#tw: for implications of manipulation and abuse

[torchickentacos]

you ever scroll past some sort of discourse that you didn't even know existed, and you have to take a second and realize that, while none of us are superior to others, some of us ARE much better at choosing which dumbass hills to die on? because I think sometimes you deserve to go 'huh. at least I'm not getting involved in all that'.

[the-qalankhais-sweetheart]

Holy shit.

Definitely trigger warning - I haven't played this game but probably won't, as just looking at/reading the gifs is making me anxious as fuck.

Brilliant idea to share with those who are judgemental towards abuse survivors.

“I loved you, always.”

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[p0wderedmarbl3s]

TW: CSA/RAPE TALK

A (positive) mini rant about SA metaphors in TOH:

I hate how quick people are to dismiss any SA headcanon involving Belos as "too evil". It's so nasty and disrespectful to victims of any origin, as well as the victims of the people Belos is based off of and represents clear as day.

Rape is a form of control, of power because you are stripping the victim of their humanity in the most violating way you can.

Remind me again what Belos's entire deal is?

I feel like the possessions is such a crystal clear metaphor for rape in the most blatant way possible, from the way it's start varied between Hunter and Raine, the states they were in during it, to the scars it left on them afterwards.

It's so beyond important that it was presented the way it was too in a Childrens Show, through body horror. Because that's what it is. It's BODY HORROR. It's VIOLENCE. It completely destroys you on the inside and outside.

Especially the way it was presented in Hunter, a child, a person still developing in a body so fragile because of it. It's a perfect visual representation of what CSA to that degree can be like, beyond just being touched at. There are different levels to it, and it's so beyond important to depict these different types in a way that let's kids know they aren't alone, that these feelings afterwards that they can't put words to are in fact, REAL.

Remember, Belos literally ATE HIM from the inside out. He was inside him in the most literal way you can be.

He went in and out of "episodes" of paranoia because of him, because of his ongoing abuse since he was born. This is presented THROUGH the method of possession, it's slow, it's patient, but it's still so extremely violent and body AND mind altering, taking into account how violently his mentality and demeanor switched afterwards, to the point he barely said a thing in the following episodes.

Not to mention usually covering some part of his body with his arms, subconsciously or otherwise.

And Raine.. oh. They make me so sad. Raine is the other most explicit form of CSA victim in the show, starting with Terra when they were a kid. The fact that the scars left behind after being assaulted again so violently in adulthood, by the white man who colonized their people, were tear streaks, makes my heart ache.

Not to mention they were essentially "unconscious" (semi, at least) when Belos first possessed them. And then Belos kept aiming for their mouth over and over again. Even when they fight back, when they verbally scream at him to get out, to leave them alone. It doesn't physicially alter them in the same way it does Hunter, a child, but the end results do not lessen what happened.

Their body was simply done growing by that point. They were not a child when such a violent form of this type of assault happened.

But it happened.

The show is so violent and vile about the nature of it all, it doesn't hide a thing.

But it's all done so well.

It's the horror that it is.

And yet, these things are either demonized in the completely wrong way, or sexualized because the sexual violence towards brown people is so deeply fetishized in every white culture. You as a white victim, do not get to exploit our trauma because of your own in this case.

Because they do not stem from the same place.

It's not like the implications with Belos aren't a pattern either, even way back when he was Philip. It's not something I can put into words, but the way he talks at Luz.. when you've been around those men long enough, you can sense it.

It's not "attraction." It's exploitation.

It's power. It's control.

It's why I don't like drawing anything with him and Luz much.

Not to mention, this pattern is attempted again with the Collector in their sleep, before he resorts to mentally manipulating them instead. Even then, he is actively using another victim to do so.

It is never subtle.

It is never the same with any two characters.

And that's what I love about it.

It's so incredibly important to show these sorts of things in children's shows in the ways they can understand, in ways they can relate to and identify with.

These things are already so confusing and isolating on their own, and the way the writers handled it all is so beautifully well done and respectful. It all fits, it's all well constructed, it's all done with genuine care.

[ae-azile]

Fadel, Bison, & Keen: The Implication of Victimhood and Human Trafficking 

TW/CW Note: This essay argues the case of Fadel, Bison, and Keen being the victims of human trafficking. It also compiles and dissects evidence of that claim with sources, analyses of various scenes, and current Thai and International laws. It may be upsetting for some readers.

This meta/essay was written because I can't just watch a fun, Shakespeare derived show about gay hitmen and not get weird about it. 

…And also because I have been working in the mental health/behavioral field for several years, almost solely with minors - some of whom were abused and exploited. 

The more I think about Fadel's and Bison's circumstances - the canon evidence, the implied manipulation and abuse throughout the show, and everything that WASN’T shown or said to give Lilly any kind of legal legitimacy, the more I feel like they aren't as culpable for their crimes as they think they are. 

But first, what constitutes as human trafficking on a Thai and international standard? 

Under Thai law, human trafficking is comprehensively defined in the Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008). The Act outlines specific actions, means, and purposes that constitute human trafficking offenses.​

Definition(s) of Human Trafficking

According to Section 6 of the Act:​

"Whoever, for the purpose of exploitation, does any of the following acts: procuring, buying, selling, vending, bringing from or sending to, detaining or confining, harboring, or receiving a person, by means of threat or use of force, abduction, fraud, deception, abuse of power, or of the giving money or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, shall be guilty of trafficking in persons."​

While this definition can be interpreted differently by various parties, the The Act further clarifies that exploitation includes, but is not limited to:

Sexual exploitation

Production or distribution of pornography

Forced labor or services

Slavery or practices similar to slavery

Involuntary servitude

Forced begging

Removal of organs for commercial purposes

Other similar forms of exploitation

It is worth noting that these forms of exploitation are ALWAYS considered trafficking when a child is involved, and Fadel, Bison, and Keen were obtained as minors under duress and violent circumstances. 

Below are screenshots from The Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act, which pertains to Thailand specifically. Highlighted statements support the claims being made in this essay according to their country’s laws on the matter. 

