Valentine 18+

Masterlist

What I will write:

Romantic or platonic

SFW + NSFW

Mythology / Folklore etc

Dark and Soft Yanderes

It was only after weeks of shared glances, whispered conversation and quiet sketches that Julian dared to ask you for more.

Losing sleep over the way you made him feel, emotions so deep and unexplainable he began going mad over trying to express it. His current models and pieces of art just weren't good enough compared to you and the way you make him feel.

A type of suffocating love he never thought could exist.

“Forgive me for being so forward,” he said, his voice gentle and earnest. “I understand this may come as a shock, but if you’d allow me, I would be honoured if you would be my muse."

Though you were hesitant to overstep and cause a scandal, he promised you everything you could want if you were to only be his muse, he’d give you a place to stay and all you could ask for, you wouldn’t have to be a maid anymore. But then being his muse, turned into friendship, then lovers.

He fell in love with how you so effortlessly inspired his work -but fell harder for how you grounded him as a person. Smitten by the little things- your soft laughter, the gentle way you spoke. He loved the small gestures you made without thinking, the way you’d hum as you worked. He'd notice it all.

While initially hesitant from the intensity of not being spared a glance to having a man tripping over himself at the sight of you -you grew to enjoy his presence. The idea of being someone who inspires him, someone who is at the centre of his world. After living your whole life in the shadows.

...

Many hours a week are sat in his study as he paints you, his work taking on a new life, new meaning that only makes it so much more beautiful.

Julian loves to draw you absentmindedly—it’s almost like an instinct, something that he can't stop even when he's lost in thought. He has many books filled with fast sketches that are almost abstract that he scribbles without even looking at the page, to incredibly detailed sketches that almost look like photos.

Parts of your day are recorded in those books like his own form of videoing you. Some are so attentive they could be made into a seamless stop motion.

Sometimes he even finds himself sitting on the bathroom floor as you bathe, talking to you as he once again absent-mindedly draws. finding inspiration for his next piece.

He’s obsessed with the little details. He gets lost in those details, and every sketch is a desperate attempt to capture your essence. But not necessarily just when he’s drawing either.

When he’s not drawing, Julian traces his fingers over your skin studying every part of you.

His love language is physical touch, though it’s always gentle and respectful. Gently running his fingers through your hair or resting a hand possessively on your waist.

But that doesn't mean he lacks in the other 4 departments. Like how he loves to whisper to you just how much you mean to him.

His feelings for you are intense, to the point of worship, though he doesn’t fully realise how deep his obsession runs, he doesn't do anything to correct it either.

Sometimes that can be overwhelming for you, especially going from such an ignored life to one in a lovely house, a handsome gentleman of a husband and the title of being a muse.

But you can't bring yourself to make him stop, he’s Prince Charming in your eyes.

Lavinia is usually at your side or close by. The two of you became almost inseparable, Lavinia treating you with a motherly tenderness you hadn’t expected. But never fragile or demeaning, in fact, she encouraged questions and exploration -she was just there for your stability, not to shelter you or keep you captive.

Soren lets you grow comfortable, giving you space to settle and get used to a new routine. He'd make small talk when you're in the same room, but it never felt forced or pressuring. It was casual and kind, warm even.

Lucian is distant to but not the same kind-distant as Soren who's giving you space but is still there for you, this is a brooding-distant. If you caught his eye, he’d glance away with a scowl, or, on the rare occasion he lingered, his expression was unreadable—something guarded beneath the surface, like he didn’t know whether to see you as a stranger, an annoyance, or something else entirely. But he rarely made any verbal jabs, he knew better, where you are Lavinia or Soren are close by.

Dorian made up for his brother in spades though.

Dorian loves having a little sister, but more so a person who's fun and matches his energy. Don't get him wrong, it's not torture living with them, but they are a very formal and work-led family. Lavinia, ever soft for her sons, often played along with her dry wit, entertaining her wild child's antics. But those were just fleeting moments, and the other two are useless when understanding good comedy. This, however, is so much more fun, so much more human- games, laughing and getting in trouble.

-

There were games of cards sprawled out on the sitting room floor, stories told by firelight that had you snorting with laughter at Dorian’s theatrical gestures, and hours spent bent over your sketchbook beside you as he tried (and failed) to master the art of drawing. Your drawing book is now a patchwork of your steady drawings and Dorian's questionable scribbles.

