Starting To Fall For The Isaac With A Cat Propaganda

Maybe you can write about xanthus calming listener down from a panic attack? :)

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♥ Xanthus

˜”* ❝𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚.❞

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: xᴀɴᴛʜᴜꜱ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯

Everything was so slow, blurry, harsh. You were cold with the only warmth being from your tears. There wasn’t an exact reason you were acting this way, it wasn’t usual. You tried to keep it all in but it just spilled. Breathing was short and painful. It felt like some type of torture. 

Nobody saw you. It was just you, alone. Dontis was busy, Fran was outside, and Xanthus… Oh, Xanthus. He was probably feeling what you felt at this moment. Xanthus was most definitely panicking. 

There wasn’t much to see since your vision was blurry and your ears felt like they’d been muffled but you did hear a frantic tapping.

“Love?”

You looked to your right and saw what would look like Xanthus if your tears weren’t in the way. He’s never seen you like this and you didn’t ever want him to. 

“Xanthus.”

Your body started shaking like you were about to collapse. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love.”

Xanthus rushed to your side and held you. He guided you to bed and tucked you in. You wiped some of your tears, clearing everything up and when you did you saw that pitiful look on Xanthus’ face. You could tell he felt hurt seeing you like this. 

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t apologize, love. Are you okay?”

You looked at his face which was painted with concern. A wave of emotion hit you and your tears began to fall again. Xanthus held you tighter and wiped your tears. He didn’t know what was happening but wanted to help and be there.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After finally settling down, you were laying in silence with Xanthus. There wasn’t anything you really wanted to say. Your tears had made you exhausted and Xanthus could see that. 

Xanthus positions himself so he can see you better, “Love?”

“Hm?”

“If you were worried about something, you would tell me, right?”

You didn’t reply. Anything would be wrong. ‘Yes’, No. ‘No’, Yes. 

“Love.”

“It depends.” You answer.

“If you had another one of these, would you tell me?”

Would you? That was the question. The question you truly didn’t have the answer to. 

Xanthus saw the look on your face. He sighed before lying back down. 

“Goodnight, love. I love you,” He said before kissing your forehead. He didn’t expect a reply. You normally don’t say anything after he says ‘I love you’. It didn’t make him upset. He understood. 

You didn’t go to sleep until he fell asleep. And before you did, 

“I love you too, Xanthus.”

But of course, 

Xanthus doesn’t sleep before you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

i think i went off script.... oopsie. anyway i felt like xanthus should make a comeback since the last time i wrote for him was my first post... ANYWAY i hope u liked reading this as much as i liked writing it

(and i pray that saku isn't lurking at this very moment.)

Am I the only one that didn’t like it at all, that listener kissed Isaac in the 5th part. Like that’s so weird. It dosent make sense, we all know he’s fine but still …

I love you

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃

“is this okay?”

“does this feel good?”

“i wish you could see the faces you make when i fuck you like this”

“that’s it baby— shit yeah yeah keep moving like that”

“easy now don’t get over zealous pretty thing”

“it’ll fit, don’t be scared”

“you take it so well”

“don’t be shy now, spread though pretty legs for me sweet thing”

“move your hand here…feel that? that’s me”

“so your neck is sensitive huh?”

“you keep marking my neck like that i’ll end up looking like a van gogh painting”

“not yet.”

“that’s right sweet thing keep going— mmm damn it”

“open your mouth.”

“mghm— fuck pretty thing”

“it hurts? your body is telling me otherwise”

“want me to kiss it better?”

“i bet you do”

“on your knees”

“fucking s-shit”

“almost there, right there yes yes”

“give me a kiss sweet thing, you did amazing”

“now you’re all shy?

saku don’t look

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

Prelude in C-Sharp Minor

The piece I had in mind was Rachmaninov's Prelude in C-Sharp Minor.

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

Xanthus plays the piano to express his emotions. You hear his pain.

Since your mission to take down the Trimedian, Xanthus had been distant. 

