wait, Perseus did something so unexpected, so deliciously cruel and dangerous that he was reminded why he offered the deal to the broken preteen all those years ago.

Perseus was different.

Perseus was worth the wait.

Niccolò knew it ever since the young boy all but demanded the contract; bathing in the crimson of his enemies, hands clenching, eyes burning as he ordered Niccolò to kill all of those who took him, who tried to break him. His bones might have been broken, his skin tore apart, but not his willpower, not his soul.

Never his soul.

It was not the task he expected when he exchanged blood and contract with the preteen. Baking elaborate blue cakes for his young charge; cleaning up the mansion after the incompetent servants; being the perfect, charming, hell of a butler for the visiting guests.

What he did expect - and maybe even wanted, who knows after all these years -, was their nightly routine. Running bath to freshen up his young master, washing down the bloodstains from his soft skin. Quietly dressing up Perseus into his nightwear, bringing him warm milk to help with his sleep. Dragging the curtains closed, just to hear his master's voice unfailingly call after him.

"Stay. Just for this night."

And he would stay. For that night, and for the following one.

Because Perseus was worth the wait.

[ciel-plusultra]

Hi there! I'm not rly active on here but I stumbled across your posts and I really love your writing! I've had this idea where Sebastian is trying to teach ciel how to ballroom dance, and for some reason Ciel's heart seems to race whenever they practice together 💘 🥺. I would be so happy if you would be interested in writing about this. Thank you!!

Hello there! 💙 I love this prompt! I’m an absolute sucker for ballroom dancing so I’m very excited to write this for you! Quite romantic indeed. Thank you for the ask 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is a waste of time.” Ciel clipped, watching as Sebastian fiddled with the phonograph. He was clumsy, and the bloody demon knew it. So why would he subject him to humiliation? Did he get some enjoyment out of watching him stumble over his own feet?

Sebastian clicked his devilish tongue.

“A waste of time? Hardly, young master. You intend to host grand parties here at the manor, do you not? You’re getting older now. I’ve been far too lenient. At your age you should certainly be able to master a basic ballroom dance.” Sebastian said, stepping into the center of the room. Ciel could hardly believe his ears!

“Hold your tongue, demon! Just who do you think you’re talking to like that? I’ve gotten quite far without the need for something as foolish as dancing so I hardly believe this is a necessary use of our time!” Ciel retorted, ears burning at the very notion.

The demon lets out an unguarded, throaty chuckle.

“Then for no reason than to humor me, my lord.” Sebastian reasoned, walking a slow circle around the earl before stopping to bow politely. He lifted his head, grinning at his master as he extended a hand.

Ciel hesitated. The music kicked up, a whir of some upbeat tune. Suddenly, things felt like they were getting far too loud and the only thing to make it stop was trusting Sebastian. He took a tentative step forward and placed his delicate hand within the demon’s, much to the clear amusement of said demon.

“Wonderful.” Sebastian said, or perhaps it was more of a purr... Ciel could barely hear above the music as he was pulled in. “Follow my lead, my lord.” Came Sebastian’s quiet instructions now that Ciel was so close.

Had Sebastian always had such a nice scent? Clean and crisp. Ciel wanted to lean in closer to smell it properly, to place what could be the source of such a pleasant aroma, but his time was running short. Sebastian’s free hand fell to Ciel’s waist, holding it with a respectful pressure. Out of instinct, Ciel placed his free hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. His touch was light as a feather, showing his uncertainty. He half expected his butler to correct him, but such words never came. Instead, the demon’s feet moved towards him and Ciel took a step back. Sebastian took a step back, and Ciel took a step forward... Guided by the hand that still held his.

“Very good, young master.” Sebastian grinned and continued the movements to allow Ciel to become comfortable following his lead. The earl found himself grateful when his butler didn’t chide or embarrass him for stepping on his pristinely shined dress shoes, but rather brushed it off and continued their movements as if unbothered by it. “Keep count with the music, my lord. One two three, breathe, one two three, breathe...” His voice trailed off as he spun them in a wide circle, gracefully keeping each foot movement in time with the music.

