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burningcheese-merchant · 3 months ago

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Thinking about the Yandere Beasts, Mystic Flour is the one that seems more volatile. She's not only crazily in love but denies it. Which means she might do more to prove it and hurt Dark Cacao more, then maybe feeling guilt and trying to "make it up to him", but then feeling disgusted with herself. It's very complex and crazy and I love the idea.

It can be argued that it's that same denial that, ironically, makes her worse than the others, at least in a sense. I explained in a previous post that Mystic Flour is the only Beast who possesses any self-awareness; she KNOWS she is behaving irrationally, she KNOWS that this is fucked up and downright sick. She despises it all. She despises her friends for allowing this disease to infect their minds and hearts; their words and actions disgust her on a visceral level and she wants nothing to do with any of their shenanigans regarding their respective heroes. She despises Dark Cacao for casting this spell on her; for undoing all of her hard work, for making her take back every single step she took towards enlightenment, for forcibly tethering her to the material world once again and making her feel emotions she'd discarded (or thinks she discarded) ages ago: anger, envy, longing, selfishness, attachment. Dark Cacao has done the unthinkable: he has destroyed her apathy. No longer is she free from those meaningless notions; now she is as trapped and burdened as all those selfish beings she always sought to do away with.

...But she's burdened with self-awareness, unlike the others, and so she knows that, ultimately, this is all her own fault. Thus, Mystic Flour despises herself most of all, for it was she that chose to succumb to these feelings. It was she that chose not to act when Dark Cacao brought this burden upon her (really, he did nothing of the sort. She brought this on herself). It was - is - she, Mystic Flour, that allows herself to love and obsess over this man, this thief, this living affront to her beliefs and ideals. And in a desperate attempt to lighten this burden, she denies its very existence. She denies any attachment to Dark Cacao, even if it's clear as the pale fog that it's real and already unbreakable at this point. She denies it because she honestly cannot think of any other solution to the problem. She clings to what remains of her apathy because she sees no other way out.

...Yet still, in this selfishness of hers, even combined with her denial, she wants him. She longs for his company. For his touch, for his voice, for his handsome face. The Ivory Pagoda feels emptier than ever without him around. She does not seek him out - doing so will only make it worse - but she longs for him nevertheless. She selfishly hates those he cares about, for they take a spot in his heart that she selfishly believes belongs to her. She selfishly desires Dark Cacao in his entirety, only for herself, and no one else ever again. She selfishly places her anger onto others - her friends, Dark Cacao's loved ones, Dark Cacao himself - in a vain attempt at self-soothing. She selfishly wishes she could retaliate against Dark Cacao for all of this nonsense; for this godawful dependency she's developed. Then she shakes her head and chastises herself for this selfishness.

Love, deny love, get angry, seek retribution, regain clarity, feel self-loathing. Then start back over again ad infinitum. It's like a very bizarre cycle of grief, in Yandere Flour's case. And she only ends up succumbing to obsession and madness further with every completed loop.

(Yandere Flour is fun to think about and flesh out haha. thank you for the ask, I enjoyed your thoughts/commentary)

#i hope this makes sense haha #you're right though. She's quite dangerous in this particular sense. Moreso in this one than the other four #you want to feel bad but... she's a monster and she did this to herself anyway.#cookie run kingdom #dark cacao cookie #mystic flour cookie #mysticcacao #yandere beasts

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the-halloween-jack · 18 days ago

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ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ－ｅｉｇｈｔ

PART EIGHT OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x SupernaturalMini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Descriptions of violence. Words: 3,351k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part (Coming Soon) >

After three-quarters of an hour, the hairdryer was still running. Dean had been half-asleep when he registered the faint whirring sound from the bathroom and realised it had been going for far too long. He was still sitting hunched with his hands over his face, exactly as he had been when she left the room with a slam of a door; after he had spoken those dreaded words.

‘He didn’t have a choice, I would’ve died then too…’ Y/N had muttered when he had asked how this could happen. He remembered her tears as she spoke, they had made her eyes look like glass.

‘Well, maybe he should have let you…’

The words sent a chill through him; how could he have said that to her? But was he wrong? Would she not be better off?

His mind had briefly wandered back to the case — the ghouls, the bloodstains — but the moment stretched, and the realisation hit him. His pulse kicked up, sending a jolt through his body as his eyes snapped open.

Y/N was not in her bed. Y/N was not anywhere.

The grim image of her body upon the old wooden table, paired with the awful, rusty scent of her blood, made him flinch as if he had been struck.

He stood up fast, his heart lurching in his chest as his feet steadied on the cold and grimy motel floor. The room was quiet, too quiet. The only sound was the damn hair dryer still buzzing in the air.

