How do you think the Cullens would act around a disinterested crush? Maybe they're fated but reader isn't having it lol
(I love your twilight writing btw thank God someone is still doing it 🤤🤤)
ah it has been many moons since I've gotten a twilight request yay!
Cullen Clan Reacting To Their Crush Being Disinterested In Them
Carlisle Cullen
Being alive for just over 400 years tends to give one a good perspective on life and the bigger picture, and Carlisle sure has a pretty good idea of how all things pan out. So you're not interested in him? That's fine, Carlisle can wait for as long as you need to change your mind.
In the meantime, Carlisle will continue to maintain your friendship and continue to show just how hard he's worked to become the kind caring father figure he is. He knows you'll fall for him, eventually.
Esme Cullen
Obviously, she's not going to stop caring about you just because you don't return her feelings. But she might switch up how she shows her affection.
Rather than flirty winks and suspiciously candle-lit wine tastings, she'll back up to more traditionally motherly affections. Making sure you're eating right, baking cookies, etc. And of course, giving you homemade soup when you're sick is still one of her favourite things to do, no need to stop now.
Edward Cullen
Of course, you're not interested, how could anyone love a monster like him? Who did he think he was, thinking he was worthy of your love? Or so his inner monologue goes.
But it's really not that dramatic, it almost never is, Edward just sprung his crush on you suddenly and it caught you off guard. It was largely the excessively long preamble about how he was an irredeemable murderer that put you off first, but of course, he won't realise that until considerably later.
Rosalie Hale
She's a little relieved actually. All her mortal and immortal life, Rosalie has been aggressively pursued by people she wasn't particularly interested in, so the fact that she can crush on someone who isn't really that interested is a wonderful change of pace.
For the first time ever, Rosalie has butterflies in her stomach, she fumbles with her words when she speaks to you, and she feels like a silly, mortal teenage girl again, begging her mother to let her go to the dance just so she can sneak away to catch a glimpse of someone just like you.
Emmett Cullen
You and Emmett had been good friends for a while so when he casually drops a blissful "We should get married" into the conversation, you initially choke on your drink in laughter.
Emmett's a little heartbroken that you'd laugh at something like that, considering that he was being 100% serious. But since you've known him, the both of you have been constantly cracking up jokes, trying to get on each other's nerves, so no wonder you thought this was another one of his pranks. He decides to take this reaction as a blessing, you have no idea he's actually into you, now he knows he has to work out a different way to confess his feelings for you.
Alice Cullen
She's a little confused obviously, having multiple visions of the two of you in a romantic relationship kind of gave her the impression that it might've been going to come true, but your disinterest says something else altogether.
But the worst part is that those damn visions of you and her together keep coming back, taunting her, luring her in deeper to despair with the thoughts of what might be. It's all getting so intense, so she decides to skip town for a bit, see if that changes anything, or at least helps her clear her head.
Jasper Hale
Oh well, so you're not interested in a romantic relationship, so what? Doesn't mean you can't still be friends. Doesn't mean he can't be the charming Southern gentleman he is. Doesn't mean he can't still pull out chairs or open doors for you. Or send anonymous bouquets to your house. Or leave your favourite snacks in your locker when you're having a rough day. Of course not.
It doesn't mean he can't worry about other people who might want to date you. Doesn't mean he can't scare off people who'd be bad for you. I mean, what else are friends for?
The Lady Robin Reyne of Castamere, a Blackfyre by no fault of her own, is thrown into the turbulent world of Targaryen politics after being arranged to marry Prince Daeron.
Will be cross posted onto ao3
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, arranged marriages, kidnapping, hostage taking, fostering, sins of the father, rude language, berating, period-typical sexism, suicide, loss of parents, capital punishment, strict 2nd person narration.
Words: 3608
[A/N: This first chapter is highly expositional, but I wanted to build the foundations of Robin's backstory before building into the proceeding chapters. Prince Baelor does at least feature towards the end.]