Internationally, human trafficking is defined by The United Nations as: 

"The recruitment, transport, transfer, harbouring, or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation.”

Considering Fadel, Bison, and Keen were all orphaned when their parents were murdered by Lilly’s people, only to be put in the (dubious) custody of the woman who left them vulnerable to make them dependent on her, they more than fit this definition. 

1. Acquisition through Deception and Questionable Guardianship

Following the murders of their parents, Fadel, Bison, and Keen were placed in the custody of Lilly—a woman they had no known relationship with prior.

All three came from wealthy families, yet no efforts appear to have been made to place them with relatives or protect their inheritance. They ended up with their parents' killer. Lilly tricking all three of their families into granting custody in the event of their deaths seems unlikely, but if she managed, this is still a form of coercion, considering what transpired.

Legal Framework: Thai Civil and Commercial Code Sections 1585–1588 require formal guardianship proceedings, prioritizing relatives and requiring oversight.

The UN Palermo Protocol and Thailand’s Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008) would both consider guardianship obtained through fraud, deception, or abuse of power as qualifying mechanisms for trafficking. Considering Lilly had Fadel’s, Bison’s, and Keen’s parents murdered, then lied about who was responsible for their trauma and rehoming, she definitely committed: 

Fraud, by misrepresenting herself - both to the boys and possibly to the courts for either legal guardianship, financial gain to obtain the families’ assets, or both. 

Deception, by making her adopted sons trust her initially, only to manipulate them into thinking they were in danger and needed to be trained as hitmen.

Abuse of power, by using her position to manipulate them into a state of vulnerability so they would be reliant on her and loyal when it came to her training and orders once she gained their trust.

Conclusion: The guardianship and its legality may have never been formally investigated, and it may not have been obtained legally. If it was legally documented, Lilly likely obtained it through bribes and systematic manipulation. Considering all three boys seem to have come from wealthy families who would have likely assigned a guardian that their sons knew prior to being orphaned (a family member, a family friend), the circumstances are highly irregular. It also strongly suggests deceptive acquisition, qualifying under the legal definitions of trafficking.

2. Psychological Manipulation and Coercive Conditioning

Lilly began by treating the boys like sons, offering safety and structure before introducing training for violence and strategic killing. In the brief flashback we get, we see three boys standing in a line, foreshadowing their eventual soldier-like expectations. But when she sees one of their shoes untied, she bends down and ties it for them before telling all three they can call her “Mother”. This establishes a gentle, maternal bond that offers comfort, care, and parental authority. But this memory is sharply contrasted by the one following it when she has them practice their aim after the trust and need to impress her has been established. By the time she is sending Fadel and Bison on jobs she frames as necessary and noble, they are fully loyal to her and trust her knowledge, judgment, and orders. 

She framed their actions as necessary protection or retribution for their parents' deaths, creating a false moral narrative to justify lethal missions. This manipulation led to emotional dependence, blurred lack of autonomy, and the belief that loyalty to her was synonymous with survival and justice.

Legal Framework: Thai and international trafficking laws recognize emotional coercion, abuse of trust, and manipulation of vulnerability as means of trafficking.

Conclusion: The grooming and emotional manipulation used to coerce minors into violence constitutes a clear form of non-physical coercion and entrapment. Despite Fadel and Bison being adults by the time they are arrested for their crimes, they were groomed, conditioned, manipulated, isolated from familial connections, and ultimately brainwashed as children. 

3. Coerced Criminal Activity through False Narratives

Fadel and Bison were often told their assassination targets were involved with their families’ deaths or were dangerous criminals. While a few of these claims may have been true, other claims may have been used to manufacture moral permission to kill, embedding loyalty through deceit. They carried out violent missions under the impression that they were defending themselves or serving justice. Again, they were conditioned to prepare for this as minors, and possibly started missions prior to reaching adulthood. The timeline on their first kills was never substantiated, but their conditioning, grooming, isolation from family, and brainwashing make them qualify as victims being coerced into criminal activity through false narratives. 

Legal Framework: The Palermo Protocol and Thailand’s anti-trafficking statute both include criminal exploitation through manipulation or deception.

Conclusion: Their participation in criminal acts under coerced moral justification meets the standard for trafficking-based criminal exploitation.

4. Sexual Exploitation via Implicit Coercion and Mission Pressure

This one is more of an interpretation, but I feel like it is worth exploring. 

Going by what we see, it was not uncommon for Fadel and Bison to perform seduction-based roles as part of their missions—exotic dancing, acting as escorts, or using sexual appeal to disarm targets.

In the first scene of the show, Bison is posing as an escort and spending time with an older man. He starts singing karaoke with him, but is in the robe in the next scene and massaging the target, who is sitting in a tub, which is where the target is ultimately killed. Bison doesn't flinch. He almost looks proud of himself when the man is clearly falling for his advances. This notes satisfaction with his methods leading towards a successful, criminal mission that results in murder.

Fadel’s reaction towards such methods is a huge contrast. 

In episode 3, Fadel and Bison are expected to seduce a person of interest through exotic dancing. She is then drugged and taken back to her room so they can go through her things and obtain information. Fadel initially pushes Bison to honey trap. He remains distant, cordial, and uses the excuse that Bison is better at it (which might imply Bison having less issues with it overall).

But this time, Bison refuses. It's worth noting this conversation happens right after he talks to Fadel about possibly dating Kant. He may have had little to no issue with it before, but does now that he is developing real feelings for someone. Bison pushes Fadel to be the one to seduce the woman. Unlike Fadel's stiff, professional request, Bison is humorous and playful. This continues despite Fadel showing discomfort and reluctance at the thought of dancing for her and the crowd. He ultimately goes through with it. Bison almost seems smug over not being the woman’s type and Fadel having to be the one to dance (although reacts with subtle and mild offense when the woman tells him that to his face). He also doesn't seem to empathize with his brother’s discomfort.