He got up and moved toward the bathroom without thought, like a man possessed. The door was shut, and a sliver of light spilled out from under the threshold, illuminating the dusk-darkened room.

He placed his hand on the doorknob and was met with no resistance; it was already unlocked. The hairdryer’s hum intensified through the now-open door as it oscillated on the edge of the sink.

But there was no sign of Y/N.

There was no beloved sister standing there, her back to him as she dried her hair in the mirror, as she had done a hundred times prior. He hesitated at the doorway, and then his heart stopped. The bathroom was empty.

Empty. She was missing, and in transition, how could he be so irresponsible? How could he let himself drift off? She was dangerous now; she could hurt someone. He counted the hours back in his head since he had last slept and was kicking himself with the realisation of just how long it had been; he had needed to be awake and alert for her, and he failed.

He moved quickly, tearing through the small space and flipping the shower curtain aside frantically — as if he did not already know she was not there. He stared at the moulded, derelict tile walls in dismay, noticing the scent of soap still lingering in the air.

His breath came faster. His brain was scrambling to catch up with what his eyes were telling him. He spotted her old, bloodied clothes sitting discarded on the porcelain of the toilet seat, they were the only possessions of hers that remained, the room was bare. A flash of movement at the edge of his vision made him snap his head up — the window. It was wide open.

‘Shit.' He muttered, noticing the high pitch of his panic.

He spun on his heels, stumbling back into the room. His gaze darted to the bed, and for a second, he convinced himself that maybe…

No, she was not there; he knew this.

Her things were missing, her bed was made, and now he was left wondering how far away she had gotten. He flipped his phone open and dialled her number, his fingers moving nimbly as a reflex, yet still trembling horribly. He had called this number many times in the past few months, and like clockwork, each time, he would be met with her voicemail; tonight was no exception. He snapped the phone shut and threw it to her bed.

Dean’s stomach clenched and he leaned over placing his hands in his knees. No. No. He wasn’t going to let her go down this road. Not after everything they had been through. But what could he do? It was already too late for her.

‘Sam!’ His voice was sharp, frantic, the kind of desperation that hit with the force of a freight train.

Sam had been standing behind him, getting up to follow Dean in his alarm, his face already clouded with worry before the scene of the bathroom had even registered before him.

‘She’s gone,’ Dean snapped, pacing the small room, his mind running in a hundred directions at once. ‘She’s—‘ He cut himself off, eyes locking on the open window through the door. ‘She’s gone, Sam. She—‘

Sam was already moving toward the door, his face drawn, filled with a dread that was becoming all too familiar. ‘Surely, she can’t be far. We need to find her…’

Dean shook his head, his frustration boiling over. That is not what he meant. He did not mean she was missing, he meant that she was gone. ‘What the hell, Sam? She’s not some lost puppy we’re gonna find wandering down the road! She’s a damn vampire, and she…’

He had already begun to mourn her; she had died in their arms. He had stared at her decrepit corpse for hours, refusing to accept the actuality before him. He remembered the way he had pleaded for it not to be true. Now, she walked again, but it was not the same; it could never be the same as it was. It seemed like a sick, twisted joke.

‘Dean, we don’t know that. She might not have done that yet—’ Sam interrupted him, avoiding the specifics, not only to placate Dean but because he could not stomach the idea himself; he did not want to see her that way, he did not want the image in his mind.

His voice was softer but firm, pulling his brother’s focus back. He continued,

‘She’s our sister, Dean. We don’t know what she’s doing. She could be in danger.’ Sam shuddered,

She was not in danger herself now, but the one who is dangerous; Y/N was the threat now, and the notion made him sick.

‘No, you don’t get it,’ Dean’s voice dropped low, dark. ‘She’s gone, Sam. We both know it.’ His eyes burned with a venomous anger; his hands balled into fists at his sides. As his bitter words flowed, he believed them more and more. He knew if they went looking for her, she would never be found. She does not exist on this plane anymore; the girl he loved, his sister, was lost perpetually.

‘She’s lost to us. She’s a damn monster now, and it doesn’t matter what we say, or how many times we look at her like she’s still the girl we raised, the sister we loved. That’s not her anymore.’

‘She’s dead… She died — in our arms last night,’ Dean choked on his words as he desperately tried for air, why was it so hard to breathe? Why was the room spinning?

‘It was my fault, I should have died… Not her.’ The words were barely spoken, coming out in a gasp, Sam could barely make them out, needing to follow the movement of his brother’s lips.

‘That girl we saw today, that’s not her, it can’t be; she was a fake.’ Dean shook with vexation once more, with Y/N, with himself, Sam was not sure.

