#phantomknob

From an objective standpoint, his family didn't seem like the type to order takeout.

He was acquainted with their types in a peripheral sense (if a pair of preppy yakuzas voluntarily making the choice to drape themselves in plaid was an ethical clothing choice instead of a step toward walking fashion disasters, as they legitimately lived and breathed). These were filthy rich, assumably so from their repertoire of exorbitant fabrics and cufflinks, which left Koujaku at quite a loss. It wasn't that he hadn't been wealthy, but he'd side-stepped the role of scion heir years ago, casting it off with obligation and any long-term ticket toward culpability. As such, after that ... admittedly disconcerting conversation with his wife, he holed himself up in the kitchen and set to work on a half-decent peace offering. Koujaku had called them in some indiscriminate hour during early evening, and standing before them with the fingers of one hand deftly twisted around wok ladle, he appraised them with a grin that definitely took the greater portion of his willpower to actively maintain.

"Sorry to keep you both waiting. It took some cabinet scrounging to find a few ingredients. It's a good thing I went out for a quick grocery run before arriving here, or we might've gone to bed on empty stomachs," he announces, gaze squared and zeroing in on his wife and kid with an imbedded assumability for surface-level confidence, "l have to admit — I'm not a very good cook, but is Yakiudon alright? I don't know what your favorite dishes are, but we have all the time in the world to get properly acquainted in the meantime." Gesturing at the table already laid out in a myriad of utensils and porcelain dishes, he reaches back to tap the steaming pot (a by-product of amateur culinary skills and the tenacity of one would-be samurai marginally discomposed hairstlist) positioned at the heart of the display. Dinnertime could go one of two ways, but he was fairly dead-set on demonstrating no ill will towards them or their shared dilemma.

phantomknob:

Maternal instincts.

Having not dealt with a mother figure for… quite some time (unless Aunt An had counted, which could be debatable, given that she had been a serial killer) Ciel was finding himself slightly rusty in the affairs of Inexplicable Motherly Actions.

Like… cooing. This was… definitely cooing. Weren’t pigeonsthe only ones meant to coo? Why should mothers and pigeons have something in common?

Still, he keeps up the face of sweetness and jovial embarrassment, the one so perfectly refined over the years, and smiles demurely at his new mother figure.

"Ah, that’s… thank you, mother. But— I’m afraid my butler isn’t here yet, as nice as that would be.” Where the hell are you, Sebastian?! "I’m sure that he would have no qualms with serving my new family, should he ever arrive."

♚█ -- ; How unfortunate her son appeared as a lost cause ; the bewildered expression planted on his visage made her question what type of person he was or his better, his past. Judging by his appearance, she had to admit, he was cute and would make a perfect son. She was sure that if the duo strolled down the streets interlocking fingers, the residents surely would be impressed by how physically similar the pair was.

Though, there was a presentiment the child given to her was a spineless young man. After all, he was only twelve years old ; an age of uncertainty and being constantly haunted with a never-ending list of embarrassing mistakes.  

'This won't do.' 

im charging you for this 

✉ 2am text

To: rich pirate

Subject: food pls

ur rich…could u order me some chinese i’ll make sure u get passing grades ;*

✘unsent text

To: rich pirate

Subject: help

ok so heres the deal my leg is stuck in this hole you seem small enough to wiggle your baby hands thru and gemme out …bring butter xoxo

☠ threatening message

To: money douche

Subject: listen here u lil shit

listen here u lil shit if i ever see u hurting the cute girls on this campus ever again im going to personally make sure u cant reproduce.

❤ lusting/loving/affectionate

To: rich pirate

Subject: woah

guess who has her fave panties on ;) xoxoxo

nudeynuderson.png attached 

x—-x—-x—-x

To: best person in the world

Subject: DONT OPEN LAST MESSAGE 

PLS DONT OPEN THAT MESSAGE IT WASNT MEANT 4 U I SWEAR I’LL DO ANYTHING DONT OPEN IT.

♣ drunk message

To: rich pissbby

Subject: w aht

Breaking into the apartment had taken little to no effort on Kamanosuke's part, and he'd been pleasantly surprised by how easy it had been simply to vault in through one of the windows. It was a mild and muggy Spring day. Perhaps that had been why the window had been ajar. Easy enough to prise open. 

The opening had taken him into a moderately sized room, filled with books. For someone who had no idea how to read fluently, let alone in English, a room like this served very little purpose. A look of disgust flitted across his face as he crossed it, but he did not make straight for the door. Instead, his interest was drawn to the various intricate and lavish decorations gracing the room and the bookshelves.

[justin timberlake voice] bye bye bye

For quite some time now, this girl had walked into the building several times. Not that anyone seemed to notice, or care to notice her majority of the time. She always brought a container with her- filled with some sort of sweets. Usually, she would place it on Art's office desk, then leave to keep to herself in the TCDF library. What a world it was, wasn't it? Well- at some point she knew that he presence would strike an interest in someone, so she had even made sure to register some names to faces that she had heard- and if not, she some how had gotten into the employee files. She knew quite a bit about most of the people around the building already, although she saved all of that until there was physically a need to bring it up. Which meant she would wait until someone showed interest in her.

Although, for some time now- she's realized that she has been watched this entire week. Making her way through the corridors, she knew she had eyes on her. And of course- those eyes belong to one of the youngest members of the Defense Force. Ciel Phantomhive, was it? She mulled it over in her head before finally realizing they were in the same room. The little library that held a series of graphic and rather intense books. Not just any normal eleven year old would find themselves here. But still she said not a word. She was hoping that today was the day he would begin the conversation.

This was... a circumstance he did not anticipate. 

A stalemate. A stalemate in chess and a humiliating punishment. Ashford Academy's female uniform was the only suitable clothes he had, but they were suitably unsuitable in the way the skirt was way too short. He never noticed before just how much they rode up the leg.

At least, he though, glancing at the other victim sitting beside him, I'm not the only one like this here.