A traitor’s daughter, that’s all you had ever been. Ever since your father, the late Ser Robb Reyne, swore fealty to Daemon Blackfyre under the assurance that you would be wed to his eldest son, your fate had been sealed. Within a year, your father, would-be husband and would-be king were dead. Blackfyre and his sons’ deaths had become the stuff of song; you’d even overheard your own father’s tale recounted drunkenly in a hall one night:
Sad Ser Robb of Westerland, he couldn’t win a tourney,
He shacked up with the Blackfyre’s to try and win some glory.
“Wed my daughter to your son”, he told the bastard traitor.
The Bastard Traitor said “Of course but they must marry later”.
Sad Ser Robb of Westerland pulled his sword out his arse,
He marched out with the Blackfyre’s to die in long, red grass.
With the traitor Blackfyre dead, Robb’s boots did quake him from beneath.
A thousand arrows struck his face when he met the Raven’s Teeth.
The rest of House Reyne spent the Rebellion practicing damage control. It was made clear to all others that Robb Reyne’s loyalty was his own to discard. It might’ve worked. But in the days following a crushing defeat at Red Grass Fields, King Daeron II Targaryen enforced harsh punishments on surviving Blackfyre supporters. Hostages were taken, land and noble titles divvied up, heads removed. It wasn’t long before mobs took to the streets seeking to route Blackfyre’s remaining sympathisers to their deaths. Your mother, fearing she would pay the price for your father’s choices, took her own life before she could be hanged by a mob in Lannisport. Your grandfather Lord Reyne, fearing that you would follow the fate of your parents at so young an age, formally declared you Lady Reyne of Castamere. Dispensing noble titles as such was unheard of, particularly as your father held no claim to Lordship of Castamere. But it worked. With the protection granted to noble women of rank, your life was spared. Rather than face death, you were sent as a hostage to Casterly Rock to be fostered as a ward and serve in the household of Ser Damon of House Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, the legendary ‘Grey Lion’.
In the dimly lit, stone halls of Casterly Rock, you spent the next 12 years. In those 12 years: you were provided with a lady’s education, taught how to manage a household, how to balance books, how to avoid wasting gold. Yet in the company of Lannisters, there was plenty of gold to waste and any losses you incurred were quickly redundant.
Chiefly, you learnt the most valuable way to save gold was to be considerably more clever than anyone else believed you to be. Ser Lord Damon Lannister told you one day: “Whenever you cannot guarantee success, it is a gamble. Do not ever gamble. Your father gambled when he swore to the Blackfyre’s and that is why he is dead. Hear all, speak nothing, do exactly as is expected of you and you will never have to gamble.”.
Life in Casterly Rock soon became all you could truly remember. In absence of your parents the Lannisters had become your family. Damon was a man you would never claim to admit was a father figure, but he raised you just as much if not more so than his sons. His lady wife, Cerissa Brax, was always courteous to you and encouraged you to develop lady-like skills such as embroidery, a skill you would quickly apply to making your own dolls. Even Damon’s sons were like your brothers. Much like an older sister, you had your hand in raising them as well, making sure they practised their letters and keeping them entertained with silly games. Occasionally, you even joined in on their sword lessons, where you used your experience to disarm them, to their great dismay.
Your life may have continued in blissful triviality, but the Gods were often cruel in this regard. Had you known that the arrival of a single raven from King’s Landing would upend all you had known, you might’ve worked on your archery. There was no warning given, you were merely told to pack your things and to meet Lord Damon at Casterly Rock’s outer gate. It was sometime between the dead of night and early morning. You clutched your thick, red, woollen travelling cloak about your shoulders as you approached Lord Damon who was preparing a carriage.
Except Lord Damon wasn’t preparing just any carriage; it was the Lannister’s grand carriage, almost exclusively used for long journeys and to flaunt the family’s wealth at tourneys. Lord Damon spoke in hushed tones to the driver while a servant secured your luggage in the back. Like a good ward, you waited silently to be acknowledged, distracting yourself with the armed riders who would accompany the carriage.