While Ciel was having trouble keeping up, he was also having trouble staying calm. His heart was racing, but it was hardly from the physical activity. Sebastian was leading so wonderfully, and his grip was so light and yet reassuring. The look on his face was almost human. Almost. He could be mistaken for the most handsome human man at the ball... For the most eligible bachelor with a sharp grin and haunting eyes. The sudden softness that he found in the demon’s face... Ciel felt as if he were falling into a trap. Surely the demon would embarrass him somehow. Perhaps drop him on his rear during the big finish, finally scold him for being clumsy. Ciel wasn’t sure he could bear it coming from a face that looked... So human.

“Hold on to me, my lord.” Sebastian instructed and Ciel’s chest tightened. His hand moved along Sebastian’s shoulder, grasping lightly at the nape of his neck while Sebastian’s hand moved to the small of Ciel’s back. It was a risqué dance, but clearly Sebastian wanted Ciel to be bold enough to try it. The demon pulled Ciel’s body in close before quite literally sweeping him off his feet in order to dip him down low.

“Sebastian-” Ciel began breathlessly as his hand grasped the demon’s neck a bit tighter. Crimson eyes were roaming Ciel’s face, and the earl had the good grace to blush at the attention. Sebastian’s hand felt red hot against his back as he stared up into the demon’s face which hung so close to his own. There was hardly any sense in controlling his breathing, as the butler had certainly picked up on his racing heart by now. Ciel was at the mercy of Sebastian’s hands.

The earl closed his eyes, not daring to move from their position. Perhaps it had been only five seconds, or maybe a lifetime... He wasn’t sure but Sebastian was so... Close. He could feel the soft heat of the demon’s breath against his own lips and he parted them ever so slightly, inviting Sebastian in without realizing it.

But the kiss never came. Instead, Sebastian stood up slowly and carefully guided Ciel into a standing position as well.

“Now, do you see the importance of ballroom dancing?” Sebastian asked quietly but his voice echoed throughout the open room. When had the music stopped? Ciel blinked in confusion, trying to regain his bearings as the demon let go of him. “We’ve got a bit of refining to do, so we shall pick back up tomorrow. If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ll fetch some tea for you before dinner.” Sebastian said, then bowed to Ciel once again before taking his leave.

The earl felt lightheaded and almost giddy. His face was warm, alight with a blush from the nervousness of it all. Ciel looked at his hand, the one that was held by Sebastian, and his lips quirked up slightly at the corner. Perhaps there was more to ballroom dancing than he had realized, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here you go! Hopefully this was somewhat close to what you were envisioning! When I write dancing, I try to focus on the tension. It’s all about the yearning 🥺 Thank you so much again for the request! I hope to see you around more often!

[bitteraristocrat]

I know this may sound silly but thank you so much for showing interest in my lil kuro post, I'm glad you liked it! Have a lovely day 💖

You did the dessert post!!! 😱😱💘 I should be thanking you for making it - I honestly think about it daily. Descriptive and period-accurate food is something I love writing with my Kuro fics, and stuff like your post is so utterly inspiring (and mouthwatering... 🤤).

[randomanimeandmangablog]

The Undertaker’s Last Moments

“It’s quite alright.” The demon says, as the Undertaker lays dying. “I will take care of your grandsons once you’re dead.”

There’s the sound of a gunshot, and the Undertaker manages to turn his head to see the demon’s master standing over his brother’s body, a gun in hand.

“Well,” Sebastian smiles fondly at the remaining twin, “one of them anyway.” 

[plague-of-insomnia]

Seb/Bard/Wolf is fun but consider...: Agni/Bard/Wolf. Wolf and Agni have little to no mercy dealing with Bard as they manhandle him and pass him around like a blunt, taking turns and eventually fucking him at the same time😳 Considering the way Bard is depicted as the whole masculine figure and all that, I think it’s only fair Wolf/Agni take him down a peg����

Anon, I was so thrilled when I got this ask because I almost never get smutty asks like this!! 🔥 I’m sorry I couldn’t respond sooner.

