a-sad-writer - Tumblr blog

[a-sad-writer]

You can't tell me Sebastian and Ciel aren't enjoying this little teacher x student roleplay. They are having fun with this, definitly. You can't tell me they aren't sneaking kisses at every opportunity, Ciel trying to pull Sebastian down to him by his rosary and Sebastian gladly giving in, leaning down, wrapping Ciel in his arms and his robe, holding him as close as possible and kissing him sweetly, deeply, just slightly letting him feel his fangs without injuring him. And in the evenings when they are done discussing their course of action under the disguise of tutoring in Sebastian's office, they take some time to treat themselves. Sebastian's favourite is having Ciel on his teacher desk while they are both still mostly clothed. But it's not very comfortable so they only do that when they have enough time left for Sebastian to massage Ciel afterwards. Most of the time it's in Sebastian's bed or his chair and often it's more cuddling than sex because with Ciel sharing a bedroom with multiple other boys, Sebastian can't lay with him in his bed all night. But they always find moments to spare for each other. Sebastian is needier than ever because his access to Ciel is limited. As a butler he got to touch Ciel way more and constantly spent time with Ciel. All the more he is excited when he does get to have Ciel for a while and Ciel enjoys that a lot. He always enjoys feeling Sebastian's passion, his pent up hunger for Ciel's affection, his reveling in getting Ciel's attention and in touching him. Especially with himself feeling the same, plus Sebastian looking that good in his teacher Outfit. They are having a lot of fun.

[a-sad-writer]

meow meow

[a-sad-writer]

Also I really want to write Sebaciel fanfics but now I don't even have ideas

[a-sad-writer]

I tried writing the next chapter for my fanfic 'a dangerous priest and a harmless demon' today but I barely even managed five sentences before my brain just shut down. And then I used picrew to make these pics of Kanda from that fanfic.

The rosary isn't quite right but that was the only option they had. Also I Don't know why it's not possible to have the rosary above the priest robe instead of under it.

[a-sad-writer]

I hate my stupid brain. All it does is make me feel bad. Won't even let me write any fanfics.

[a-sad-writer]

I feel like a lot of people don’t quite get what a butler is. The role tends to get rounded off to ‘male servant’ pretty regularly in some media, whereas actually butlers are typically not just servants but chief servants. The butler was generally in charge of either all male servants or just all servants, period, in the household of an aristocrat or other very wealthy person. This meant that butlers have often been fairly powerful and influential people, and sometimes even had a manservant or two of their own.

(Also, fun fact: Mary Roberts Rinehart, the early 20th century mystery writer who is widely credited with popularizing the whole ‘the butler did it’ trope was nearly murdered by one of her own servants, a chef whom she had passed over for promotion to butler. He came at her with a pistol, but it jammed, allowing her chauffeur time to wrestle it away and restrain him.)

[a-sad-writer]

I forgot that I have discord. It's still on my phone, totally unused

[a-sad-writer]

Also, I can't get over how beautiful they animated Sebastian's and Ciel's eyelashes!!!!!!!

[a-sad-writer]

Anyway, Sebastian likes to give love bites to Ciel and no one can convince me otherwise. He likes biting Ciel's neck or shoulders the most but while they are at Weston he has to find parts of Ciel's body to bite where no one can see the teeth marks.

[a-sad-writer]

Ah, Sebastian's wonderful fangs... I'm being so normal about them.... Totally......

[a-sad-writer]

Look I know we're all preoccupied with the ED but may I present to you:

Teeth

[a-sad-writer]

Weston College but what if it was like Ouran highschool host club

[a-sad-writer]

One scene in particular I want to talk about is when Sebastian gets summoned to the dining room.

HE'S SO CUNT!!

Jealous of his perfect hips and waist. 🫣😘

Anyways... Some details I really loved was how he has this shimmering purple aura, the same as Ciels eye.

This suggests to me that he's teleporting whenever he's summoned, which is interesting as I always just imagined he was running insanely fast like in book of murder. Him traveling between England and America seems more reasonable now.

