Group Blog- Their Stories

Sebastian Michaelis

A singular set of pristine, vermillion orbs did not dare stray from the furry creature of their utmost fancy; a little tabby cat with lithe paws and a slender coat, and such gorgeous eyes that regarded the orbs with such wit and whim.

Sebastian gracefully cascaded to one knee on the cobblestone pavement that was placed just outside the newly rebuilt manor-house, and took the fimiliar feline in his arms and pressed his nose lightly to her little pink button one. His lips tugged into a soft smile, and he lifted her up into the air somewhat so as to admire her.

"Hello, again, Miss Akuma."

She acknowledged his greeting with a curt mewl and squirmed so that he might let her down to lay in his lap for a short cat-nap of sorts.

This was the same cat Ciel had presented him with prior to their Honeymoon, and he had raised her as if she was his own child (though, none of his own children had ever clawed up a curtain (imported from Spain) before), spoiling her with plenty of cuddles and treats and ribbons and bows. It was no wonder Ciel was noticably jealous of her; on the bright side, Sebastian knew (and a cheeky grin graced his lips each time he thought this) that he could use this as an advantage to get his lover's attention.

Ciel would often quip, "Why do you love cats so damn much? It's simply unnatural! There is nothing speciel about them at all."

Little did he know how very special Sebastian really did consider them to be.

In fact, he had not always liked cats; So arrogant, snobbish, unthankful! Unnerving, annoying, and always...

Always wanting more.

No, he had not always loved cats.

But, once upon a time- the winter of 1885, in London, England- he came to form a contract with a young Earl, frail in appearance, yet strong in spirit. He took up residency with the Earl at his manor. But never before had he even come close to thinking that a solitary month in captivity would erode even the most basic of manners! This child Earl would smack him for even the slightest of gestures, such as attempting to help him up the stairs. Why, he ought to have been thankful, especially when his depth perception was non-existence (hence the eyepatch guarding the Faustian seal etched within his right iris)!

And once upon a time, the butler had stepped out of the house in frustration with his young master, and he happened upon a little black cat. And when it seemed that no one else would so much as care to hear out his frustrations (thought often the cat would regard him with an expression that implied she thought no different) she was there, and she would listen to him- though in truth, she was but waiting for him to feed her.

Cats, Sebastian soon learned, are viciously playful and playfull vicious.They are prone to illogical when they feel frightened or bodily threatened.  They are schemers, and tacticians, unashamed of conspiring against you, even as they feed from the very palm of your hand... They require the proper amount of patience, the proper amount of care- But they will never be tamed no matter your will, and that is the beauty of them.

And in those eyes, he never failed to realise a fimiliar sparkle of intelligence; a sadistic delight in the destruction it knows it can cause even with the few assets it has at its disposal.

So fimiliar...

Time did pass, and Sebastian came to better understand Ciel with the help of a certain little whimsical friend.

Still, he does not expect Ciel to understand him; for such are all his precious little secrets to keep hidden beneath lock and key, all for himself; all the mystery of a demon's love.


Keaira Dimitri Faustus

His lips pressed into a straight line and his gaze came to fixate on nothing less, and nothing more, than the ruins of his grandfather's old cottage (in which he had recently come to obtain and take up residence in along with his son and younger brother), marred to musky brown ashes and dull silver cinders and blackened splintered wood. The grizzled body of a burnt wolf lay sprawled beneath the remains of the kitchen table, its flesh oozing unatrually where it had been seared. This was no "whodoneit"; there were only two names that came to mind and the very thought of such an alliance sickened Keaira to an unspeakable extent.

How dare they?

When his brother- Cambion- had come foward and inquired the identity of these people, Keaira insisted that he knew nothing and simply pushed the small boy's quip aside, or, rather, attempted to.

Upon the following day, Keaira came to the discovery that there had been a casualty; Cambion blamed himself, for, he had been the primary target, and he had been missed. And now, someone whom he had regarded so dearly had to pay the ultimate price because he had not been there in her place; Woe was he, in all his childish ignorance.

And perhaps Keaira grieved the same loss, as well, but if he did, he decided not to show it, for such was his responsibility to remain aloof for the sake of his dearly beloved brother and Caru, his sickly son. However, as is a characteristic of Keaira, it did not take long for his emotional strength to bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow...

Certain actions cannot be prevented.

Certain lives cannot be saved.

Certain thoughts cannnot be erased.

What you already know and take heed to cannot be unknown.