You brushed it off at first, thinking he needed some time on his own to recover from the shock and the betrayal you knew he must have felt when he saw Audric again. People dealt with trauma in different ways, and while you felt safest wrapped in his arms, you recognized that having spent as much time relying solely on himself to deal with everything might have led Xanthus to need to process things on his own. You didn’t push. 

He would come to you if he needed someone to hold on to. He would talk to you if he needed to express his emotions and just vent for a while. He would nuzzle his head into your shoulder and cry if he needed to, wouldn’t he?

Xanthus was always there for you when you woke up screaming from another nightmare or felt tears choking you as you thought back to the mission. He could feel your emotions, so he was next to you in an instant, gathering you into an embrace and making you feel safe, reminding you that it was over, that you were alright, promising he would not let anything happen to you. Never again.

Despite the bond, you had not felt any feeling of terror, anger, or sadness coming from Xanthus. It was almost as if he had blocked you out, stifled his emotions so they would not get to you.

While he tried to put up a cheerful facade around you, his smile never reached his eyes anymore and the faux levity he brought into the thick atmosphere that had appeared in the mansion made you all the more worried for him. 

It did not help that his smile always dropped when you turned your back, and no matter how much effort he put into hiding it, the anguish in his ruby eyes could not be concealed. 

The soft notes of the piano carried gently through the hallway as you descended the stairs. Xanthus played beautifully, despite insisting that he was severely out of practice and had forgotten a lot of techniques over the decades. 

You walked quietly over to the living room, where the grand piano stood in front of the floor-length window. The flames in the open fireplace painted the room in a gentle light, illuminating the sheets Xanthus was reading from. You could not help but admire his form as he sat perched on the piano stool, moving his upper body in tandem with the notes he struck on the keys in Lento. 

The melody switched suddenly from feeling like a gentle but tragic autumn breeze to a grave, hurried expression of despair and fear as the tempo picked up. The playing nearly felt chaotic, and it made your heart ache to see the earnestness with which Xanthus conveyed the heaviness of the piece.

To him, it expressed the disarray of his thoughts and feelings.

He had nearly lost you on the mission. He had put you in danger, even though you always reminded him that you had gone willingly, fully understanding the risk you were taking. It did not matter. When you were separated, he had failed to protect you. He had let you down.

He had broken his promise to you.

It kept him up at night, the memory of the fear he had felt and could sometimes still feel coming from you through the bond; the sound of Audric's smooth voice as he taunted him for his affection, his weakness.

The Agitato concluded as Xanthus struck the notes, making you wince at the burning anger you heard in them. They sounded nearly discordant from the force with which he played them.

No matter how loud he played, the echo of Audric's venomous laugh, the sound of your fearful breaths never left his mind.

As the tempo picked up again, Xanthus continued striking the keys, pouring his heart into the forte fortissimo and adding such melancholy and despair into his playing that pesante did not begin to cover the pain you could hear him express.

Tears gathered in your eyes at only being able to guess at the anguish he was going through because Xanthus simply would not talk to you. Maybe he would, in his own time, but only watching and hearing him suffer through everything alone made your heart break regardless. The notes he played on the piano were the only expression of his grief you had been witness to.

The volume decreased slowly, with a few changes of rhythm. Xanthus sighed as he played Lento, the last notes of the piece carrying through the room like a whisper of defeat.

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” he whispered into the heavy silence stretching across the room, “It’s quite distracting when I try to keep the rhythm.” Xanthus turned around on the stool, the light of the fireplace reflecting in his eyes and painting his face in a warm glow. 

You could see the gravity the gaze levelled at you and came closer, brushing your hand along his cheek in a gentle caress. “You play beautifully,” you told him, bending down to place a tender kiss against his lips. 

Xanthus hummed into the kiss, a small smile appearing on his face as you broke apart. “I have you to be my muse, love,” he said, placing his hand over yours to pepper soft kisses against your palm. 

“It was rather heavy, though.”

“Rachmaninov told a suffocating tale in it, yes,” Xanthus conceded, standing up to guide you to the sofa facing the fireplace. “That doesn’t make it any less of a masterpiece. The tragedy and despair conveyed so candidly— they make it one of the most emotional pieces I have ever played.”