Also, his red eyes are beautiful in this artstyle!

Bro is majestic.

[a-sad-writer]

Headcanon that Kanda sometimes gets cute aggression and bites Allen in the neck or the shoulders to let it out

[a-sad-writer]

So yesterday was a nightmare and now I'm very depressed and physicially exhausted and can escape neither, also I'm having some sort of identity crisis, so currently I am having writer's block. But I will of course keep up with 'a dangerous priest and a harmless demon'. I have some plans for it, of course there will be a lot more fluff in that fic but also there will be a sort of finale, something will happen before everything ends happily and fluffily. But that is for the future. In the next one or two chapters I want to finally write smut happening between Kanda and Allen.

[a-sad-writer]

@a-sad-writer | @icantdothistodaybruh | @sebadztian | @castleartsebaciel | @puppyfan9000

2. The Shadow

Several days had passed since the night of the investigation, and Ciel had barely left his bed. 

He had awakened late-morning the following day: dizzy, coughing, and sweating with fever – his thoughts immediately pulled to the malevolent creature he had stupidly unleashed. He ached all over, too weak to move but too restless to sleep away the symptoms, plagued by shadows that lurked in the very corners of his peripheral, always just out of sight. 

It was only on the evening of the second day, when his head had stopped spinning and his thoughts became clearer, that he recognised the nature of his illness; that his fatigue and lack of breath were born of the consequences of dust inhalation on his already smoke-weakened lungs. He cursed himself for not taking a mask.  

Sleep still found him only in short burst, broken by fits of coughing and feverish chills. The shadow lingered in each moment of waking, closer now, no longer bound to the edge of his vision, but Ciel would not dwell on supernatural reasoning. He was sick, and there were any number of human conditions that could cause such a hallucination. 

What was it Dickens had once written?

“There is more of gravy than of grave about you”. 

It was on the fourth day that Ciel had finally felt well enough in himself to really do anything. Still groggy and sore, he had at least managed to shower and change clothes, and was now at mid-afternoon preparing himself a bowl of cereal – chocolate-coated, as was his vice – and a nice cup of tea to soothe his aching throat. He took both back to his room and switched on the computer to check his e-mails and catch up on anything he had missed in the last few days. 

Nothing incredibly interesting. Spam mail. Shipping notifications. A series of social media alerts that his cousin, Lizzie, had been posting photographs from the trip that she and some of her college friends were taking to Paris before the start of the new term; he could guess what the caption for many of them would be without having to look. Still, he went ahead and liked a few of them, just so that she wouldn’t think he was ignoring her. She’d only get worried and call him otherwise, and as much as he did love Lizzy, her personality could be somewhat... overwhelming; he certainly didn’t feel up to facing her at the moment. 

There were also a few pictures from his other cousin, posting from his own – entirely unrelated – vacation, also in Paris. He had been invited to go along as well himself (not to make the trip seem less suspicious, mind you. It was, after all, a completely separate journey with nothing whatsoever to do with Elizabeth’s), but had politely declined in favour of his research; Edward seemed to have managed to find someone to go with him, though – Ciel vaguely recognised the other man in the photos as having been the punk kid from their school, in the same year as his cousin. Ches-something. Funny, Ciel wouldn’t have taken the two of them for being friends – there had always been more of a rivalry between the two of them, if Ciel remembered correctly. 

The brief check turned to mindless scrolling, until a new notification pop-up appeared in the corner of his browser. A private message on the paranormal discussion board. 

undertaker_136649: How goes the investigation? 👻 

Shoot. He’d promised to leave an update, hadn’t he? Well, there was no time like the present. 

_watchdog_: I managed to talk to something. 

The reply was near instantaneous – he must have been eager for the news, just waiting for Ciel to finally appear as ‘online’. 

undertaker_136649: Spirit box? 