“This is offensive,” he grumbled one afternoon, pointing to his attempt at a cat. It looked more like a misshapen potato with whiskers. “to cats everywhere. I should be ashamed.”

“You should,” you teased, stifling a giggle. “Poor Sir Whiskers. He deserves better.”

“Art critic and sibling tormentor?” He shook his head dramatically. “What have I created ?”

Your smile lingered even after the moment passed. It was a strange thought, but you were starting to feel a quiet sense of belonging here—especially around Dorian. He treated you as though you’d always been part of his life, his easygoing nature smoothing the sharp edges of your fears.

-

Lavinia often encouraged this unconventional form of bonding too. Once walking into the kitchen where you and Dorian were for one reason or another.

Except when she rounds the corner, she sees you both balancing spoons on your noses. She holds back a laugh at the absurdity that Dorian somehow convinced you into.

"Teaching her to balance a spoon on her nose? I'm sure Soren would approve." she raises an eyebrow.

Dorian doesn't remove the spoon to look at her, to focused. "It's a skill, mother. A very serious one, it's harder than it looks." he explains with a grin.

You pipe up though laughs -after dropping your spoon again, determined to get it right you pick it up-. "He says it's a significant motor skill. Apparently, it’s vital for survival."

Lavinia smiles, seeing you so relaxed and happy "Practical, then. Carry on."

The First Steps

But while life in this new family was slowly becoming no so strange, there were unkind 'events'. Often first steps are accompanied by stumbles-

The following months of adjustment weren’t linear. You struggled with the change—an identity crisis that seemed to gnaw at you in the quiet moments—and even the culture shock of living with the Beaumonts. Just as you felt like you were coming to terms with your situation, something new would pull the rug out from under you.

Drinking blood was the worst of it. Just when you thought you could settle, you had to face something that felt so foreign, so damning, that it brought back every fear and doubt. It was gross, wrong, and an impossible idea.

Having been raised in a traditional Victorian household, you likely held some sort of religious or superstitious beliefs too. That only made this so much harder to justify.

-

The first time Soren brought you the cup, you stared at it as though it might bite you. Lavinia sat beside you at the small table in a quiet room. Dorian sat lazily on a soft armchair not far, under the guise of reading a book, but his gaze was fixed on your face, trying to read your reactions. Your stomach churned, the smell of iron lingering faintly in the air.

“Better to start now,” Soren said, his tone firm but not unkind. He set the cup gently on the table in front of you, his hands steady. “It’s easier to manage this way before hunger makes it… harder.”

He straightens up, and his face softens at the sight of an unpleasant struggle they all had faced "Take your time, but you will drink some before you go to bed." He turns to leave, letting Lavinia handle this with her gentle nature.

But he pauses "This doesn’t define you unless you let it." A tense attempt at comfort. You wish it worked.

You sat in silence for a while after Soren left. Dorian broke the silence unable to sit in such a tense atmosphere.

“It’s stranger to think about it than to do it.” as though this were a completely ordinary conversation. “Once you start, it's just routine... instinct.”

“Dorian,” Lavinia murmured, though there was no real scolding in her tone.

“What?” He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s true.” But his face falls again when his attempt at lighting the mood fails, seeing you only tense up.

You wanted to glare at him, as your eyes began to burn and threaten tears, wanting to snap, but not able to take your eyes off the cup. How can you talk about this like it’s nothing? But your anger fell short. He’d been through this too. They all had. And now it was your turn. There was no getting around it, no more delaying.

Lavinia leaned in, drawing your attention back to her. “I know this feels impossible,” she said softly. “But it won’t ruin you. I promise you that.” The back of her gloved fingers gently brush over your cheek before stopping at your chin and holding it carefully between her index and thumb, forcing you to hold her gaze.

You blinked at her, tears burning the corners of your eyes. “How do you know?” Lavinia sighed at the sight of tears welling up, letting go of your chin to rub circles on your back.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” she said simply. “And I am still myself.”

Something about the certainty in her voice made your resolve falter. Lavinia—so calm, so strong—didn’t look wicked. She didn’t look lost. Maybe… maybe you wouldn’t either.