While it is possible that these methods were not suggested by Lilly and are only ones they resorted to as adults based on their own decision-making skills (as compromised as they were by their conditioning in other developmental areas), their reactions to this situation scream otherwise. 

Fadel is reluctant and uncomfortable that he has to be the one to do it. His consent is dubious at best. He seems to depend more on Bison to carry out this type of skill due to contrasting takes on the matter.

Bison, on the other hand, seems to normalize honey trapping. He only takes issue with it when he is developing a romantic relationship. Even then, he teases and jokes about Fadel being the better man for this particular job, missing the quiet reluctance on Fadel's part. This hints towards desensitization, which can be a common coping response for abuse and complex trauma victims.

While Lilly’s conditioning on this front can only be speculated, we have a couple of pieces of circumstantial evidence that support the idea she either subtly planted seeds to put this method in her adopted sons’ toolkit or directed them to do it more overtly in the past - leading them to choose that method “freely” now. 

Lilly’s recruitment of Kant into escort work—specifically to bring attractive friends to act as 'party favors'—demonstrates a clear pattern of sexually exploitative behaviors. While Kant WANTED to be invited to her circle to expose her for her crimes, she didn't know this. She viewed him as a young golf caddy, someone she could exploit with the promise of payment. 

Lilly was a hitwoman herself. She may have resorted to honey trapping methods back when she was working beneath someone else. Cycled and generational abuse is unfortunately common, especially when the trusted figure refuses to admit they were once a victim or seek out therapeutic services/support. 

So…

Legal Framework: Thai and international law define sexual exploitation to include pressured or coerced participation in sexualized roles, especially when the individual is underage or emotionally dependent. Regardless of when these behaviors started, they were conditioned, groomed, and isolated at a young age and made emotionally/psychologically dependent in adulthood. The crimes they were committing on Lilly's behalf fueled sexualizing themselves for information.

Conclusion: These sexually charged missions—especially when reinforced by peer pressure, manipulation, or emotional conditioning—fall within the scope of indirect sexual exploitation under trafficking statutes. 

5. Systematic Emotional Abuse and Dependency Control

A strict performance-based hierarchy seems to have governed Lilly’s household. Compliance resulted in praise; deviation led to emotional withdrawal, ridicule, or humiliation.

Keen, unable to serve in the field, was repeatedly shamed and belittled, creating an obsessive need to prove his worth. He was often verbally and emotionally abused by Lilly. Fadel’s and Bison’s insults towards him often hint at ridicule or - alternatively - resentment, since Keen has never had to kill anyone. Creating rifts within the formed sibling unit also creates a breeding ground for competition and a need to please the trusted figure, especially in the more isolated party. Keen’s need to impress Lilly later on by trying to carry out the hits on Fadel and Style (and Kant and Bison, if they had been tracked down) was almost inevitable. 

Meanwhile, Fadel and Bison were rewarded for excelling, reinforcing a world where survival and approval were earned only through loyalty and effectiveness. 

Legal Framework: Emotional abuse and psychological dependence are explicitly acknowledged in trafficking legislation as valid tools of coercion.

Conclusion: This emotionally volatile environment fostered long-term dependency and control which meets the criteria for non-physical coercive trafficking.

6. Threat of Retaliation for Attempts to Exit

When Fadel and Bison attempted to retire peacefully, Lilly appeared to give her blessing—then secretly instructed Keen to murder them and their romantic partners.

Keen failed, and was verbally abused by Lilly, solidifying the lesson that disloyalty equals death.

Years earlier, Fadel had tried to leave her control by planning to move in with his first boyfriend. Shortly after, the boyfriend vanished.

Fadel believed he had been abandoned until Keen later confessed that Lilly had put a hit on the man. When Fadel asks why he never told him earlier, Keen says she would have killed him too.

Legal Framework: Retaliation or threats tied to exit attempts are core indicators of trafficking under both Thai and international law.

Conclusion: The lethal consequences for asserting independence—whether through romantic relationships or attempted retirement—showcase total control through fear, reinforcing their status as trafficking victims.

7. Financial Exploitation and Asset Suppression

This point is also more theorized, but is still worth noting. 

Despite their likely inheritance due to their families’ wealth, Fadel and Bison seem to only have limited access to the estates they were legally owed.

It is implied that individuals (likely tied to Lilly) pressured their parents to relinquish property or wealth, and that refusal to comply preceded their murders.

Once the boys were in Lilly’s custody, it is unclear if there is evidence of ethical estate management or legal oversight.

Considering Lilly’s obsession with status - displayed by her friend group, hangout spots, and greed, it would not be surprising if she took control of the majority of their estates. She may have given them access to just enough for them not to investigate the extent of what they lost out on. Bison mentions the island home was the only property that wasn't taken. Any uncovered inheritance in the form of cash, stocks, bonds, property, valuables, and other assets were likely fraudulently controlled and only partially handed over to keep Fadel, Bison, and Keen from asking questions. Otherwise, it isn't out of the realm of possibility that Lilly arranged to take ownership or be the beneficiary through fraud, coercion, deception, or bribery, which is likely how she also gained custody of three biologically unrelated minors. 

In fact, Lilly likely wouldn't have taken in three minors she personally traumatized unless there was a great payout earlier on. While being able to condition and brainwash them helped her financially in the long run, it would have been a huge gamble legally and a risky investment if she had not gotten the majority of their inheritance. So she likely let them keep some of what was rightfully theirs and paid them good salaries, but robbed them of much more than what she gave. 

Legal Framework: Financial control is recognized under Thai law and international trafficking doctrine as a coercive tactic when used to restrict independence or manipulate behavior.

Conclusion: Their restricted access to their potential inheritance—combined with the violent deaths of their parents following coercion—strongly supports a pattern of financial exploitation consistent with trafficking operations.

