Jul 20, 2015
dditectif.
❛ – do you not think, pardon my intrusion, that it would possibly best to spare them? i’ve no reason to believe they mean us any harm, young master. ❜
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Italy
seen from Mexico
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
dditectif.
❛ – do you not think, pardon my intrusion, that it would possibly best to spare them? i’ve no reason to believe they mean us any harm, young master. ❜
What Trash 👀
watch your tongue, young master.
dditectif replied to your post:give me anya making a contract with a demon to get...
sorry ur grace the community’s booked better luck next contract season
u are tiny and fragile and i could squash u like a bug, phantombrat.
☆.。.
Send “☆.。.” to see how my muse reacts to a kiss on the forehead
She is not used to affection from him, a kiss on the hands, tolerating her embraces– Those are usually the extent of his actions. So a kiss, even if it was just on the forehead somehow seemed
incredibly intimate.
This is memories of her father kissing her forehead, feeling protected by her brother’s embrace, the very understanding of being safe and happy.
A glow lights up her face, a cheerful smile peacefully reaching up her lips.
“It’s nice to see you too-”
dditectif.
Her pale face upturns at his entry– for once, sweet countenance is without innocent delight at the sight of him. Her ever-curious gaze wanders towards the eyepatch he wears, and perhaps that in itself is proof of her guilty conscience: she knows that she’s glimpsed something that shouldn’t have been seen, she’s known that ever since she caught sight of the luminescent etchings in place of where his irises should have been. It isn’t something naturally acquired, it isn’t something that would be eagerly accepted in her fair-folk fearing court ( the members of her court are as how her father had been–– frightened to death of anything inhuman, filled with a particular hatred of anything vaguely supernatural ).
❝ Ciel, ❞ she breathes, her voice light and sad and quiet. Perhaps her little voice is small in an attempt to beg for forgiveness somehow, although she’s still having trouble piecing together what to be forgiven for.