When you didn’t move, Lavinia stood, reaching for the cup and placing it carefully in your shaking hands. “Just one sip,” she said, her tone firm but kind. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You took as small of a sip as you could- And it was as awful as you were expecting, so foreign. The morality, the taste, the texture and the smell. But worst of all you hated that you weren't so hungry now, forced to confront that this is your way of life from now on.

Lavinia stood, smoothing her skirts before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “That’s enough for tonight,” she murmured gently, her tone soft but brooking no argument. “Let’s get you ready for bed, sweet girl.” She placed a hand gently on your lower back, guiding your quiet, troubled self out of the room.

Your steps were slow, heavy with lingering unease, but before stepping into the hallway, you glanced back. Dorian sat where he’d been the entire time, unusually still—quieter than you’d ever seen him, almost forgetting he was there. His usual spark seemed dimmed as he watched you leave, his expression subdued.

He caught your gaze and offered a small, sad smile—an attempt at encouragement that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t pity, exactly, just the ache of watching someone he cared for fight battles he couldn’t help them win.

... Guided by Gentle Hands

You began getting glimpses of what life would look like when you finally settled in.

Soren took it upon himself to become a teacher, starting with history, though at first, it was subtle—nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. He’d beckon you into his study, voice low but firm, and give you small tasks: 'read this chapter' 'tell me what you think about this passage' or 'write down your thoughts on that event'.

Soren understood better than anyone that boredom had a way of catastrophizing unpleasant thoughts, of spiralling them into something unbearable. It was practical, of course—he had always intended to educate you as thoroughly as he had Lucien and Dorian, and even Lavinia, though her education had been more self-initiated.

But at the heart of it, this was his way of looking out for you, by keeping your mind sharp and your heart steady so you wouldn’t lose yourself.

-

It was during your third week that he decided to begin. Your disorientation had started to wane, the constant aches dulling to an occasional discomfort, and you found yourself more active, less confined to bed and wandering the manor instead. You’d begun helping Lavinia with small tasks, rearranging shelves or folding linens, as though eager to distract yourself.

One particular night, when you were more restless than usual, Soren watched you quietly from the corner of his eye. The way you fidgeted and paced was all the indication he needed. After a few minutes, he stood, plucked a book off the shelf with deliberate ease, and turned toward you.

“Come with me to my study, child.” His tone left no room for argument, though there was no harshness to it—only purpose.

You followed him with confusion and trepidation, unsure of what to expect. The vastness of his study made you feel small at first—the towering bookshelves, the rich scent of old leather and parchment. But when you sat across from him, and he opened the book, it wasn’t as daunting as you thought.

The conversation began with history, his deep voice weaving stories of wars and treaties, discoveries and downfalls. -And it wasn’t long before the discussions turned, becoming less of a lecture and more of an interview.

“The tales say that vampires turn to ash in the sun,” you hesitantly said one evening, curiosity finally breaking through. “But Lavinia used to visit me during the day... that doesn't make sense.”

Soren gave a rare, almost amused look, his lips quirking faintly. “Those stories are highly inaccurate. We don’t turn to ash in the sun. It’s only irritating—burns, at the worst, if we’re careless.”

Another night, you leaned forward in your seat, bringing up another thought you had wondered about for a few days “You’re always so busy. Do Vampires have jobs?”

He inclined his head, choosing his words carefully. “The Beaumont name is very respected. That respect comes with responsibilities. It drags us into the political side of what you might call… the Vampire Court.”

“Vampire Court?” You echoed, both fascinated and wary of the term.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning back as though considering how much to say. “Though I’m afraid the details would bore you to sleep. Now, let’s return to the matter at hand.”

There was no mistaking the faint, teasing glint in his eyes as he steered you back to the lesson.

Soren didn’t seem to mind the curiosity. So one night, you dared to ask about his maker, your voice hesitant.

“Is your maker still alive?”

Soren paused, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Yes, he is. A very smart and serious man, though…” He glanced at you, allowing a dry, almost imperceptible humour to slip through. “Let’s just say it’s best to delay that meeting for a while. He lacks certain… refinements.”

It made you blink in surprise before you stifled a small laugh, and Soren let the moment rest there, as if it had never happened.