Final Summary of Evidence Compilation 

Fadel and Bison experienced:

Fraudulent custody acquisition and loss of familial protection

Psychological manipulation and mission-based coercion

Forced criminal activity disguised as moral duty

Possible sexual exploitation through conditioned loyalty and mission expectations

Emotional abuse and performance-based affection to ensure compliance

Lethal retaliation for attempted independence

Possible economic exploitation, likely linked to their parents’ murders

These experiences satisfy all legal definitions of human trafficking under:

Thailand’s Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008)

The UN Palermo Protocol, ratified by Thailand in 2003

By this criteria, they were victims—trafficked, conditioned, and controlled through emotional, economic, and psychological means.

Legal and Moral Culpability

Legally and morally, Fadel, Bison, and Keen are victims of human trafficking going by the current laws and standards when their circumstances are examined. 

But are they culpable for the crimes they committed under Lilly’s control and manipulation? 

Yes and no. Morally, they are culpable in the sense that they committed murder and had awareness of what they were doing. They may have thought they were killing bad people, but they also seem to have known that killing was wrong. They knew to lay low and to not get caught. Their situation and upbringing led to other disturbing behaviors (kidnapping their significant others upon being betrayed). In some ways, yes. They have a history of being morally in the wrong and likely know as much, especially after Lilly’s lies and crimes are revealed. 

However, with all of the circumstances listed above that support the idea they were victims of human trafficking, they would have had a strong case that might have excused them from legal culpability if presented extensively and correctly by knowledgeable legal representation. 

“Each Party shall, subject to its domestic laws, rules, regulations and policies, and in appropriate cases, consider not holding victims of trafficking in persons criminally or administratively liable, for unlawful acts committed by them, if such acts are directly related to the acts of trafficking.”

Source: ASEAN ACTIP, Article 14(7): https://www.asean.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/ACTIP.pdf

“Any person who is a victim of trafficking in persons shall receive protection and appropriate care from the Government, including physical, psychological, and social rehabilitation, legal assistance, and compensation for damages.”

Source: Thailand Anti-Trafficking Act B.E. 2551 (2008), Section 41: https://asean.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Thailand197.pdf

“Trafficked persons should not be subject to arrest, charge, detention, prosecution, or be penalized or otherwise punished for illegal conduct that they committed as a direct consequence of being trafficked.”

Source: UNODC Issue Paper on Non-Punishment Principle: https://www.unodc.org/documents/human-trafficking/ICAT/19-10800_ICAT_Issue_Brief_8_Ebook.pdf

“The non-punishment principle is integral to fulfilling human rights obligations to victims, and obligations to prevent and suppress trafficking in persons and other serious crimes.”

Source: ASEAN-ACT Non-Punishment Policy Brief: https://www.aseanact.org/story/asean-nonpunishment/

Five years for murder charges? Normally a great deal. It is understandable why Fadel and Bison jumped on it, especially when they do not identify as trafficking victims and feel responsible for their prior crimes now that they know about all of Lilly’s lies. A life on the run was not appealing at that point. Serving five years so they could move on with their lives and hopefully be with their partners after the fact was preferable. 

But I can only assume they declined legal counsel and a hearing/trial in exchange. If they requested legal counsel and got someone knowledgeable in exploitation, their cases and histories could have been examined in their entirety. A legal counsel set on advocating for them would have likely picked up any prior legal loopholes Lilly took advantage of, along with any fraud, coercion, abuse, and legal/illegal inconsistencies. With this evidence being documented, a strong case for their status as trafficking victims could have been established. This could have led to an even lesser sentence or no sentence at all. If it was determined that they needed to be in a restrictive environment, they would have likely ended up somewhere that focused on rehabilitation - not punishment - and it may have been for a much shorter time. Their status as trafficking survivors (if accepted by the courts, legal counsel, and Fadel and Bison themselves) would also likely result in expunged and sealed records. 

So while this drama is classified as a romantic comedy based on a Shakespeare play, it is ultimately tragic when it comes to systematic failure - as well as the long-term trafficking, abuse, and manipulation not being legally recognized for three key characters. Fadel, Bison, and Keen will likely never truly understand the scope of injustices they have faced. They were not only failed by Lilly. They were also failed by the system that should have saved them from her. 

[jweekgoji]

Hi I really love your writing of tf one and can I request for Sentinel Prime and his femme s/o having a toxic relationship of Valentino and angel dust ( from Hazbin hotel)

Sentinel Prime/Femme!Reader

tw: dubcon, toxic relationship, power imbalance, manipulative behavior, hints on emotional/physical abuse, dead dove do not eat (there is nothing too descriptive, but implications may be triggering for someone). word count: ~715 a/n: don't know much about Hazbin Hotel and these two characters, so forgive me if the dynamic is wrong. ty for your request~

From the moment you wake up, all that you can remember is a bright light blinding your optics. Scary, lonely, and for some reason, somewhere in the midst of your spark, you always feel a nagging sense of longing for something. Something is missing. The empty chamber in your chassis has been with you since the very first moment you were created, but for some unknown reason, even to you, it has always felt wrong.

Why is it that every time you look at him, that unpleasant, aching and yearning pain only intensifies?

“You know why I chose you, don't you?”

You just nod, sitting on the edge of the berth, just a little more, and you would have easily fallen off it. Like a small, frightened wild animal, you couldn't even dare to raise your gaze to him.

Sentinel smiles pleasantly, watching you silently agree with him. Despite that, the way you practically shiver behind his back as if he had committed something so horrifying and unthinkable gives him a pang of frustration. You can be such an annoyance sometimes.

“Come on, don't be fussy, a lot of others would kill to be in your position,” he rolls his optics, plopping down on the edge of the berth next to you. Instinctively, you try to scoot only farther away, but when his servo rests on your waist, you pause.

“Besides, let me remember…ah, weren't you the one who signed up for this?” he tilts his head slightly. Talking to you is like trying to talk to a little sparkling.

“I don't want to do this anymore, please-” you begin. After a short moment of silence, you muster up the courage to finally voice out your thoughts.

Immediately, you fall silent when you notice Sentinel raising his servo. A slight, barely noticeable shudder runs down your spine; the way he squeezes you closer to him almost feels like it's supposed to be comforting.

