Headcanon that post-canon Caleb has never actually adopted a cat himself. Rather, his friends are regularly gifting him a never-ending stream of cats, which over the years has included:
Schatz, a little munchkin cat from Veth, who delights in taking and hiding little trinkets around the house. Many inkpots (not always empty), jacket buttons, and Dynasty-style earrings have been claimed for Schatz’ secret hoards over the years and she has no intention of stopping.
Dashilla, a gangly rescue cat with one eye from Jester and Fjord. She appeared on their ship one day after they left port in Port Damali, and her favourite person in the entire world is Fjord. They couldn’t keep her for allergy reasons, hence why she is now biting Caleb’s hand whenever he lets his guard down.
A fully grown moorbounder named Blümchen from Yasha, who bought her as a mount during a stopover in Asarius and really bonded with her. Yasha returned home to Zadash with her; when the fantasy HOA objected, Beau joked that they should give Blümchen to Caleb and Yasha fully committed to the bit.
Charly, an absolutely enormous Norwegian forest cat which Caduceus found in the Savalirwood. Spends his days climbing up to the roof to sunbathe and menacing all rodent lifeforms who so much as twitch a whisker in the cottage’s direction.
Motherfucker, a spotted cat from Beau. Her name was originally going to be Professor, but Beau called her Motherfucker so much that it’s the only thing she responds to now. Was found abandoned behind the Beaurebar one evening, and is the most affectionate cat in the world to everyone except for Beau (hence the name). Also nicknamed “Pop Pop” because one simply cannot tell visitors that one’s cat is named Motherfucker.
A whole entire litter of kittens, also from Jester and Fjord, from a ship’s cat on a Stone’s Throw ship. Their names are Brötchen, Pumpernickel, Knödel, Pfeffernüsse, and Spritzkuchen, and they came with a basket of the best (slightly stale) pastries from around the Lucidian Ocean.
Kaiser, the most regal stray that the streets of Darktow have ever produced. Kingsley claims that the large roguish scar on his cheek is from Kaiser and that he needs someone to take this hellcat off his hands. It would probably be more believable if Kaiser weren’t the laziest tyrant to ever claim the cat basket for himself.
Hansel and Gretel, separate presents from Astrid and Eadwulf respectively. Hansel is both an apology and a bribe from Astrid for making Caleb the student counsellor at the Academy. No explanation was given for Gretel, Eadwulf just knocked on his door one day, dumped a yowling tabby in Caleb’s arms, and left without saying anything.
Perle, a pure white cat who technically belongs to Essek. Technically. It’s just that he’s always on the move trying to avoid capture by both the Dynasty and the Empire, and he would really appreciate it if someone could look after his cat for him until things are a little safer? Of course he would have to visit often to check in on Perle, and maybe his Zemnian friend too while he’s at it.
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overblot! Riddle nonconning you in front of Ace and Deuce while going on about how this is the only thing a magicless nobody is good for 👍🏼
Omg yes,,,,,,,,
(cw: yandere, gender neutral, nsfw, non-con, humiliation/degradation, public sex)
Amidst a ruined, debris-ridden rose maze, a monster looms. No one dares stray close, lest they find themselves maimed and sent to the grave, and so they can only watch helplessly from the safety of overturned chairs, tables, and uprooted rose trees. The scene was once serene, an almost-perfect Unbirthday. Now it is desolate and bleak, a nightmarish reality that leaves thick, discomforting silence blanketing the grounds.
Riddle casts a grotesquely bone-chilling shadow, and his appearance mirrors that of a creature torn from the pages of a classic horror; that's the only way to describe him: cruel and cold, all sharp, vicious edges and thorns, dripping blot. He's on the verge of a supernova, toeing the line of life and death, a monstrous mage who has reached the consequences of a culmination of excessive magic, spilled over into bitter negativity. The aura that clings to him is, in a word, utterly terrifying.
And you're right there in his shadow, a fragile, caged thing bent down on your hands and knees. Your fingers curl into the grass, tearing clumps. No one dares to speak up, to demand he release you, to fight for your safety and dignity. Hopelessly collared, Ace and Deuce, your closest companions in all of this mess, look on in horror even though they don't mean to.
It's like a tragedy spun right before their eyes. They want to look away, but they can't. It's morbidly ensorcelling.
"Observe!" Riddle's voice booms, commanding absolute obedience and attention. His pallid hips press against your ass while clawed hands dig into your hips, holding you perfectly still. Blood is drawn; it seeps beneath his sharpened nails, leaving painful indents. You feel filthy and fearful, cut down to something small and insignificant and weak. Droplets of blot speckle your backside each time he shifts. It's warm like candle wax, but it doesn't burn.
The betrayal does, though—stains through to your very soul.
You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of drifting off elsewhere. Anywhere that isn't here, speared on his cock for all to see, forced into the grass like you're bowing apologetically before the Queen and her card soldiers.
"You lack the key capabilities all mages must possess, and yet you thought it wise to challenge my rules? Here? When my word is law?" He barks out a laugh, sickly amused. Scarlet eyes narrow with disdain. "Perhaps you're as slovenly as you are disobedient. As expected of a disrespectful, magic-less fool who knows nothing! Absolutely nothing of the order I so carefully uphold!"
He pulls back, seething through grit teeth, and snaps his hips forwards. You collapse on shaky arms, gasping in pain.
It hurts more than heartbreak, more than a bruise, more than a slap. Tears spot your lash line, threatening to fall with one more well-aimed, brutal thrust. Spidery fingers dance along your waist, tracing a line towards your neck. He grips your chin and forces you to look upon a crowd of terrified faces, all ogling with bated breath. Ace is watching and so is Deuce, albeit through the cracks in his hands.
"What did you hope to achieve—to prove—by defying me?" he demands, his grip a deadly vise. "That I could be in the wrong? That all I've worked tirelessly for, all that I've done, is wrong?"
"Riddle..." You wince in your futile attempt to pull away. "Riddle, please... I... I'm sorry, but please... You're hurting me..."
He turns your head towards him, eyes ablaze with a furious tempest, and he leans closer, pinning you with startling ease. His cock presses up against your insides, enveloped tightly in your walls, and you shudder through the discomfort and the agony. A single claw traces dangerously close to your jugular.
"Speak up if you have something to say!"
"It hurts!" You gasp again, outright sobbing now. "It hurts! Please..."
"It's a punishment," he sneers, glaring disapprovingly. "It's meant to impart a lesson—one learned through pain. If you understand this, stop sniveling and respond appropriately."
You're not sure which is worse: humiliation at the hands of someone you considered a friendly acquaintance or the fact that, no matter how villainous he may be, you only wish for him to return to himself. You'd never wish this fate on anyone, but maybe it's your too-big heart that makes it impossible to hate him. You don't hate him. You can't.
And perhaps that's the worst part of all this.
You hang your head, defeated and devoid of hope. "Yes, Dorm Leader..."
And so he teaches you and all those who witness the devastating spectacle a lesson neither will ever forget.
Red is passionate and fiery, a reflection of roses and redamancy. But it is not a pleasant color. Not anymore. Not in the aftermath.
Red is the color of Riddle and Heartslabyul and blood and pain and anger. And every time you spy the slowly healing marks from that day, you feel it all over you. Red everywhere, inside and out. Externally, you may heal with all matter of magical cures, but internally it's not an easy fix.
So red is no longer a comfortable color. You wish you could look upon it and admire it for what it is: a color. But that proves impossible, for a color that is so highly revered as pretty does not evoke pretty feelings for you.
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