One night, you’d muttered about how cold you always felt, after he had asked you how the discomforts are fading. Soren had said nothing at the time, merely watching with that inscrutable expression he always wore.

From that evening on, when you woke at sunset, your fireplace was already lit, your room warm -meaning it had been for a while. You assumed Lavinia had been the one to light it, never questioning the habit.

It took weeks before you pieced it together that it wasn't the ever-attentive Lavinia lighting it for you -but Soren, who took on the task personally and routinely before Lavinia could even get to it.

...

Lavinia had always been the one to openly express her love for you. At first, she was careful—never smothering or overstepping boundaries you weren’t ready to cross. Her affection came out in sweet words and soft nicknames, in the way she always seemed close by, never far enough to leave you feeling alone. Acts of service were her strongest language of love: brushing and braiding your hair, tidying your room up and helping you do up ribbons, laces or clasps.

Slowly, as time passed, Lavinia allowed herself to do more, indulging you in the ways she had always wished to but held back. A daughter to spoil in ways her boys were either too old for or too boyish for.

Lavish clothes, jewellery handed down from her own collection, teaching you things that feel more like an excuse to bond than a lesson Soren would set up.

And then there was the bear-

Lavinia had felt, more than seen, that something was missing from your room. It was lovely, of course—she had ensured it was as comfortable and homely as a room could be, with soft wallpaper in delicate florals, plush sheets, downy pillows, and charming decorations. But as she saw more of your personality shining through—your curiosity, your humour, the flashes of humanity you were holding onto with everything you had—she knew the space didn’t yet reflect you.

It was beautiful, yes, but far too serious. Refined. Grown-up in a way that seemed wrong for someone so young (Physically and/or vampire age). She knew it would grow to be yours and be filled with personality and trinkets, that you would grow to love it as you did your old home.

But she felt you need that comfort and self-expression now more than ever, and so she resolved to change that, one gift at a time, that would increasingly become more and more tailored to your likes and comforts as they learned more about you.

The first one was a bear, a necessary comfort item for many humans. Not just any bear though, only the best. She sat at her desk one morning, as the sun rose and you slept. Writing a letter to an artisan in Russia who she'd met during one of their many travels abroad, she knew he was the person to create what she envisioned.

She spared no detail, describing what she wanted: a luxurious, sturdy bear, hand-stitched from the finest materials, with features cute enough to be loved for an eternity and stitching strong enough to endure just as long.

And when it arrived, carefully packaged, topped with a bow.

She lifts the bear out of the box—a beautiful, exquisitely made stuffed bear, with jointed limbs and cute face. Its fur is soft and plush. It’s stitched with fine care, its paws and ears trimmed with delicate embroidery. The bear’s eyes shine black like little onyx stones, and it wears a velvet ribbon around its neck with a small, silver charm hanging from it—a subtle mark of luxury and craftsmanship.

That evening, when you found it sitting carefully on your bed, your steps slowed as you entered the room. You stared at the bear for a long moment, your fingers brushing hesitantly over its fur before picking it up. It was heavier than you expected, sturdy and real—yours.

Lavinia’s voice broke the quiet, soft from where she stood in the doorway, coming in to put some of your clothes away. “A companion. He came all the way from Russia to keep you company.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide with wonder and confusion at such an extravagant gift. Lavinia didn’t linger on your hesitation, though, her tone light but full of warmth. “It is a very special gift, crafted by hand in Russia by a master artisan. One of a kind. But,” she added, with the faintest smile, “very sturdy. Created to be loved. So take care of him.”

She left it at that, continuing through your draws, finishing her task of putting clothes away as if the expensive gesture was nothing. Lavinia made no fuss about it, didn’t press you to show gratitude or admiration, not because the money was no biggie or it was simple compared to some of her precious items in her room -but because she knew she’d see her efforts rewarded in time.

And she did.

The bear never ended up on a shelf, where so many precious things might go to gather dust. No, it stayed right there—on your bed, within arm’s reach. It was too precious to put away, too yours to display as though it were just a decoration. This was the first thing in your new life that belonged to you and you alone, a token of care and thoughtfulness meant for no one else. Not out of necessity or practicality like clothes, but simply because Lavinia wanted you to have something special.