_watchdog_: No. Talking board 

There was more of a delay this time, but Ciel could probably guess what ‘Undertaker’ was going to say... 

undertaker_136649: Silly, silly! You’re not supposed to play with those by yourself you know ☠️☠️☠️ 

... Yep, that was pretty much what he’d thought. Whether or not there was any real basis to it, the general consensus seemed to be that a spirit board should always be used by two or more people at once. Ciel’s interest in the particular location had been a personal one, though; it didn’t feel right to invite anyone else. 

In hindsight, the spirit box probably would have been a better bet – at the very least, it didn’t require physically calling upon the spirit to communicate. He had one, somewhere in his bag of equipment – a basic little handheld radio frequency receiver. There was nothing inherently wrong with it, but Ciel had been putting off using it because he had a nicer one on order, with a built-in EVP recorder. 

Another message came through: 

undertaker_136649: Anyway, what did ghosty say??  

Ciel took a moment before typing back, wondering how much he should reveal of what had happened, if anything at all. 

_watchdog_: Not much. It told me it was a demon so I left. 

That covered the basics, at least; though he didn’t mention his faux pas with closing the conversation.  

undertaker_136649: Never mind. There’s always next time 🖤 

Ciel cringed at the emoji. He knew it was just how Undertaker typed, but he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when strangers online signed off with hearts and kisses; it was far too overfamiliar for his taste. 

Re-reading the message, though, he noticed the distinct lack of urgency. 

_watchdog_: you don’t think it was a real demon? 

It was as if the man had been waiting his whole life for someone to ask just such a question. The flood gates opened to reams of messaged full of information on the topic, complete with hyperlinks to sources and further reading.  

According to Undertaker’s knowledge, demons – or daemons – were less of a ‘spirit’ and more of a primordial force, existing on a different plane, far removed from mankind. They seldom involved themselves with humans, viewing the denizens of the world as little more than skittering ants – occasionally amusing to watch, but having little use for anything else. Despite what horror movies liked to say, the likelihood of one of these entities having actually come forward from its own realm was apparently slim to none, and the chances of it remaining in this world even less so... 

undertaker_136649: remember - spirits don’t have to tell the truth, and if it WAS a demon it probably wouldn’t have said so 

undertaker_136649: more likely just a silly little ghosty making mischief xx 

It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from Ciel’s shoulders. Whatever the thing was that he had spoken to, it likely wasn’t anything malicious, just bored. Had it not told him as much? 

He reached for his tea and took a sip; it had already gone cold. Grimacing, he drained the cup anyway, if only for his throat. 

Another message: 

undertaker_136649: Get any of it on film?  

Ciel suddenly remembered that all of his equipment had been left in the boot of the car for the last four days. It was all out of sight, so it shouldn’t have drawn any unwanted attention, but it was probably best to get everything brought inside sooner rather than later. 

_watchdog_: I did, but I haven’t had a chance to look at any of the footage yet. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie; he hadn’t had a chance yet, not with how ill he had been feeling. He doubted Undertaker would be too interested in hearing about his medical history. 

Ciel stood from his seat, grabbing his teacup with one hand and manoeuvring the mouse with the other to close the current window, but was graced with one final message.  

undertaker_136649: let me know when you have! 👻📹

_watchdog_: will do 

He types out his reply and shut the browser, then headed through to the kitchen on his way out, rinsing the dregs from his cup and leaving it upside-down on the drainer. 

. 

Allocated parking for his building was in an underground garage space, the trip down made even more tedious than usual by the lack of working elevator. He took the several flights of stairs slowly, still not feeling entirely steady on his feet. 

The automatic lighting flickered into life in sequence overhead as Ciel entered the parking area; his footsteps echoed through the wide space as he made his way to the spot reserved for his own vehicle. He raised the boot lid to reveal his camera equipment and duffle bag, from which some of the contents had escaped after being so carelessly slung into the car. He repacked the gear, including the camcorder and tripod, and picked the large bag out of the boot. The spirit board looked up at him from beneath where the bag had been sat – mocking him. 