“Tsk, tsk, back at it again? What's gotten into you today?” Sentinel put his index finger against your lips, forcing you to be silent on half a word. “If I didn't know you, I'd think you disrespect me.”

There it was, again. Once again, you felt like a mistake, a complete failure. Of course, because only you could ruin the one thing you were ever so good at. At least you thought you were. It was the first and only thing you'd ever been recognized for.

'No cog', 'useless piece of scrap', after spending cycles under Iacon, searching for energon, even hearing a simple 'miner', spoken with such disgust and coldness from your supervisors felt like something so degrading and miserable. Maybe that was who you are.

“Do you seriously want to leave this place? After all the things I've given you? Gave you this new place, saved you from working in mines,” his servo lays down on his chassis, right in on the area where his spark is beating, as if to emphasize his own pain caused by your words. “…A bit harsh, don't you think, my dear?”

Silence.

Then another nod.

Perhaps you really were cruel. You're so centered on yourself and your worries that you don't notice that you might accidentally hurt someone else. You are so, so ashamed. And yet, your own spark is constantly yearning for something.

You feel Sentinel's servos gently move you onto his lap, pressing your back against his chassis. Something so intimate, close and incredibly romantic feels like being trapped in a confined, golden cage.

“Don't worry, I forgive you,” he draws out his words sweetly, placing soft kisses on your helm. His digits move lightly along your side, pausing on your thigh.

His fingerprints still remain on the bruised surface of the metal, despite how many times you've tried to remove the dents after that time. If you had the ability to do so, just the mere memory of it would make you vomit out all your inner mechanisms. Even so, that cruel little smirk of his is still there, staring straight into your optics.

“How about you show me how sorry you are?”

[awkward--at--parties]

I Don’t Like Either of Clinical Trial’s Endings

And maybe(???) that’s the point.

TW: Images of blood and wounds. Discussion of abuse, murder, stalking, rape.

Let’s look at the outcomes of both endings on paper:

Reject

Lee dies

Angel may be implicated in the murder (though I don’t really believe Lee’s assertion that Angel will be in trouble tbh and chalk it up to his protectiveness / a last ditch effort by him to manipulate Angel into staying with him. The shrine, the records that Angel was Lee’s patient, and the signal blocker are pretty damning evidence that Lee preyed on Angel).

Accept

Angel upends their own life to be with their predator.

I know we all love Lee and understand why he did the things he did, but his actions towards Angel were predatory. Angel in the reject ending is right. Someone who loves you does not disrespect your privacy through stalking, disrupt your life and scar you by involving you in a murder, decide for you what an appropriate punishment for your abuser is, steal one of your favorite items and defile it, and consistently lie by omission. And even if Lee did none of that stuff, even if he just was some nurse practioner who fell for his patient and started a relationship with them, that’s still starting a relationship on an extreme power imbalance. It’s not the actions of someone that would make a healthy partner.

You can say that, in the Accept ending, at least all that dirty laundry has been aired and Angel has consciously chosen to move on from it, but remember that, even in Accept when Angel demands Lee tell them if there are any other secrets being kept, Lee never tells Angel what he did to their jacket. Angel finding out about the jacket themself is only an optional interaction too, meaning Angel never finds out in endings where the washing machine isn’t checked. To me, that shows Lee is still not ready to be an honest partner.

Plus, despite his mic drop line about how Brandon would never be afforded the choice of no, Lee is not great at consent either. Sure, he talks about not wanting to pressure Angel into intimacy, but what about all the pressure he puts on Angel to stay at the house when they say they want to go home? How many times in the Reject ending did Angel have to say no to Lee’s plan for them to escape the police? How consensual was the jacket, the stalking, the signal jammer, the breaking patient boundaries? Lee is showing every red flag for being an extremely controlling partner. Yes, Angel wants someone to rely on, but there is a very big difference between healthy amount of taking care of a s.o. and controlling their life. That is what makes it impossible for me to believe they really spend the rest of their lives in a wholesome, equal relationship when Lee started off the relationship in the most manipulative way possible.

This is coming from someone who loves Lee as a character and also agrees with a lot of Angel’s analysis of him in the Accept ending. I can see exactly why he is who he is. But Angel deserves someone who is honest and allows them free will. I mean, they do all that for Lee after all. Why shouldn’t they expect the same in return? That’s one of the beautiful things about this game though— two things can be true. Lee was predatory towards Angel and the way Lee became so predatory towards them is understandable. So that makes neither ending perfectly satisfying for me.

In my perfect world, Angel and Lee don’t end up together, but both of them move on from the events of the game and find happiness apart. That can’t happen in Reject because Angel needs to report Lee asap to support their innocence, and, whether not being with Angel or the threat of jail pushes him to do it, Lee will end his own life. Maybe they could eventually healthily separate in Accept, but the epilogue from the devs shows the two stay together for at least awhile. Even if they do eventually split, Angel would have spent a chunk of their life with their predator and would probably struggle to ever truly connect with people knowing that Lee’s the only person they could ever confide in about the murder.

Lee puts Angel in a very extreme and shitty position. I think it is realistic that there are only two ways the game can end, even if I wish there was another. I hear it said in the fandom that the Accept ending is canon because it has more content from the devs than the Reject ending. That notion greatly concerns me. The beautiful part of both endings being the possible canon ending is that Angel is validated in either choice. To say Accept is canon is to invalidate the realism of Angel being able to reject Lee. Frankly, that prioritizes Lee’s feelings over accountability for his predatory actions and leaves Angel responsible for fixing Lee’s life when they haven’t even figured out their own life. (BTW- nothing wrong with Accept being the canon ending in your own interpretation of the game, I'm speaking about what the devs making this canon means). What never sat right with me about Accept is that, so much of the first two acts of the game are all about Angel’s perspective. The final act through the lens of Accept has Angel immersed in Lee’s perspective, so it really comes across as Angel affording the space in their mind dedicated to figuring out their own life to ensuring Lee’s security.