He froze, his heart skipping. He had not seen Dean this angry in a long time — swallowed whole by rage. Sam’s shoulders began to quake with his own agony; he registered a distant and inhuman cry, he did not have enough time to wonder where it was coming from before he realised they were his own sobs. Why did they sound so far away? Why was he so disconnected from his own body?

‘Dean…’ His voice faltered as he looked at his brother. It was not just anger that shook him. It was grief. Grief, mingled with guilt and a twisted, violent kind of regret. The kind that made you do things you would have never thought of in a hundred years.

Dean shook his head; the words tumbling out in a dangerous rush.

‘I’m not going to save her, Sam. I’m not going to pretend she’s still the person we knew. ’ He turned sharply, pacing to the door. How had he found this resolve so suddenly? Had he not yearned to find her only moments earlier? Dean struggled to recall when she had become the stranger he pictured now, the monster. She had not looked like a monster when she awoke from her death, when they had realised what must have happened.

‘She died last night, killed by those god-awful ghouls. She’s not the same. And if we don’t do something about it, people are going to get hurt. It’s time we finish this. Her case. And the supernatural problem that ruined her life. Our lives.’

Sam stepped toward him, with words already on his tongue. Surely, he could not mean that. He could not possibly be suggesting they hunt their own sister. But Dean was already halfway out the door.

‘You’re not—’ thinking straight, Sam wanted to say, but Dean was already gone.

With a moment of hesitation and a breath of bitter air, Sam followed him out.

Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles tense and pale, as he drove toward the town. That awful, revolting, loathsome town. The anger — his blinding anger — throbbed through him, it thudded in his ears and pulsed within his veins. He could feel it in his gut, a gnawing beast that told him he had to finish what she had started. He had to rid the world of whatever vile supernatural force had taken his sister away from him. And if that meant tearing Mystic Falls apart, so be it. If that meant killing the vampire who had turned her... then that is what he was going to do.

Damon Salvatore.

The name felt like bile in his throat and burned like acid. The more he thought about ‘it’, that repulsive creature, the tighter his grip on the wheel became. He knew the bastard had to die. If not for him, Y/N would not have become the thing she was now; the abomination. She would not have disappeared into the night. She would not have lost herself andhe would not have lost her. It was Damon who was to blame. Damon was the cause of all this.

He had no sympathy. No understanding. Not when it came to hurting her.

And hurt her he had.

Deep down, hidden beneath layers of wrath and chagrin, Dean knew why he was acting this way. He knew that if Y/N had truly died, he would be doing absolutely everything in his power to bring her back, and he would not have rested until he was successful. He would have done anything. But now, he could never bring her back — save her from this fate. If that abhorrent vampire had left her alone, she would be salvageable, even if it meant Dean needed to die in her place.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening with each passing mile. He barely registered Sam’s quiet words beside him. ‘Dean, stop. We have to think of this rationally —’

‘I’m not stopping, Sam,’ Dean cut him off sharply, his voice low, strained and cold.

‘We’re going to Mystic Falls. And we’re finishing it.’ His eyes flickered to Sam briefly, and for a moment, the weight of what he was saying hung in the air as tears filled his eyes. ‘I’m done, Sam. I’m done— ’

Sam watched him quietly, trying to gauge if there was any part of the man he used to know in the eyes staring out the windshield, his brother. But it was hard to tell, the burning in his eyes showed a stranger. Dean was consumed — swallowed whole by something darker than grief. He was already lost, and Sam feared there would be no bringing him back.

‘Listen to me for a second, would you?’ Sam's voice was heated, raised for the first time all evening. ‘She had vampire blood in her system, did you ever stop and think about what that means?’ Dean began to speak, but Sam raised his hand, silencing him with a scalding look that Dean saw in the corner of his vision.

‘She said she would have died anyway, their blood heals people, that… vampire —’ The word made him cringe, ‘obviously, saved her life.’

Though, Sam did not understand; it did not make sense. Why would he save her? A hunter. Why was she with him in the first place? How could she bear being near him? Knowing what he is. But it did not matter, it did not change what he already knew.

Dean started again, but Sam cut him off.

‘She died on the ghoul case… with us, we killed her, we did it — not him.’

Sam gazed out through the windshield as tears clouded his vision, streetlights turned to indistinguishable dots of light as they loomed closer. This realisation stung and cut his throat like small blades as he expelled ragged breaths. But he continued away,

‘But she’s still here, Dean. She’s not gone — not yet, anyway,’ He gasped out, ‘She holds the same memories, the same personality, it’s her. And if we can get to her, we can help her.’