Lord Damon turned, looking you once over quickly before pulling the carriage door open, “Good, you’re here. Get in.” was all he said.
Knowing better than to argue, you entered without complaint, settling lightly in one of the unpadded, wooden seats designed for servants rather than the cushioned benches designated for the Lannister household. Lord Damon climbed in after you, locking the door to the carriage and signalling to the driver to move. You shifted slightly to find balance as the carriage pulled forward. For a while, you sat in well-trained silence with your gaze cast upon the floor, hoping that your patience would be rewarded with answers as Lord Damon settled in and busied himself with a quill and parchment. The silence had grown almost unbearable before the caged raven in the corner of the carriage squawked loudly, diligently preened itself, enough to make you sigh loudly in exasperation.
Lord Damon glanced over your tense figure before looking back at his work. “It seems your lessons have paid off, I would’ve expected you to start asking questions by now” he hummed.
You took a moment to clear your throat and settle your voice before responding “All ladies must do well to avoid looking desperate, my lord.” Lord Damon hummed a mirthless laugh. “Might I ask, my lord, where we are travelling at such hours?” you asked, daring to look Lord Damon in the eye.
“We ride for King’s Landing.” He said sardonically.
Panic began to race through your mind, your thoughts sorting through all you had learnt of recent news from the Crownlands.
“My lord, why King’s Landing? I know there is no tourney and if you’ve been called on for business in the Capital we are thoroughly understaffed…” You lingered on the reasons why Lord Damon had particularly taken you of all people to King’s Landing. Sure enough you had made yourself a valuable asset to House Lannister’s financial works and you were a noble woman in your own right, but the only reason you could think of for Lord Damon dragging you all the way to King’s Landing in the middle of the night was for you to be executed.
Perhaps King Daeron II ‘The Good’ had finally decided that you, a traitor’s daughter, had lived long enough. Lord Damon seemed hardly concerned by your theorising. You struggled to hold back tears as you tried to accept your fate as gracefully as any noble woman could, “Am I to die, my lord?”.
“All men must die,” Lord Damon recited.
Tears streaked down your cheek at this, as you bit your fingers to hold back a sob. How could they kill you after all this time? You had behaved so well, how would your poor grandfather react – you were sure he would drop dead on the spot when he heard the news, if only you could’ve said goodbye. This must be why Lord Damon locked the carriage door, so you could not escape your doom in the Capital.
Upon hearing your muffled distress, Lord Damon then looked up, “Gods be good, Robin, stop.” he commanded, and you sat up instinctively. Lord Damon rarely used your given name – but when he did it was to great effect. “Seems I must tell you all before you hurt yourself,” he turned, pulling a letter fitted with the seal of House Targaryen, cracked down the centre of the three-headed dragon, and handing it to you. Teary eyes scanned the letter frantically, Lord Damon continued “A missive from the King, you are to marry his grandson, Prince Daeron.”
Whirlwind thoughts and even your tears stop at this. An arranged marriage into the royal family struggled to compute in your mind, like trying to mix water into vinegar. “The King and his grandson have the same name?” your brows knotted with confusion, the letter crumpling slightly around your grip.
“Of course they do, a house as noble and traditioned as Targaryen has a legacy to uphold.” He said sternly. “The Targaryen’s will expect you to know that, as do I.” Lord Damon’s disapproval stung you more than any hot iron and you flinched as such.
“My Lord, you have always said I’m not good enough to wed your sons, yet now I’m to wed a prince” You tears continued falling, though more from relief than fear, adrenaline still rushing through your heart.