Though nothing from the devs confirms which ending is canon outright, I don't want there to be a dismissal of the validity of Reject. There’s a very good chance the devs also just enjoy the Lee and Angel relationship dynamic and are more interested in exploring that rather than trying to subtly confirm which ending is canon.

At least that’s what I need to believe. Because I really do think both endings are canon at the same time. Angel deserves to leave, Angel can understand Lee. Though there are only two choices in Clinical Trial, there are rarely dichotomies like this irl. You can walk away from people who’ve wronged you and simultaneously afford them empathy and compassion. You can be kind and accepting to those around you so things never get so dire that they end up in a basement with a drill and only one visible life path. Many, many choices went wrong in Angel and Lee’s lives before they ended up in that basement after all.

One last thing— I’ve heard it said that the big relationship fantasy fulfillment of the game is how it depicts two suspected neurodivergent individuals in a wholesome relationship before the final act’s dark reveals. I completely agree that a lot of the commentary of the game is about how difficult it is for neurodivergent people to thrive in a world built for the neurotypical. However, though I think stories of people in neurodivergent people in happy relationships are underrepresented in the media, I still think people deserve better in terms of healthy representation. I agree these two are an interesting pairing, but that does not equal healthy. Just saying— I think Angel and Lee’s relationship is far from goals and has so many dangerous undertones to it that consuming it as a relationship dynamic to strive for could lead to internalizing some unhealthy attitudes about acceptable relationship behavior. I think they are more a cautionary tale than an OTP.

[sinnful-darling]

Yan! Kitsune Hcs

tws: stalking, manipulation, deceit, abuse, fox-like courtship, implications towards rutting but nothing happens.

information needed beforehand: kitsune are known to gain up to nine tails- one for each 100 years they've lived. as they get older, their fur changes from red to orange to white. they're also known to ascend to celestia when they turn 1,000 years old, but Sisko was cursed by his brethren and has no chance of ever ascending to celestia due to his evil nature. Sisko is also a Yama kitsune. Yama kitsune are known to prey upon human sadness and fear

Yan! Kitsune who is the protector of the mountains closest to you. he initially spots you out with your friends, a smile on your face that had the corners of his lips tugging up into one of his own.

Yan! Kitsune who sneakily follows your group, watching as you revel in the beauty of nature, throwing your head back and taking deep breaths of the clean forest air.

Yan! Kitsune who continues watching as your group sets up camp for the night, grimacing at the use of tents and packaged food. seriously, how had you survived this long?

Yan! Kitsune who is elated when you come back the following week (on your own), taking the opportunity to introduce himself.

Yan! Kitsune who introduces himself as Sisko, his nine tails swishing mischievously behind him.

Yan! Kitsune who puts on a friendly face and asks to be your friend. you can’t tell him about anyone though! no one else can see him but you! you’re special.

Yan! Kitsune who was lying, anybody could see him. he just wants to gain your trust and then hurt you so he can prey upon your fear and negativity when he starts breaking you down.

Yan! Kitsune who does exactly that. he gains your trust and then kidnaps you, taking you away to his home and doing awful things to you.

Yan! Kitsune who slowly falls in love with you and your fearful expressions, denying all sense of affection for you when he finds himself becoming more and more reluctant to hurt you. what was this? did celestia and his ancestors curse him? why doesn’t it feel good anymore?

Yan! Kitsune who starts developing a sexual attraction for you, but refuses to touch you in anyway. that wasn’t his style. he wanted you to give yourself to him willingly.

Yan! Kitsune who, when he can’t deny his feelings for you any longer, starts courting you in the ways his kind taught him to. he’ll hold you close to him and scent you, pleased when you don’t resist. surely, you love him too. you’re just scared he’s going to hurt you again if you move.

Yan! Kitsune who takes you with him through the forest as he searches for a new den, making you choose the spot. contrary to his kind, he won’t allow you to build it yourself though.

Yan! Kitsune who tethers you to a tree when he begins crafting the den, a cozy little cottage he builds with his bare hands.

Yan! Kitsune who curls around you at night when it’s time for bed, his tail wrapping around your thighs and locking his arms around your waist.

Yan! Kitsune who starts barking at you…

Yan! Kitsune who becomes softer with you, doing your hair all nice and bathing you, becoming more playful and cuddling with you more.

Yan! Kitsune who chooses you as his mate. there’s no one else for him and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[alice-after-dark]

Random Song Ideas/Inspirations

These are just some random ideas that I had and I'm no song writer so I'm just gonna thought dump them for you all to suffer through lol I wish I had the ability to make fan songs like damn. These are in no particular order btw.

TW for implications of abusive relationships. Contains abusive StaticMoth.

Hell is Forever (Vox's Reprise) - A much more dark and sinister version of "Hell is Forever" sung by Vox, more reminiscent of how he started "Stayed Gone". The song is basically addressing how he doesn't believe redemption is possible and how the Vees are going to rule Hell.

Pipedream - A "Nothing Left to Lose" from Tangled the Series and "Open Up Your Eyes" from MLP: The Movie style song between Charlie and Vox. Idea originally from and expanded on in this old post and this old post, but it's essentially Vox being bitter and pessimistic vs Charlie being hopeful and optimistic.

You and Your Chain - A Angel and Husk duet about their complicated relationships with the people who own their souls featuring flashbacks to what their relationships with them were like before things got bad and how they turned sour. It's a split duet aka they aren't actually in the same space (like "Whatever It Takes").

My Hand in Yours - A Niffty song about Alastor reminiscent of "King" by Lauren Aquilina. Basically her singing about how Alastor is struggling with both his injury and his deal and about their relationship.

Soundwaves - A Alastor and Vox split duet about the deterioration of their relationship. Has "Somebody That I Used to Know/Because of You" vibes.

What I Am - A Vaggie song with "I'm Gonna Show You Crazy" by Bebe Rexha vibes. Basically a "fuck you" to her old life and her having a let loose moment.

Welcome! - A group song with Owl City's "Good Time" vibes led by Charlie as the group prepares for the grand reopening of the hotel.