I absolutely love the idea of Bard being taken on both ends at once... I’ve always HC Agni as a rough lover—yeah he’s a sweetheart now but he was a criminal once, and that side of him comes out when he fucks.

So Wolf is pounding Bard from behind and Agni is choking him on his cock, just gripping his hair tight and forcing his cock balls deep down Bard’s throat. Drool dribbling down his chin, Wolf’s huge hands leaving bruises on Bard’s hips. The big German murmuring curses in his native tongue as he thrusts harder and harder, chasing his release but at the same time never wanting this to end. Bard clearly doesn’t bottom too often because he’s so fucking tight and hot and fuccckk... and looking up and seeing that beautiful Indian man with a devilish smirk as he forces his cock into a greedy mouth???

And meanwhile, Bard’s own cock is hard and heavy between his legs, leaking pre-cum on the floor as he struggles to remain in one position as he’s plowed from both ends.

Perhaps Agni praises Bard for how beautiful he looks taking his cock. Maybe he rewards him by pulling him off just long enough for him to take a deep breath before shoving his huge cock back in that delicious mouth.

Seb would wonder why the poor chef can’t seem to walk or talk right the next day... is he coming down with something?

But also imagine— Seb/Bard/Agni/Wolf — Seb is so fucking sassy, it would be nice to see him stuffed so full the only sounds he can make are muffled moans.

Bard and Agni DPing him while Wolf shoves his enormous, thick cock in that fangy mouth, tugging hard on his black hair every time he gets a bit too devilish with those dangerous teeth, the pain making the demon’s dick twitch, clenching around the two men inside him.

Bard on his back, looking up at Seb’s lips stretched wide around Wolf’s cock, Seb’s dick hard between them as Agni thrusts from behind, hand wrapped around Seb’s throat, shivering each time his cock rubs over the head of Bard’s dick inside that tight hole.

In this position, Bard can’t move much, except to scratch his fingernails along Seb’s thighs, biting his lip at how beautiful and debauched that perfect butler is right now, how he grunts and growls whenever Bard teases his neglected cock. Squeezing it, fisting it, slow strokes. Releasing it, watching the precum collect and stick in thin strands before smoothing it around the head, making Sebastian’s back arch, desperate for more.

None of them can last long in this torturous dance, and as much as they love to come inside Sebastian, the satisfaction in pulling out and coating his body in cum is far more alluring. Skin flushed, completely used and gaping... and hard again before any of the other men can even catch their breath.

Now which one will be plowed next by the horny demon??

[ranma0]

When everything is finally (finally) over Ciel gives Sebastian his soul, completing the contract in the dignified manner of a gentleman. 

This should be the end of the story, but Sebastian is not the sort of being that takes well to endings (he is a demon, not a gentleman) and although Sebastian no longer has a contractual reason to do so he stays Sebastian,

and he keeps the soul.

It’s a funny thing for a demon to hold on to something that he had initially planned to eat but Sebastian (he is still Sebastian) had always planned to savor Ciel (who is no longer Ciel). 

And so he keeps the human soul with him, in his own being

And so he lingers in the human world, looking for work with the other servants, staying with them out of habit. 

And the funny thing about owning a human soul is if you keep the soul with you as you live from day to day, eventually it becomes your soul. What is a demon with the soul of a human? 

He finds he’d rather linger on out of habit than attempt to answer that question; should the answer ever be pertinent he expects it to become clear with time.

Eventually Sebastian (who is still Sebastian, and not a gentleman, or a human, or Ciel) realizes that what he is a being who can laugh at Bard’s jokes, caught by surprise by his morbid and often filthy quips. He realizes that he is a being who will feel warm reassurance when Mei Rin stands at his back, as clumsy and forgetful as ever but consistently reliable in dire situations. Sebastian realizes that he has become someone who wants with an increasing fervor for Finnian to grow into a happy man who will live a good life.  