Could the demon – no, not demon; the spirit, or whatever else the entity was – still be attached to the board? Would it really follow him all the way back from that old house to his London flat? 

And if it was bound to the item, then what should he do with it? 

As much of a horror trope as it was, it still seemed to be accepted as fact that setting the board on fire would do nothing to sever the connection. Maybe he could try smudging the spirit out, or scrub it down with holy water... 

The longer Ciel looked at the board, the more quietly unsettling it became. He located the planchette, and set it down on the printed ‘goodbye’ for good measure, belated as it was; then he flipped the board over so that the text could no longer taunt him, and closed the boot. 

The damned thing could stay in the car for now, until he made up his mind on how best to deal with it. 

Ciel lugged the rest of his gear back up the steps. He’d bring the subject of the elevator back up with Bard the next time he saw the man in the building; he must have some kind of news on it by now. Re-entering his flat, he set the bag down on the sofa with a muffled thump and crossed through to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea – just at the right time, too, as the kettle looked like it had just finished boiling. 

He poured the freshly heated water into his cup, which was sat ready and waiting with a teabag on the counter, and grabbed the fold-out stool he kept around for reaching the higher shelves of the cupboards in search of honey to sweeten the tea. 

It should have been considered criminal, really, how high the cabinets had been fixed to the walls – an act of discrimination against anyone shorter than 5-foot 9... which, as much as he hated to address it, Ciel was; by quite a bit. 

Stirring a decent sized dollop of honey into the hot liquid, Ciel’s thoughts drifted from his quiet grumbling to something else, a question. Looking back, he didn’t actually remember boiling the kettle – nor even refilling it, for that matter. He must still have been feeling groggier than he’d realised. 

Maybe it would be best just to go back to bed for a bit, he thought; the equipment was safely inside now, it wouldn’t hurt to let it sit for a while longer before inspecting his recording. 

He headed straight through to the bedroom with his cup and set it down on the nightstand before crossing the room to his desk to shut down the computer for the time being. He cleared the screensaver with a couple of clicks to the space bar – and froze. 

By now, the PC should have timed out and entered the lock screen, but it had not. It was also not on his desktop, where he had left it. 

Instead, there was an open document, the text cursor flashing next to the singular word typed out on the otherwise empty page: 

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨. 

Ciel could not fall back on logic any longer. The shadows; the kettle; now this. It had followed him home, definitely, whatever it was. He put his trembling hand to the mouse, hovering the cursor over the ‘x’ to close the window, Undertaker’s advice repeating in his head as a mantra – just a silly little ghosty making mischief. He let out a breath, and clicked the button. 

The bedroom door slammed shut. 

Ciel turned his head to look over his shoulder in its direction. Nothing was there. 

“Sebastian?” he asked tentatively, hoping against all odds that it wasn’t; hoping that it was just the wind, or that something had fallen and knocked the door closed. Fallen and broken, even. 

Instead, he watched as the door handle slowly turned in answer, creaking the door back open, ever so slightly. 

A cold chill ran through Ciel’s spine as he watched with bated breath, expecting to see fingers curl themselves around the edge of the door, but there was nothing. He hesitantly made his way across the room and took hold of the handle, sharply pulling the door open the rest of the way to reveal the empty hallway. 

Fuck. 

Well, there was no way he was going to be taking a nap now. Maybe it was a good time to look at that footage after all. 

At first, he did not move from the spot in the doorway, looking around himself instead for spying eyes or signs of movement in the shadows. When all seemed quiet, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a long and heavy breath, steeling himself, and stepped out of the room. 

He could feel those invisible eyes on him as he unzipped his duffle bag. The entity must have been watching him since the day they spoke, Ciel realised this, but it was worse now that he was aware of it; now that it had made itself known. The thing must be growing impatient, bored again with not being answered. 