The bear became a constant presence—sometimes tucked under your arm as you slept, other times sitting proudly on your pillow when you woke. And it wasn’t long before you gave him a name, a fitting one that matched his origins, like Misha. Misha would be treasured by you for lifetimes to come.

-

-

-

Maybe this isn't so bad, maybe you can learn to accept this new -unconventional- family.

...

Soren

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown." – Shakespeare

Age: Appears early 40s | Actual age: ~2,500+ years

Appearance: Cold and calculating eyes, with an intensity that can feel unyielding. Dresses simply but impeccably, favouring tailored coats, waistcoats, and muted colours.

Personality: Pragmatic and stoic: He does what is necessary without indulging sentimentality, though his care manifests in practical ways. Authoritative: His presence alone commands obedience, though he’s never cruel. He values respect over fear.

Role: The Patriarch | The Provider

Soren is the reason the Beaumont name remains untarnished. He's an unshakable figure in vampire society. Not through charisma or brute force, but through sheer competence and intellect. When Soren speaks, others listen. His calm and measured nature commands attention, and those who might challenge him often find themselves outmatched intellectually. He is seen as a quiet pillar of strength—immovable, dependable, and undeniably dangerous when pushed.

Early Life: Born in Ancient Greece, with an appreciation for knowledge and philosophy, as he was born in a time of lots of great intellectuals. He was chosen by his maker since he was a highly regarded... and made to be the heir of the Beaumont name

-Lived many of those years basically alone which hardened him and even psychologically damaged him. The Beaumont's weren't a family but rather a 'group' of influential vampires.

-Utterly and hopelessly smitten for Lavinia, though not openly expressing it he's smitten. She knows he's wrapped around her finger.

Fun fact: Loves new inventions, from early clocks, optical illusions, automata, and prototypes of the latest inventions shipped in from all over the world -to toy-like curiosities like thaumatropes. He has a whole section of new inventions in his office that Lavinia calls his cupboard of distractions.

...

Lavinia

“A mother’s love endures through all.” – Washington Irving

Age: Appears mid-30s | Actual age: ~1,200+ years

Appearance: She's stunning, graceful and always dressed in the finest. Her hair is dark, wavy and long it's ethereal. She's almost always calm and composed, a disarming peacefulness about her -but not afraid to give someone a correcting glare or show her distaste for something or someone (not at her family). Very expressive eyes.

Personality: Emotionally intelligent: Sees through others with unsettling clarity. Dry humour: Her wit is subtle, often delivered with a faint smile or a lifted eyebrow. Fearlessly maternal: Adores her children and would go to the end of the earth for them.

Role: The Matriarch | The Heart of the Family | The Diplomat

Where Soren provides the foundation of the Beaumont’s power, Lavinia upholds their reputation with grace and warmth. She is not merely a “strategic type,” but a master of social diplomacy. Other houses genuinely like her, and this affection has proven invaluable in maintaining the family’s high standing.

Early Life: Born in the early medieval times to a debted family she was to be married off to pay the debt. Her childhood saw no warmth, and once she was old enough she was effectively sold to the highest bidder (a cruel baron far too old and horrible record with past marrages). Until she fell in love with Soren and ran away with him a few nights before her wedding.

-Lavinia’s gentleness is not naivety—it is deliberate and hard-won. Her kindness is a rebellion against the cruelty she endured.

-Her love for her family is fierce and unwavering because she knows what it means to feel unloved and unwanted. (These parallels between her and the girl are what causes this fierce protection and even obsession.)

Fun Fact: She collects letters. As the diplomat of the family, she often writes to other families and keeps up appearances. She keeps these letters organised in plies by family name and tied neatly with a ribbon, it's not really sentimental, more of keeping a record. You can learn a lot about someone through letters, and often people confide in her, so just in case, she has records -if she needs to use them. (it's strategic but it sounds like she lives for the gossip lol)

...

Lucien

“My friends think that I like to fight, but it’s just not true. Sometimes I loose my temper and blow off a little steam, but I’ve never enjoyed it." – Isle of Dogs

Age: Appears late 20s | Actual age: ~1,000+ years

Physical Appearance: Lean and tall, with sharp features that give him a naturally intense look -contemplative expression. Tendency to scowl or bear his teeth but usually is calm and in his own little bubble, though even then he has a resting face that still intimidates ( serious RBF )

Personality: Loyal and steadfast: Though he rarely expresses it, Lucien is deeply devoted to his family. Brooding and distant: His silence can feel cold, but it’s rarely cruel. Highly intelligent: -and disciplined, often buried in a book or trying to prove himself to Soren.

