hellooooo this my tumblr for my ao3 appleflakes! i have three (3) fic on there and i work very hard… here some facts abt me
i use he/they pronouns
i really like foxes and all kinds of fruits and veggies. typing this out makes me realize i might be secretly a forest animal
i am 18!
this is a side blog so my follows/likes will come from … a different blog :P
i’m writing a dead dove stepcest vincent charbonneau/rody lamoree fic on ao3 :P go read it you freaks it’s “Tear You Apart” and has a sequel “White Lights and Long Nights”
i’m also writing a dead dove incest vincent phantomhive/sebastian michaelis/ciel phantomhive stripper au fic on ao3 go read it it’s called “LoveGame”
serious part
i do not condone any of the things i write about in real life. fiction for me is a form of expression, coping, and exploration of myself. i am not anti-paraphilia, but i am anti-contact. none of the things i do or write about endanger myself or anyone else.
confession time. the first time i read the weston arc, i thought it was boring as fuck, and when i ranked the arcs it ended up dead last. but then i watched the anime, did another reread, and started paying attention to sebastian and ciel's behavior around each other instead of focusing on the endless cricket explanations.......... peak. yana, i apologize for my past blasphemy. the weston arc was absolutely necessary. the amount of sbcl moments and interactions was worth every single thing i learned about cricket.
Weston Arc is basically them rubbing their teacher/student kinky roleplay into everyone's faces. And by everyone I mean literally everyone, cuz... the cricket show, right!
sebaciel after having sex in ciel's bed with sebastian being all clingy and affectionate and dreaming of falling asleep together with ciel in his embrace. and ciel fucking kicking him out without any warning because how dares this dog to try and sleep in his master's bed. sorry sebas-chan this bed is for phantomhives ONLY
The antis are right sbcl is an abusive and exploitative dynamic the mistake is that sebastian is the victim. He gets One☝️ aftercare per quarter gets to cum if he's done his job well enough and has to get up and go make ciel tea and biscuits immediately after
also poor sebastian. he thinks their relationship is going to change now, but the only thing that has changed is that he has additional task to take care of from now on
I sometimes like to indulge the mental vision of Vincent and Sebastian sitting in the former’s bathtub, water soaking into their clothes, and smoking without a single word exchanged between them.
GODDAMN!!! This. This. THISTHISTHIS!! Thank you, anon, this is delectable. Omggggg.
There was something concealed behind Sebastian’s eyes. A slippery, sinuous thing. Not quite jagged. Not exactly blunt, either. A convoluted emotion Vincent didn’t know how to name. Wasn’t sure it even had a name, or if it was merely a gossamer thing. No more substantial than the drift of cigarette smoke above their heads.
Smoke and steam and the unsettling, visceral sensation of being set upon by a predator. Yet, Sebastian was entirely still at the opposite end of the bathtub, his soaked jeans clinging to the hills of his knees – bent up out of necessity or else they’d definitely not fit together in the tub – and he lifted his half-withered cigarette to his lips slowly, eyes never leaving Vincent’s gaze.
Unwavering, unremitting.
It was an itch down the length of Vincent’s spine, pinging off of every notch. A shiver through his stomach as he watched the man take a long drag; a hollowing of his cheeks. A bluish-grey rush of smoke from between his lips. A flutter of dark eyelashes.
There didn’t need to be any words between them. Not tonight. Not with the stench of cigarette smoke between them. The open can of beer in Sebastian’s other hand. The glass of plum-red merlot set on the corner of the bath. A precarious thing.
Vincent felt the same way. Precarious. Spillable.
One overt move or word from Sebastian and he feared his self-control – a thin, frayed-edged thing as of late – would liquify entirely. A seep of it out of his pores.
A retreat of his senses.
A spill of bathwater over the side of the bathtub. A puddle of it seeping across the cold tiles. A frenetic coupling.
Perhaps, Sebastian knew how close to the edge Vincent was. For tipped his head back a small fraction, enough to show of the damp, pale length of his neck. A bead of water or perhaps perspiration trailing down the hollow of it.
One more glass of merlot coursing through his bloodstream and Vincent might’ve levered himself up onto his knees – a drenching of his shirttails, a lurch behind his naval – and leaned in to lick it clean.
It seemed a sin to engage in such a thing without his kid there to buffer things.
Yet, his slacks were decidedly tighter than they rightfully should be, sitting clothed within his bathtub, a belly for of merlot and an eyeful of Sebastian Michaelis. Smoke haze. Thick steam.
The stretching silence as he held out his hand, asking silently for the half-finished cigarette.
Sebastian handed it over with a quirk of his dark eyebrow, well aware Vincent rarely, if ever, smoked. A brief brush of their fingers. A heat unspooling inside of Vincent’s innards. Vicious and all-consuming. Overwhelming.
He took a drag to dampen the want to move closer. Exhaling his lungful of smoke off to the side. A long breath. A minute shift from Sebastian, the press of his foot against Vincent’s own. As if by mistake.
However, when Vincent lifted his eyes once more to meet his best friends, he saw the indutible proof that it was far from accidental.
A stare of a hunter after its prey. That’s what he saw. And, unbidden, he wanted to break the silence between them and ask, what is it you want, Michaelis?
Perhaps his gaze said it anyway, for Sebastian’s mouth tucked up at one corner. Not quite a smirk. Wholly pleased, mind you. And, pitch and crimson stare, he replied, everything you’ll allow me to have. I want it all. Every. Last. Piece of you.
Egotistical bastard.
Yet, Vincent’s chest was over-warm and thrumming with his heartbeat. A sticky heat taking up residence inside his ribcage.
He loathed the fact that he’d give this man anything, everything, he desired.