New and Improved - A Sir Pentious song in the style of "I'm Still Here" from Treasure Planet. He sings about how he's always been an outcast and how he finally found acceptance and belonging at the hotel and is missing his friends. Features flashbacks to his human life.

Pretty Playtime Dolly - A Velvette song with "Sit Still, Look Pretty" by Daya vibes about her insecurities being the youngest Overlord and comparing herself to Vox and Valentino.

Had Me at Hello - A dark Vox and Angel split duet inspired by "Tag, You're It" by Melanie Martinez about their relationships with Valentino and how they've been manipulated by him.

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain - A Vox song with "Dollhouse" by Melanie Martinez vibes. The song focuses on the stress of maintaining his perfect image.

All Bets are Off - A Husk song reminiscent of "Roses" by Poets of the Fall. It's about him regaining faith in himself and that he can be more than what he resigned himself to. He's still not sure if he can be redeemed, but he has hope he can be better. Has hints of HuskerDust.

Silence - A Rosie song with "Listen to Your Heart" by DHT energy. Takes place after Alastor seeks her advice about the situation with Vox. Features Alastor and Vox's relationship from Rosie's perspective from the beginning to the fallout, with Alastor becoming bitter and Vox cutting himself off from all his former friends.

In Your Shadow - A "Waiting in the Wings" from Tangled the Series style song sung by pre-canon Vox. He feels trapped in Alastor's shadow and is uncertain of his own ability and what he really is to Alastor (a friend? a pawn? a source of entertainment?).

[raven-of-hades]

I apologize for how mouth washing has affected me, it’s such a good story for how much I sat there agape for minutes once it was done. 8/10 recommend.

Fuck Jimmy.

Tw: body horror, assault implications, manipulations, alcohol abuse, flashing lights and screens, and a few others I prolly can’t think off of the top my head.

[randomfoxsworld]

Heeeyyy, guess who just got hit with a sudden burst of inspiration at 2:00 AM and decided to write an entire one-shot despite not having written anything reader since 2021? Lmk if i need to add anymore triggers

It's also a choose your own adventure ✨️

Content Warnings (CW) / Trigger Warnings (TW)

This story contains the following themes and may be distressing to some readers:

Psychological manipulation / gaslighting

Captivity and loss of autonomy

Implied emotional abuse

Power imbalances in relationships

Non-consensual control / ownership themes

Medication use / dependence

Mental distress and dissociation

Mild body horror / identity confusion

Stockholm Syndrome implications

Unreliable perception of reality Surveillance and loss of privacy

You wake up in your room.

The ‘moon’ outside gleams through the warped windowpane painting everything in shades of ash and bone Its light presses against your skin not warm not kind Clinical Watching

It grates against your senses more than the cold itchy blanket or the splinters of faux wood that bite into your feet paws? Claws?

You aren’t sure what you have anymore. You aren’t sure what you are That knowledge was taken Ripped away slowly replaced by silence and obedience.

And right now… they’re not here

You sit up carefully the bed groaning beneath you like a wounded thing Your breath stalls in your throat You wait One second Two

Stillness

No footfall in the hall No amused voice slinking through the crack beneath the door No eyes on you

They are out

You’re alone

For once

You move trembling staggering toward the window You use the windowsill to catch yourself your palms pressing flat against the cold stone The pill bottles are there lined up like little sentries waiting for the moment you cave You reach for one with shaking fingers

Your head burns It always does before clarity claws its way in Before the memories you’re not supposed to have scream to be remembered You grit your teeth twisting the lid slowly quietly

One sharp click

You freeze

Nothing Still alone

You pour two into your hand Then three Just enough to steady the ache to keep you from breaking apart before you can… before you can do something

You don’t know what yet But the silence tonight tastes different

You glance toward the door

Still shut

Still yours

For now

Your gaze drifts lower to the little stuffed fox curled on the stool by the bed Its eyes staring at the door that doesn’t move But still… it feels like it knows

Like it’s waiting

You stare out the window The forest beyond is skeletal frozen in place But something stirs deep inside the night A wind that isn’t wind A whisper you almost recognize

You press your forehead against the window

You’re still there fingers trembling with the pills in when the door clicks open

A soft sound Gentle

And yet your whole body locks up

You don’t turn around

Theirvoice floats into the room like a smell of smoke you can't wash out Calm, Smooth,inevitable.

“I thought i heard something”

You hear them pause in the doorway Silence as they take in the room the candle unlit the pill bottle in your hand your posture too stiff to be obedient

Then softly almost curiously

“…Were you waiting for me?”

Their tone is light. Curious. Like the question was nothing more than casual conversation between equals You don’t answer You can’t The pills are still clenched tight in your palm and your tongue feels heavy uncertain Too many lies are coiled in your throat already.

The silence stretches.

Then Fin moves soft steps over the wooden floor slow and measured You hear the faintest scrape of the chair as they retrieve the cup they left behind their presence folding back into the room like a shadow returning to its rightful corner.

They don’t speak right away.

And you don’t breathe.

A quiet sigh, then the sound of their sleeve brushing fabric. “You should be in bed,” they murmur, warm and casual. Not angry. Not even disappointed.

You finally glance at them just for a second They're turned slightly away eyes on the candle left unlit, expression unreadable in the pale silver wash of the moonlight

“I’ll light this again in a moment,” Fin says, voice soft and even. “You always look… lost without it.”

They pick up the matchbox. Strike. A soft hiss and the room swells with orange glow. Their face comes into full view, and for a split second

You think they looked straight at your hand

But they say nothing

Fin sets the candle down again “There we go all Better”

You swallow hard Your grip tightens on the pills hidden just out of sight behind your hip

They finally turn to face you fully

No sharp edges in their expression Just calm Controlled Like this moment is ordinary Like your pulse isn’t thundering in your ears

“Did you take something already?” they ask as if they didn’t see the truth As if they didn’t already know

You manage to shake your head

Fin smiles faintly. “Good,” they murmur, stepping closer. “You’ve been improving. I’d hate for you to slip.”