“You’re also too old to wed my sons,” Lord Damon quipped, taking a sip of wine from a leather costrel before handing it to you. “You’ve heard of the phrase: keep your friends close – keep your enemies closer? The King is certainly practicing it”. Wine fuelled back-and-forths were not unheard of between yourself and Lord Damon, though you’d been pre-emptively mourning these moments of closeness with your lord for some years now. You still bore the sin of betrayal which your farther had marked upon you, your days had always been numbered. Regardless still, Lord Damon’s sons were seven to ten years your juniors, more your annoying little brothers than anything else. Yet marriage to them may have provided you security and wealth within House Lannister. Though perhaps being a traitor’s daughter made House Targaryen the safest place for you to be.
“Surely I can’t still carry the reputation of a Blackfyre?” you queried, half rhetorically.
“Child, you’ve been a Blackfyre ever since Daemon Blackfyre agreed that you would wed his eldest son,” Lord Damon sighed exasperated, “Had the rebellion succeeded, you would be Queen and the roles of Houses Lannister and Reyne would be starkly reversed.” You imagined what it might be like to have the grand Lord Damon bow before you, for him to be as eager to gain your favour as you were to gain his. Lord Damon continued, “The sword Blackfyre, keystone of the rebellion, was never recovered from the Battle of Red Grass Field, it was taken over the Narrow Sea by those who still seek to depose House Targaryen. Those people may still see you as a missing piece of legitimacy to continue Daemon Blackfyre’s works.”
“Surely a single blade across the sea cannot inspire more revolts?” you calculated. All these ‘surelys’ and yet at this moment you swore you couldn’t be much too sure of anything.
Rolling his eyes, Lord Damon grimaced “Tsk, you’ve forgotten your histories again. It was no mere blade but a Valyrian steel longsword – one of the only few left. Forged for and wielded by…” Lord Damon paused, beckoning you to answer.
“-Aegon the Conqueror.” you added quickly, desperate to not look as stupid as you felt.
Lord Damon nodded “Thus the sword Blackfyre surely could inspire such and continues to do so.” Damon said succinctly as he returned to his writing. “For as long as that blade remains in the hands of Blackfyre pretenders, the threat of further rebellion looms.”
You paused at this, gathering in your mind how tumultuous the political background of your arranged marriage was proving to be. “Lord Lannister, what do you know of my future husband? Surely this Prince Daeron must have an opinion on out match?” you posed the questions delicately, knowing that Lord Damon did detest being pestered.
“He is the firstborn son of Prince Maekar, the fourth son of the King.” Lord Damon replied, “I believe both princes had as much say in the matter as you have.”
“By which you mean to say none at all” you surmised. Lord Damon gave you no hint of a response, which was typically how he chose to agree with you. “Is that all you know, my lord?”
“The Prince Daeron is distinguished only by his love of drink,” Lord Damon added, letting his words hang in the air.
“So I’m to wed a drunk?” You scoffed, swigging from the costrel.
“A drunk of the blood.” Lord Damon quipped.
“I have never known the wife of a drunk to be happy.” You grumbled.
“And I have never known a lady to sneer at marrying into the royal house.” Lord Damon retorted.
Your mouth hung open at the accusation. “I do not sneer.” You said pointedly.
“You sneer plenty, child” Lord Damon chided, “Perhaps that’s for the best, the dragons of old were known to be savage and unheeding – you’ll fit right in.”
“My lord, you pick now of all times to tease me so,” you lament, finally shifting from the wooden bench to a cushioned chair, ranks be damned, the roads were long and the carriage almost empty. “Did you lock the door in fear I’d try to flee this arrangement you’ve so suddenly sprung upon me?”.
Lord Damon hummed to himself thoughtfully before turning his sharp gaze towards you, “Dear child, in all the time you’ve lived within my walls, slept in my hall, eaten at my table – you have never once been predictable. I’ve come close to understanding you, certainly.” He gazed off wistfully and you returned to him the costrel from which he drank, “And you craved praise so much that it made you as loyal as a slave,” you narrowed your eyes at Lord Damon – clearly the wine was getting to him.