You took hold of his hands, beginning to play with his fingers and rubbing your thumbs against his joints. A pianist's hands ached after playing difficult pieces, you had read somewhere. “You know I’m here if you need me, right?” you asked quietly, looking him in the eyes. 

His gaze softened as he leaned over to kiss you again. “I know, love,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “Thank you.”

The two of you stayed cuddled together for the rest of the evening, gazing into the flames.

“Why don’t you play Liszt’s Campanella next time?” you teased after a while, raising one of his hands to your lips. 

“Very funny, love.”

Hi saku, quick question but if someone ever try to go between Isaac and pickle for pickle sake like taking them away from him. What would he do?

It depends on the context. If you mean kidnapping, then he would kill them. If the situation was such that Pickle's life wouldn't be threatened, then he would likely do a thorough background check on the person and frame them enough to land them in jail.

I’m sorry to say it but Xanthus fans are starving … and with the situation there in … pls I’ve been waiting for 5 months

The Song A Dove Sings

—————————-🧡—————————-

Synopsis: You sing Xanthus a beautiful song; one he won’t forget for as long as he lives.

Warning: Mentions of blood.

———————————🧡——————————

As dawn made way for the morning rise, with the orange, pink and red hues rolling over into a sky blue, your eyelids fluttered open to the golden rays of sunlight poking its way through the curtains, and the gentle chirps of the birds roosting in nearby trees. The rays of sunlight that woven its way through the balcony window painted the room in an ethereal golden glow. You were enveloped in the warmness of the blankets, the strong hold of the man you loved most, and the faint, lingering smell of cologne and coca butter. You focused on the hushed sound of his breathing, and the warm air of his breath dancing on your neck. You looked at his peaceful expression, the way his blonde hair fell messily over his pale face, and those long, beautiful eyelashes that so perfectly complimented those stunning ruby red eyes you’ve adored so much. Like most people, you weren’t a fan of mornings—and it’s not for the typical reasons. Before you and Xanthus found each other, you woke up to a gaping cavity in your heart, suffocated by the air of solitude that filled the room. It didn’t matter how brightly the sun shined, how blue the sky was, or how loudly the birds sang; mundanity always hung above your head like a dark storm cloud. Seeing your partner’s face reminded you that you were not alone anymore. With every rise and fall of his chest, with every hushed breath that entered the atmosphere, you were reminded that your melancholic days were fewer and far in between. And so, with your eyelids getting heavier and heavier, yielding to the gentle call of sleep—you nestled further into the warm embrace of the one you loved most in this world.

Until you heard a familiar cooing sound. A familiar chirp—one that echoed in the air; its sound fluttering through the wind, just like the wings of the bird it belonged to.

A familiar song.

Your eyes popped open—any trace of fatigue and weariness melting away. As much as it pained you leave the serenity of Xanthus’ arms, you had to. So, with a quiet groan and a lot of caution, you slowly crept out of bed and tiptoed to the balcony window. And sure enough, there it was.

A Mourning Dove.

Your stomach swirled with nostalgia, and your chest felt heavy. It had been ages since you saw one, and even longer since you’ve heard its hauntingly beautiful call. As the bird sang, you took a moment to admire its muted colors—its little body covered in beige and light gray hues. The corners of your mouth quirked up fondly as you watched the dove’s chest and throat puff out to make each sound.

“Love?” A groggy voice groaned behind you.

You turned around to see Xanthus sitting upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“There’s a mourning dove outside,” you replied.

He got out of bed and walked over to the balcony window.

“Ah. So there is. I haven’t seen one in so long, which makes sense—they aren’t native to the U.K.”

You didn’t answer. You merely watched it sing some more. And although, for a time, the silence between you two was very comforting, you could practically feel Xanthus’ inquisitive gaze.

“I take it that you really like this bird?”