And what you plan to do about it is primarily up to you. 

Someone must pay.

Gabriel Day Keehl

He lay with his legs wrapped tightly around the lithe body of the older man, his body trembling from the wave of fear that had just washed upon the shore of his very soul. Ah... The fingers... They hurt... It hurt... Every thrust, every tug, every pull, push, every little movement... A-ah...

"Aranis..." Gabriel whimpered constantly, and there would come the soft murmur of a response from Aranis immediately after, a reassurance.

And then Aranis would draw his digits from his dear friend's backside and pull down his own pants and pull Gabriel close so that their flesh would collide and they would become one. Oh! How Gabriel wished to scream, the pain was unbearable! Oh, but it felt so good...

"W-what is this called, Aranis?" he had asked, writhing and grinding his hips against the man's, his dark eyes stretched wide in innocence.

"Sex. Making love. Fucking." said Aranis.

And Gabriel contemplated this.

Aranis had reiterated the same three words to him that day, over and over and over again and again and again. Gabriel thought it only added on to the mystery behind those red eyes- all the lies, all the hurt, all the fear and the pain- for, he knew, they reflected his own spirit. Aranis didn't have to love him, he didn't have to lie; there was nothing to hide, and Gabriel, the angel, in all his ignorance and innocence and disbelief of unscientific things, realised but that, and just that.

Sex. Making love. Fucking.

Unnecessary copulation; They could simply spark, and never have to touch; This love had been perfect even before it was love; it was most certainly meant to be, the most certain thing in all existence. And Gabriel knew it, even if Aranis believed otherwise due to his own paranoia. It was, indeed, a fact.

...We are one, Aranis.

Jazebel Keehl

Her lithe paw drifted away from the child's hand as his mother carried him off, their digits lingering in suspension for what seemed to be four long years, never wanting to let go. But distance did tear them apart in the solitary time of a moment, and the door leading to the outside world that was drowned in all the glorious golden light of the sun was closed, leaving the wolf in her own solitude, alone in the bitter darkness and silence of the old cottage. For minutes, she stood unblinking with her gaze fixated on that closed door, and then she sat on her hindquarters and huffed at the silver door-knob, glistening in such a mocking manner that she felt the urge to become ill.

Only moments ago, Caru lay sleeping in his cherry-wood crib, sound asleep with the softest of snores whistling through his rosy lips; her paw had stretched out to rest upon his clammy little forehead, and she had sighed at the touch of it and came to establish some greatly yearned-for form of relief. His fever had broken, and her job, her every responsibility here, every aspect, facet of it all, was nearing completion, fulfillment, reconcile.

She llay her long neck across the hard wooden edge of Caru's crib and let her head hand, her ghostly pale eyes diligently watching over him and never once shifting astray. Though he was not her child, he was her duty now, and she loved him so dearly. When Keaira returned (he greeted her with a pat to the head) to take him away to visit that horrid Alois, he had awoken and reached out his stout little arm for her, and only her, and she had trotted along after him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.

"Jazz, bye-bye," he had cried. "I love you!"

And now he was gone.

She stood from her post before the door and stalked with protruding shoulder-blades beneath the table, squeezed cozily within the legs of a chair. Her forelimbs laid out in front of her, she laid her lead down on her paws and shut her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.

"I won't ever love anyone but Keaira."

"I'll never feel the same way."

"Bad dog, Jazz."

Cambion...

He had been her first friend, and her master, and her one and only love. Only he had understood her. Only he had cared for her. Only he, him, Cambion... No one else. Just him. Alone.

Alone.

Alone now that he had fallen in love with his brother. Alone now that she had given her voice to bring L back how and could not speak. Alone because she meant nothing to anyone now; she was old news, a female, a whore, a thief, a murderer, a liar. A bitch.

How could she let him go? He was her only hope as he had always been. He was all she had now.

But what was there to be had when you felt so alone in this vast world?

Absolutely nothing. Nothing, no one, Jazebel.

This is who she was, if anything. She had tried so hard but got nowhere. She had loved but was not loved in return. She had cared but was disregarded. She did not hate, but she was hated.

And when she came to abandon hope in her very sleep, there was a violent shake of the earth, and her eyes flashed open and saw the red of spider-lillies engulfing her view, and then there was the sound of loud thunder in which was followed by blackness, and then nothing, and she fell dead.

And such is the end of the story of Nothing, if such a thing does even exist; for such things always come so unexpectedly.