“But you have never once given me the luxury of knowing exactly what you would do next.” It was your turn to hum then as you lounged on the more comfortable sofa. “Would you have jumped out of a moving carriage onto the dark and filthy road?” Lord Damon asked rhetorically, “I do not guess. You know how I feel about gambling, child – if you remember anything of me, let it be that.” He said in a crescendo which you’re sure was heard by the driver and the accompanying mounted guards.
“Of course, my lord. Never gamble.” You smiled. It was rare to see Lord Damon tipsy; he had loosened up somewhat. He seemed comforted by your response and finished his letter, rolling and sealing the parchment with a waxen, gold lion before attaching it to the caged raven which was released out of the carriage window.
You looked as the loosed raven disappeared over the horizon before looking back at your lord. “Word to King’s Landing, to tell them of our coming.” Lord Damon answered your unasked question.
It was another four days before you reached King’s Landing. The Gold Road had been rickety and dull, and you could not have been more happy to see the great walls that surrounded the capital. Dawn had not yet risen, the details of the city too murky to decipher in the evening shadow despite your best attempts. As the grand Lannister carriage crossed the capital, the sun rose behind the Red Keep, which stood like an ominous shadow over all else, eclipsing even the Great Sept of Baelor.
Eventually the carriage entered the outer most courtyard of the Red Keep, and despite yourself you shrank away from the window, suddenly fearing to be seen. As the carriage stopped you pulled your red travelling cloak about yourself tighter. Lord Damon looked at you with a hint of understanding in his strict gaze and he waited a minute for you to calm before disembarking.
The walls craved with the seven-pointed star and the hanging of Targaryen banners hardly took your notice as you retreated into yourself. You and Lord Damon were guided by half a dozen White Cloaks, the Crown’s most elite guardsmen, to a large set of double doors. As the doors opened, a guard called “Announcing Lord Damon Lannister of Casterly Rock and Lady Robin Reyne of Castamere”. All eyes in the following chamber landed on you and Lord Damon. You clutched the inside of your red travelling cloak for security, mercifully the garment was loose enough that no one saw you grasping the fabric desperately. Lord Damon walked ahead of you and your followed, gaze to the floor, you could hardly bear to meet the onlookers’ eyes. Here you were, a traitor’s daughter, in the centre of those who saw your father dead, the most dangerous place you could be. Hanging dragon skulls cast toothy grins on the stone beneath your feet. As you walked, your shadow seemed to fly into their gaping beastly jaws.
Soon you saw the steps approaching the famed Iron Throne and the beginnings of the swords that made it. Lord Damon kneeled and you followed suit. To your surprise, the King spoke first. “Ah, Lord Lannister, I trust the Gold Road has been kind, it’s good to see you both here.” Without cause, you panicked instantly hearing the King acknowledge your existence.
“Thank you, your majesty. The roads were smooth and our travel unburdened.” Lord Damon stood but you remained kneeling, “I am honoured to introduce Lady Reyne of Castamere to your court.”
There seemed to be an infinite silence in your mind before you heard the King’s words “Well, I bid ye stand, girl, let me look at you.” You stood solemnly, finally daring eye the King just as he eyed you. King Daeron II was an older man, who appeared fat with round shoulders and a pot belly. The King had the distinctive silver Targaryen hair, turned white with age, upon which rested the elaborate dragon crown worn by his father, Aegon IV.
Beside the King sat a similarly older women with grey hair and dark eyes, who you surmised to be his Dornish Queen, Myriah Martell. She then leaned over to whisper something unheard to her attendants and you shuddered, fearing ridicule.
You dared glance to the side of the throne to see the Hand of the King and his eldest son, Prince Baelor, who had a neutral expression, hands clasped neatly in front of him. From the fringes of your vision, you could see a row of Targaryens looking upon you, your new husband no doubt among them, but you had not the strength to return the favour.
