HERE COMES A CRAZY LEN-FANATIC CAT, this time out to satisfy (almost) all the cravings of Kuroshitsuji fans. Why? Because Len-kyun cosplayed in VanaN'Ice, that's why. (Courtesy of Natsu-P and co. xP) And because that makes perfect sense.
Some stuff before you read this fic:
This story is MAJORLY SCREWED UP. Note that the characters manoeuvre the virtually non-existent plot, not the other way round. Therefore there's no tragic or happy ending here, and no climax and no timeline and no change. It's just very monotonous with a lot of angst and smut and depression and some "mild" (repeat, M-I-L-D, including some murder scenes) violence. Moderate swearing. And it's quite long.
Note, warning on rape scenes.
Most of it is Len-centric. VERY Len-centric. (Do not expect anything else from a fangirl.)
If you're a strong believer in honour and justice or the type that's looking for stories with satisfactory endings I'd suggest you quit reading this, or if you want to read this just for the smut content then go ahead, you're welcome.
…Wait, wait. I forgot to mention the most important bit. This story is an AU remix of Akuno-P's Servant of Evil on a more modern note.
Meow, cheers.
'Len. Why do you hang out with those girls?'
They were curled up under the blankets smushed in between the pillows, like cats in a basket, snug and warm.
She contemplatively nibbled on the tip of his collar as she clung to him a bit like a salamander did to a tree. This was one of her recent things. Thinking back, she'd done some ridiculous stuff she wouldn't mention right now... among others. Just some memories.
His latest fetish in turn seemed to be messing with her hair. The tip of his tongue wet the upper edge of her forehead now and again. He distinctly reminded her of a cat. Round and round in damp twirls, he fiddled with a lock of her flaxen hair, while his fingers pressed bingo sheets along the pressure points in her back. She occasionally squirmed and shifted in discomfort when he pressed too hard, but otherwise consented by unsaid agreement.
Well, they would probably be weird seen from a third observer, but there was no one to point that out in the confines of their shared room. No one to see and make fun of them. Anyway if they did, whoever they may be, they were going to have hell to pay and a good bonus dent in their head from her.
This wasn't some sort of sibling romance. Pssh – heck no. He was her bolster, end of story. Her very convenient bolster that kept her company when she talked to it and calmed her to sleep with its soft snoring and smelt just right and was wonderfully warm in chilly winter nights. The only drawback was that it often complained and talked too much, but it wasn't intolerable.
Hardly.
She jutted the top of her head against the bottom of his jaw impatiently, prompting for an answer. He nuzzled the top of her head in reply. She urged him again, nudging her nose into the soft hollow of his throat.
She could feel the slight shift along his neck, and knew that his usual infuriating smirk was spreading across his face.
'Why? Any problem with that, Rin?'
'Humph.'
'What?'
'...Nothing.'
You can ignore the next bit if you want.
Puss, in some random place long, long ago
She laughed happily, staring at the butterfly in her net. It had pretty black and blue-green wings that glittered in the sun. It fluttered about delicately, with spindly legs and feelers and fur at its collar. She pinched it out of the net with awkward juvenile fingers and studied it in fascination.
She popped it into her transparent butterfly cage. It fell into the bottom, flailing about flapping its wing. The other half of its torn wing fluttered down after it and draped itself motionlessly on the floor of the cage. She shut the lid with a snap.
'Now now, be gentle with it.'
'Why?' It could fix back its wing with tape, or glue. It wasn't angry at her for being put in there. It wasn't even complaining. First of all it didn't talk.
The butterfly crawled about on the bottom of the cage, its trembling wing shimmering prettily. She plucked some flowers and leaves and dropped them into the cage, along with a tiny container of water. Now it had a little diorama all to itself.
She left it on top of the shoebox for everyone else to see when they came home. The very first butterfly she'd caught all by herself: she was proud.
But they said, 'Let it go,' in their over-bearing adult voices, so she reluctantly took it outside once more and set it gently on a plant outdoors. It clung fragilely to a waxy leaf, beating its wing weakly. It still had work to do and it knew that.
It started to rain, so she hurried back indoors.
The next morning when she went back to check the butterfly was gone, nowhere to be seen. She stared up at the blue sky in wonder.
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Thanks for reading.