Role: The Reserved Brother | The Brooding Son

Early Life: Turned around the Dark Ages. Chosen as an heir by Soren because of his intelligence and leadership. But quickly became like a son and marked the beginning of the Beaumont's as a family.

Fun fact: Lucien often has a book with him, tucked under his arm or open in his hand. Though usually seen with practical and factual books, he has a private collection of fiction books he reads in his downtime. He likes to think no one knows.

...

Dorian

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W.B. Yeats

Age: Appears early 20s | Actual age: ~500+ years

Physical Appearance: Bright, mischievous eyes that seem perpetually amused. Dresses casually but tastefully, often for comfort. He’s the most “modern” in appearance of the family. He's got a broader, more solid build, and soft features.

Personality: Protective: Despite his carefree demeanour, Dorian has a strong sense of loyalty and would fight fiercely to defend those he cares for, and can make himself look quite imposing. Restless: Dorian is a natural wanderer, always seeking excitement or distraction.

Role: The Wild Son | The Whimsical Brother

Early Life: Born during the Renaissance times. A close friend of Lucien, as they studied humanities together. His competence and unique look on life caught Soren's eye, and with a final nod of approval from Lavinia, who liked his lightness, he was turned. He's who made the Beaumonts feel like a more traditional family.

Fun Fact: Though not surprising -He will break into exaggerated theatrics when bored. When the family is feeling particularly lighthearted, Dorian will “host” (interrupt them with) silly performances—reciting poetry, or narrating ghost stories with exaggerated dramatics.

...

'The Girl' - You

"Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst." - Yara Bashraheel

"Have courage and be kind" - Cinderella 2015

Age: Mentioned to be adolescent and still childish but in that transitional phase, so anywhere from mid-teens to young adult maybe 15-20.

Personality: Curiosity: Despite your hard childhood, you retained a quiet sense of wonder. Small, beautiful things fascinate you. In a world of old vampires, this humanity is endearing. Reserved Resilience: You are not outspoken or bold, but there is a quiet strength in you. Habits: you still, being a young vampire, cling to the Victorian traditions you were raised on and childish habits.

Role: Protector of Humanity | A Mother's Joy

Early Life: You grew up in a traditional working-class Victorian household in the early 1800s, a life devoid of tenderness or comfort. Most days were spent working in your father’s shop, as he believed girls had no place in school—still a new and rare concept. Your mother, overwhelmed by her own burdens, kept you out of sight and out of mind, your hands always busy with mundane cleaning and chores.

You fell gravely ill with tuberculosis (Consumption) and lingered on your deathbed before being turned. Despite the neglect and the scary transformation brought by vampirism, your kindness and quiet resilience endured.

Him being pissed is an understatement, we’re talking about a murderer with anger issues here.

So should someone turn up on his property looking for his beloved, his instinct is to kill them or set the dogs on them. Nothing new and he doesn’t discriminate. But logically, not the best idea, if people know they are specifically on his property and go missing then that’s only gonna bring unwanted attention. So begrudgingly he lets them go.

Not after a few choice words and warning, something about private property, many liability signs they walked past, hostile dogs, and almost shooting them thinking they were an animal or intruder.

He claims he hasn’t seen anyone playing the role of the grumpy, reclusive farmer. "Next time, call first. I don’t take kindly to unannounced visitors. Liability and all that."

If they keep pushing he subtly threatens with an uneasy calmness about him -"You know, out here in the middle of nowhere, folks don’t ask too many questions if a man has to defend his property. Someone wanders where they shouldn’t, looks a little too much like trouble—well, people tend to believe the guy with the land and the gun... not the trespasser face-down in the dirt"

You're not leaving the house for a while. He’s not really paranoid, just cautious. He resumes his routine with eerie calm, though he’s noticeably more on edge for a while.

Tidys up any trace of your stuff for a while, putting them away in boxes in the attic. In case someone does somehow show up with a warrant. And like any good yandere, he probs has some sort of hidden room/cupboard should it come to that.