Then your ears began to ring, and the hall seemed to blur and sway around you. You couldn’t make out what the King said next, it wasn’t until you left Lord Damon’s hand gripped your arm that you looked up and Prince Baelor spoke, “Allow me, Lord Lannister, to escort you both to your chambers, no doubt some rest has been earned after your journey”. Lord Damon then offered you his arm, and you took it gratefully. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck despite the morning chill.
Prince Baelor led you and Lord Damon out from the hall and to the upper chambers of the Red Keep. Sun lit balconies and open-air courtyards beneath passed by until you entered a room darkened by closed shutters and lit by a roaring fire. Lord Damon took your cloak while you swayed onto a nearby sofa. You heard Prince Baelor call to the servants “Come, attend to Lady Reyne, she will need food and drink”. You could not see how even Lord Damon looked over you with concern in his eyes. “She has come here willingly, has she not?” Prince Baelor muttered to Lord Damon.
“As willingly as was possible, your highness” Lord Damon retorted gruffly.
“I’d have hoped your raven would’ve warned us of such, Lord Lannister, we’d not have brought her immediately before the court had we’d known” Prince Baelor bemoaned.
“She’s more resilient than she looks. Let her rest, and she will be herself by this evening” Lord Damon said resolutely.
“It is not our wish to continue distressing the Lady Reyne, my lord” Prince Baelor spoke in a hushed, gentle tone, mindful that you were only feet away.
“The Lady Reyne is a traitor’s daughter, your highness.” Lord Damon responded, “Distress is the least she has suffered. Trust in me when I say she will be well by this evening.”. You couldn’t hear the prince’s reply, but you then heard him bid Lord Damon farewell before leaving the room.
Lord Damon walked around the sofa to speak to you. “Sit up, girl,” you sluggishly complied, “Eat something if you can before you sleep, I’ll send for your luggage and come wake you at dusk. Then you’re to meet your new husband, Prince Daeron and his father.”.
At this, you grabbed a leg of roasted goose and began munching into it carelessly. Lord Damon looked at you while you devoured your lunch and hummed appreciatively, though he said nothing, as was his way.
“I bid you sleep well, child” he murmured in a tone almost as soft as Prince Baelor’s before leaving you alone in your chamber. You continued to attack the food and then your drink, caring little for the crumbs down your front. Then you stood and shucked off your overgown and kirtle. You then threw yourself into the plush, postered bed before letting oblivion completely overtake you.
Do you write fem readers?!? 😭 If so can you write some head cannons about the Cullens with a goth s/o
i proudly write for all readers, nonny! and I'm gonna assume this about about trad!goth, but I'll try and make sure this applies to most goth subcultures!
Cullen Clan x Goth!Fem!S/O
Carlisle Cullen
He's confused but supportive. Back in his day, the term 'goth' only applied to the people who sacked Rome, which he'll remind you of regularly, especially if you're visiting the Volturi (who will also assume that you are directly connected to the ancient Goths, and would fear you as a result).
He'd be interested in your genealogy, because he thinks you're connection to the goth style can't be mere coincidence or personal choice, and it wouldn't be difficult to find out either, all he'd have to do is check if you have any Germanic ancestry from the last 2000 years.
Esme Cullen
If you're happy and comfortable, she's happy and comfortable. While it probably isn't her style personally, she's quick to see the benefits. For instance, black is a very easy colour to maintain, particularly with regards to cleaning.
Her only concern is getting you clothes other than black so that you can have something to wear to events that may require specific colours, like if you two are guests at a wedding (she wouldn't want you wearing black as it's bad luck for the couple).
Edward Cullen
Edward himself is basically a diet-corporate goth, so dating you will probably help him develop his own sense of comfort in the style.
The two of you are regularly seen brooding in the Forks CVS, loitering around the hair dye section, silently terrifying all of the elderly people waiting at the pharmacy.
Edward is likely already very familiar with goth music, has absolutely been to some Bauhaus concerts in his time, and probably has a respectable collection of gothic rock records in his room.