“Yeah. A long time ago, back when I used to live with my parents—a dove that looked just like this one would perch on a ledge outside my window, and sing— once in every blue moon. I know a lot of people think that it sings a sad song, but I never thought so. I always felt comforted, and even a little joyful when I’d hear its song.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed. “I’ve always envied them.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re free; they have peace. I didn’t have that growing up. For my entire life, I was forced to live in fear—always looking over my shoulder, always flinching at every corner. I never let myself fully trust people because I never knew what their true intentions were. It felt like I was…trapped in a cage. And since everyone was out to get me and family, I never really got a chance to actually live my life.”

The cage might’ve been spacious, filled with all the luxuries one could ever ask for—it might’ve been familiar, and full of the people you loved, but…

A cage is still a cage, nonetheless.

“Do you feel free now?” Xanthus asked.

You hummed and rested your head on his shoulder. Dontis was an absolute saint for opening up his home to you two. He’s helped you guys out in more ways in one. You certainly weren’t ungrateful for everything he’s done for you two, but at that point it’d been months since you’ve left his penthouse. Months since you’ve got to try new food, or interacted with new people. Months since you were able to live your life.

Yes, his house was full of luxuriously plush couches, beautiful paintings, and wide flat screen T.Vs, but you still weren’t free. A cage is still a cage. But even after everything you’ve been through, if there was one thing you’d gained—-it was peace. You’ve found peace with Xanthus, and that was enough for now.

“When I die, I think I wanna become a mourning dove.”

Xanthus turned his head toward you. “What?”

“I remember you telling me something about the jokes vampires make when they die. You told me that if you died, you’d come back as a bat. So, I’m telling you now that when I die, I’m gonna come back as a mourning dove. So make sure to keep your ears open;

‘Cause I’m gonna sing you a beautiful song.”

……..

No matter where he went or where he tried to hide, death followed Xanthus everywhere—but it never really bothered him until he met you. Humans lives were fleeting compared to his own, and as fragile as a porcelain tea cup, teetering dangerously on the edge of a high shelf; one nudge away from shattering into numerous irreparable pieces. He never liked thinking about your death, or what’d it be like if you were gone—so he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and cherished your presence while you were still around.

But ever since you and him had that conversation, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He didn’t stop thinking about it when he held your broken and bloodied body in his arms—your face drained of any color, your eyes dull and lifeless.

He didn’t stop thinking about it as he tore Audric to shreds after what he did to you. He could still feel the warmth of his blood dripping from his fingers.

He didn’t stop thinking about it when he gave your eulogy, or when he and your loved ones walked to the graveyard.

And he most definitely didn’t stop thinking about it when they lowered your coffin 6 feet into the cold, dark ground.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave your grave—even after everyone left. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, or to mutter any sort of apology for getting you into this mess. For being so careless. For being so damn weak. All he could do was sit in front of your grave, with his face buried in his hands, and sob inconsolably. He’d lost the person he was supposed to protect; his lover, a piece of his soul. And now, he felt incomplete—broken, even. So, all he could do was sit there, and cry until there were no tears left to shed.

Until he heard a familiar coo. A familiar chirp.

A familiar song.

He took his face out of his hands, and looked up; the red, bloody tears still streaming out of his wide eyes. And sure enough, there it was, perched on your headstone:

A Mourning Dove.

Its little body was bathed in beige and light gray hues, its throat and chest puffed out as it sang. And Xanthus watched quietly in disbelief until it was over. He reached his hand out, and the dove perched on his finger. And as soon as the bird made contact, he felt it.

It was you.

You came back to say goodbye to him, one last time.

The dove cooed once more, and flew away—the faint flapping sounds of its wings fading further and further away. He watched as the dove flew toward the sky.

You were finally at peace. You were finally free.

——————————-🧡——————————————

A/N: Ever since part 8.1–when Xanthus jokes about dying and being reincarnated as a bat, I couldn’t stop thinking about what kind of animal listener would end up being. I really, really love mourning doves, and I’ve always thought that they’d be a good fit for listener.

im not defending myself against a vampire. suck away gorgeous

Reblog if you've ever cried over the death of a fictional character