Ciel removed the camcorder from the bag to get access to the SD card. He could see his basic little spirit box sat in amongst the rest of its contents, and contemplated it for a moment. Maybe this being would like to communicate with it, if it really was just looking for attention. 

Later, he decided. Footage first. 

“I’m not ignoring you, just so you know,” Ciel spoke into the empty room over his shoulder, “I’m just...” Uneasy. Overwhelmed. Afraid. “... busy.” 

He breathed out a relieved sigh when nothing answered. 

Ciel loaded the SD card into the reader on his PC and clicked into the file to view the most recent video. It was a little over 11 minutes long; he was sure it should run for a lot longer than that – at least it had felt much longer. 

He watched himself ready the board and ask his question, how he sat in silence waiting for an answer; shoulders rigid as he anticipated the movement of the planchette, dropping in defeat several minutes later when there was none. The auto focus began to struggle a little as the surroundings darkened, the settings having to readjust to accommodate for the dimming light. 

He listened as the question was asked again, viewed his own head fall in defeat when nothing happened once again. A sigh, eyes closed, and then one more quiet attempt. 

The camera blurred again in the low lighting as the candles began to flicker in the breeze, trying to focus on something in the darkness that wasn’t there. Then, the screen went entirely black, and the recording ended. 

Ciel grit his teeth in frustration. He had managed to capture everything until the very moment that something actually happened. Why had the recording stopped? 

He clicked back into the folder just to be certain that the file hadn’t decided to split itself for some reason; no, there was definitely only one recording for that date. Had the battery run out? Surely not. Ciel was positive that he’d charged it; eleven minutes should have been nothing. 

The young man abandoned his desk to retrieve the camcorder, turning it over in his hands to inspect for any signs of damage before trying the power button. The display lit up immediately, battery nearly full, and the only error displayed being for the currently missing memory card. 

It was then that the realisation dawned on Ciel that he had never actually turned the camera off himself. If the battery was, indeed, charged ad he had expected, then it should still be dead by now, drained from been having left recording in the boot of the car overnight; the difference between the camera having worked or not should have been in finding several hours of useless, unlit footage from inside the trunk of the car. If the camcorder was still functional now, then that could only mean that something had turned it off. 

Something the auto focus had tried searching for in the dark. 

Ciel hurriedly returned to his seat and reopened the recording – in a video editor this time, rather than a viewer – and searched the end of the footage for the timestamp of the moment where the screen blacked out. 11:06. It was quick, almost seeming instantaneous to the naked eye while watching the clip play, but cycling through frame-by-frame, Ciel found that the camcorder had not simply stopped recording images here, nor had the darkness just appeared to obscure the lens; it had moved in from the side, rolling across the screen like a thick fog over just a few short frames.  

It was impossible to discern a clear image, everything being blurred by speed as it was, but the edges of the shape seemed especially crisp in one particular still – almost tentacle-like, and far too solid for comfort. Ciel tried changing the settings for the image, increasing the brightness and messing with the contrast, hoping to see if there was anything half-recognisable within the shape, but try as he might it remained a solid expanse of black. It was as though the thing absorbed all possible light, reflecting none back to the lens. 

Ciel gave up on that one particular frame, but resolved to find another, trying instead with one of the fully black stills just before the recording properly ended. Even full brightness only changed the image to a block of grey. 

In the end, he settled for resetting the colour and simply switching his view of the footage to full screen, changing the contrast levels of the monitor itself instead and leaning in close to stare at the image, determined to pick out something – but no matter how closely he peered into the blackness, all he could see was his own reflection in the monitor. 

And a pair of red, slitted eyes staring over his shoulder. 

Ciel spun around in his chair, scanning the room for their source, meeting with nothing but the sight of his untidy bedroom. 

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the heavy pounding of his heart gradually slowed, the unrealness of the afternoon’s events setting in.  

He was genuinely being haunted. 

Ciel Phantomhive was being haunted, and it was his own damned fault. 

All he could do was laugh. 

[a-sad-writer]

 ❤❤❤