Rosalie Hale
It'll be like a Barbie/Oppenheimer-esque clash in aesthetics. I personally see Rosalie with a very Y2K aesthetic, so the two of you walking down the street together might turn some heads.
That doesn't mean that she isn't fully supportive of your style though, and appreciates the philosophy of the aesthetic, how it's a style built on defying expectations of conformity and obedience. In her short life, all Rosalie knew was to dress properly, smile, be open, happy, a willing host, an amusing guest. In death, she's proud to be herself, and even prouder to be with someone so comfortable with dressing exactly how they want, regardless of what others might think.
Emmett Cullen
You dress scary and Emmett loves it. He has regularly compared you to a venomous snake, your black clothes and aggressive makeup mean that almost everyone in Forks steers clear of you. But not Emmett, he's never had the survival instincts to stay away from things that could kill him, in fact, your "unapproachable" style only drew him in more.
Absolutely loves wandering around Forks with you, even if you aren't particularly doing anything. He thinks it's hilarious that some people cross the street to avoid you, it's like having 'scary dog' privileges.
Alice Cullen
She'd seen you in her visions for some time, but she almost didn't recognise you when you started dressing strangely and wearing heavy makeup. At first, it disturbed her, you looked like the sleep-paralysis demons that used to haunt her in the asylum.
Once she gets the chance to meet you in real life, that fear quickly subsides. Through your relationship, Alice learns how much of a safe space goth society can be, and that she can rely on other goths to not be judgemental towards her like so many others are.
Jasper Hale
Greatly appreciates the Victorian-era elements that are incorporated into your clothes, it helps him feel less old. You'll make his day if you show any interest in his clothes and jewellery that he had in life, particularly the more morbid pieces (such as the ring made out of his mother's hair).
If you're looking particularly historical, he'll love to get in his original clothes from when he was alive (except the ""uniform"" that shan't be mentioned), and stroll about Forks with you, arm in arm, like a true Southern gentleman.
Hey, I’m the one who did the weird ass teeth request, just saw the thing, mortal kombat for the characters I listed! :) have a great day/night
hi nonny, im really sorry about this but you didn't actually list any characters either! so i'll just pick some of the more popular characters!
MK Peeps Reacting to Reader Keeping Fake Teeth for Art Projects
Kung Lao
When he finds the box of teeth, he quickly shuts it again and moves on like he never saw it to begin with.
When you come back in and see him looking all uncomfortable, you look at him and say "You found the teeth, didn't you?".
Lao is ready to swear up and down that he has no idea what you're talking about, but when you say "Dude, chill out; they're fake.", he breathes a huge sigh of relief before going on a rant about what the fuck you do with all those fake teeth.
Cassie Cage
She was nonchalantly going through some stuff in your room when she finds the box of teeth, and at that moment she is convinced that this is how her life turns into a serial killer documentary.
She wants to react to the teeth but finds herself frozen, she has absolutely no idea why you would keep human teeth like this.
When you walk in and find her frozen, you quickly explain that the teeth are fake and that you use them for arts and crafts, and all she can do is turn to you and say "Why the fuck are you like this?".
Takeda Takahashi
Picks up the box, sees the teeth, says "Uh, what the fuck?", and puts the box down.
To be honest, his dad keeps some pretty weird stuff around the house, so he's not completely freaked out.
When you tell him that they're fake and that you use them for art crafts, he's like "Prove it. How am I supposed to believe you don't just collect teeth?".
Jacqui Briggs
🎵Hell no, to no, no, no, hell to the no.🎵 Jacqui is fucking booking it! She's seen horror movies, and she knows that black people always die first!
She is out the door and halfway down the street before you can ask her where she's going. You text her about what happened and she'll respond "I found the fucking teeth!".
After you reply and say that they're fake and you use them for art projects, she will reappear at your door in 5 minutes and say "If you've got any other freaky shit in here, you better WARN ME!".