‘Dean, we don’t even know if she is in Mystic Falls, what if we’re leaving her behind?’

But his words fell on deaf ears; Dean stared forward as if he had said nothing at all, and Sam slumped back in his seat, defeated. Staring numbly at the dark silhouettes of trees as they flew past them.

Y/N stood in front of the grand fireplace in the Salvatore boarding house, the warmth of the crackling fire barely reaching the chill that had settled deep within her. The flames danced in hypnotic patterns, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, against her skin — yet all she could see before her were the faces of her brothers.

She let her fingers graze the mantle, her eyes tracing the cracks in the stone as if they might conceal the answers to the questions she could not bring herself to mutter. She could still hear Dean’s voice, sharp and angry, his words slicing through the distance between them like a blade.

Well, maybe he should have let you…

His words had cut off, he knew he had gone too far, but she knew it was what he truly believed. He had thought she was better off dead. He would rather she was not here.

She pondered that reality for a moment. Suppose she had died the night of the founder’s ball. Maybe it might have been easier. Maybe she would not have needed to feel all this grief for her brothers. But then she thought of Damon, and she realised, halfway content, that she was glad that did not happen, at least for him. She remembered the way he had cried over her, pleading with her to drink his blood. At least she was certain of this much; she could not leave Damon, she could not bear to hurt him. How could that dreaded night already seem a lifetime ago? It was only the night before the last.

She had believed, once, for a very brief moment in time, that this affliction might only be temporary—that there was still some thread of humanity she could cling to. That her brothers would save her. Bearing witness to years of their escapades had her believing there was nothing that they could not do. And this was just another problem, another puzzle to be solved; but she knew that was selfish — to expect so much from them.

But that did not matter now, and she had never truly believed it and the reality of what she had become quelled that fragile hope regardless. This was her reality now: vampires do not age; they never change. They did not get to go back to the lives they had before.

And she was no exception.

She could almost feel their rejection, the weight of their disappointment hanging in the air, suffocating her with every harsh breath. Deans anger had been cold, unforgiving. It was the kind of rage that came with the loss of something precious. And Sam, sweet Sam—his conflicted, sorrowful gaze had been the worst of all. She could almost hear his voice, trembling with the desperate hope that maybe he could fix her. But she knew better now.

She was beyond saving. She had not even wanted to save herself, she had been wholly ready to die, to let Damon’s blood dwindle from her system, till her death caught up with her once more.

A familiar ache of longing twisted in her chest as she thought of them. The brothers who had raised her, fought for her, loved her in ways that no one else ever had. The brothers who were now lost to her forever. How could she go back to them now, knowing the truth of what she was? How could she let them see her like this? They would hate me, she thought. They already do.

She imagined the look on Dean’s face as he looked at her—disgust. His words were harsher than the coldest winter she had known, biting at her soul. He would see the vampire she had become and reject the parts of his little sister that remained.

Nothing, she thought. He would see nothing left of me.

And yet, she would miss them more than anything. She would miss the way Dean always teased her, even when he was angry. She would miss Sam’s soft smiles, the way he would always try to protect her, even when she did not need it. She would miss being family—the thing that had once meant everything to her. It had all slipped away, and in its place was this hollow, aching void.

But she knew deep down, past her surfaced dejections, there was no void. Her love for Damon had settled into every crevice of her being, and with all her regret came a guilty, unexpected sense of relief; she was glad she had forever, an eternity to love him. He was her family now, and she could not find it within herself to regret this.

Behind her was the sound of soft footsteps. The familiar, grounding presence of Damon. She did not need to turn around to know it was him; she had grown so used to the weight of his presence, the subtle way he filled the silence between them. When had this happened? It all felt so quick.

He did not speak. Instead, she felt his warmth press against her back, his arms sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. His head found its way into the space between her shoulder and neck, and she instinctively leaned into him, the comfort of his touch a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of her loss.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting herself absorb the silence, the feeling of being held. But the ache inside her did not fade. It only deepened. Her brothers were gone—the life she knew was gone—and all she had left was the man who had turned her into this being.

And she could not even bring herself to regret it. She loved Damon; she loved the way he made her feel, even when it terrified her.

She stood there, motionless, with Damon’s arms around her, staring ahead at nothing. She mourned the girl she had been, but when she thought of what she had gained—when she felt the weight of Damon’s arms around her—she knew she would not trade any of it.

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#damon salvatore #supernatural #the vampire diaries #x reader #damon salvatore x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #tvdu #mystic falls #vampire #winchester sister #the winchester brothers #tvd universe #hunter reader #hunter #hunting #salvatore #spn #monster

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