Sebastian becomes someone who would work to help pay for Tanaka to receive medical treatment and a comfortable bed at the end of the day until the end of his life. 

He is a being who has never before wanted anyone to have a good life, but somewhere along the path of finding new housing and gainful employment habit had become fondness.

[shinigami-mistress]

Actually was an idea I toyed with but won’t get around to it for awhile anyway: what if reapers can become demons? What if, long ago, Sebastian was a reaper? This idea was inspired by your theory that reapers hate demons bc they fear losing their humanity, but what if that was LITERAL?

Lighting sliced through the pitch black sky; momentarily highlighting the alley that would soon become a mini battlefield. At one end, Sebastian stood with a ready stance; silverware tucked between his fingers like a makeshift claw as his eyes gazed steadily at William. A smile graced his handsome face as he stood there, as if he was waiting for his adversary to make the first move.

William’s posture was stiff as he held his scythe in his vice like grip. There was no smile on his face, as his mouth was held in a thin, hard line. His two-toned eyes never shifted, never strayed from Sebastian. There was no nervousness or hesitation in either his body or his face. He simply stood there; waiting and ready.

Without words, they lunged towards each other with their chosen weapons ready. Sebastian slashed, and William dodged before extending his scythe with deadly accuracy. At the last second, Sebastian jumped aside, and William’s scythe created sparks as it hit the opposite wall. William controlled his scythe and returned it to it’s normal size, but Sebastian was already behind him. The demon had moved too fast for eyes, even William’s eyes, to even follow.

Sebastian reached around and grabbed hold of William’s scythe close the base. His grip was strong and, William couldn’t wrench his scythe from Sebastian’s grasp, as the demon grabbed him with his free hand. At first glance, they appeared to be in a passionate embrace, despite William’s struggling.

“Let go of me, beast,” William growled.

Sebastian laughed; his breath hot upon William’s ear. “It’s been a long time since I handled a scythe,” he said.

William tried to pull away. “What are you talking about?”

There was another low laugh from Sebastian as he pulled William closer. “Haven’t you guessed?” he asked, “We’re really not that different after all.”

“No,” William said, “No. NO.” His voice grew with each denial as he jerked free of Sebastian’s demonic embrace. Spinning around, he pointed his scythe straight at Sebastian’s smiling face. “We are nothing alike.”

“Are you sure? I thought you would have guessed it by now. You always seemed to have a bit more sense than other reapers I have known.” 

“There is nothing to guess, demon,” William said, “There is nothing similar about us.” He lunged forward again, as Sebastian dodged, but William’s aim was slightly off this time.

“Your face says far more than your words right now,” Sebastian said, as his material form began to fade. Black, smoke-like tendrils took the place of his arms and legs and he surrounded William. Laughter seemed to echo all around, as Sebastian’s voice once again whispered in William’s ear. 

“I was once a reaper.”

“That’s impossible,” William said, as he swung at the smoke, but there was no longer a body left to strike.

“There is a thin line between demons and reapers,” Sebastian continued, as if he hadn’t even heard William. “Supernatural creatures existing outside of humanity with an interest in souls. It’s a choice, you know.”

“What’s a choice?”

“Becoming a demon and turning your back and the final shred of humanity that beats in your heart,” Sebastian answered, “I did so easily once I learned that all those tales of redemption was just a lie.”

“It’s...It’s not a lie,” William said in a faltering tone.

“Of course it is. It’s just a fairy tale designed to keep good little reapers in their supposed place, but it’s not right. I’ve always valued truth. I know that you do as well.”

William gritted his teeth. “I doubt a beast like you even knows the meaning of truth.”

Sebastian chuckled. “You are the one lying now, Mr. Spears,” he said, “At the very least, you are lying to yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me. My young master is summoning me.”

“Don’t simply abandon our fight, demon,” William demanded, but Sebastian was already gone. William was all alone in the alley with only his thoughts.

And his fears.