Their fingers brush your cheek feather-light Affectionate almost But beneath the touch is that same pressure as always that ownership That warning

They lean in lips nearly against your ear

“I trust you” they whisper “Don’t make me regret that”

Then they pull away

Just like that the moment is over

Fin moves back toward the desk grabbing cup in hand and heading back to the door before Looking back at you

“You should lie down” they say gently “You’ll feel better in the morning” before stepping out and shutting the door

You stay frozen a moment longer then move toward the bed slowly carefully slipping the pills under the pillow

As you settle back beneath the heavy blanket the candle flickers again…..

And you are left with a choice and I suggest you choose wisely

1 Take the pills

2 Don't take the pills

[mad-not-disappointed]

(tw: abuse, noncon, implied SA)

this is something you wouldn't want to think about for too long but i think part of the appeal for c//a is the fact that it's completely one-sided and forceful.

let me explain.

if the writers really wanted to imply that adora enjoyed her fights with catra or that she was aroused in some way (which is gross, because she's a minor but they don't care about that) they could have shown that. they could have shown adora smirking or blushing or anything that indicated that she wasn't entirely against the way that catra treated her.

but no, the main appeal of c//a is that adora cannot fight back, not that she doesn't want to. catra not only attacks adora, like enemies usually do, but she does it in a weirdly intimate way that makes adora feel uncomfortable and humiliated.

this extends beyond the whole “creepy villain” persona that the other villains in the show has. like sure, both shadow weaver and horde prime have used unwanted touch to manipulate their victims. but catra seems to use it to a greater extent and more frequently, AND she mostly only uses it on adora.

it's unnerving but some people do seem to like romance tropes that are non-consentual. just look at the amount of media that has sudden forced kisses, because apparently asking for consent “kills the mood”. look at the entire trope of “chase them until they like you back”. people find this hot, for whatever reason.

and now look at how c//a incorporates these tropes into an “enemies to lovers” romance where adora is constantly made to feel scared, humiliated or uneasy. where adora is often in a position of weakness and vulnerability while catra has full control. there are too many frames in spop that has adora on her knees, either restrained or somehow rendered helpless, and catra towering over her, touching her or delivering some vaguely flirtatious dialogue that is often taken out of context.

this is why the whole “it's enemies to lovers, it's supposed to be like that” excuse doesn't work. if spop stans really wanted a classic enemies to lovers romance, they could easily ship glitra. if the writers wanted to write a good enemies to lovers ship, they could have made adora and catra fight the same way catra and glimmer did.

whenever glimmer and catra fought, they were always one on one. neither of them were stronger or weaker.

watch how catra never uses the same tactics on glimmer that she uses on adora. the only time catra made glimmer feel uncomfortable in some way was when she licked glimmer's arm. and she did this to make glimmer let go of her, it had a purpose.

so yeah, it's no wonder that c//a fans are often gushing about how “catra is the top” or making it seem like their relationship is a fetish. it's not just toxic, there are very heavy implications of SA, whether that was intentional or not. of course, it's not straight-up SA because this is a kid's show. but the fact that “catra loved adora all this time” and the fact that catra only treated adora this way gives all of these scenes a much darker and creepier implication.

[thewayuarent]

Ways of handling addictions in Only Friends

Tw: drug abuse, overdose

Let me tell this straight away - I was in a relationship with addicted person. By the time we started dating they didn’t use drugs for about couple of months by still used alcohol a lot. They’d come a long way to be clean and I was there all the time every time. This year they collapsed. Drug overdose, the end of it.

So I know that my personal experience doesn’t make me a profi automatically. Addiction is a very complex subject and very personal experience. But I do know a thing or two about it.

And the first rule here is: addicted person will never stop because of you. They need to want it for themselves.

By this moment we’ve been shown three different dynamics where one person is addicted and the other isn’t: Sand and Ray, Mew and Ray and Mew and Top.

Start with Mew and Ray. The thing is, Mew has no obligation to save Ray. He was there for him in the worst moment and, yes, I really want to say that he had to do more for Ray - he is his closest friend and he is definitely struggling - but. But Mew has a right to step away. Because navigating someone through healing is very hard and very long process and Mew doesn’t have to deal with it. I can’t blame him honestly for that.

For what I can critique not Mew specifically but the whole friend group (all four of them yes) is the very next scene where them all - including Ray - are drinking. Like guys, Ray right here tried to overdose, may be it would be nice to have a fucking break?

The Mew and Top situation is way different. Mew finds out Top uses drugs - that’s not the best thing to learn about someone, sure. But Mew doesn’t take time to think about “do I need that in my life” (which would be understandable), no. He makes a statement: stop using drugs and I’ll have sex with you. There is your price by the way. And this is also understandable - it is a manipulation, yes, but it’s very common way to try to handle things like that, and I would argue Mew has good intentions here. And oh, Mew, my boy, I’m sorry but that’s not how things work. You know Top can have more in a phone call, right? You understand that person saying “I’m not an addict” while having a dose in his pocket it’s at least a bit shady? I know that it doesn’t automatically implicates that Top is a hard addict but still.

But he is already lying about it. Using drugs while having fun with your friends it’s not the same thing as calling your dealer and using it alone in your room because you struggle with emotions, just saying.

Making him choose will never work out. Because he will choose, and it won’t be you.

And what’s about Sand and Ray? Sand knows for a fact that Ray has problems with alcohol. He doesn’t know about drugs, at least for now. Sand and Ray know each other for a very short period of time, and Sand is “it’s not my business” type of person, so I don’t criticize him while saying the next thing. But.

Sand is unintentionally supportive of Ray’s addictions. He drinks with him a lot - they are drinking buddies. I can’t be sure but it’s kind of looks like there will be a weed smoking next episode? For Sand drinking time to time and smoking weed can be fine - he is not addicted (by what we know). For Ray it is a call. So of course Sand, so as Mew, has a whole right to live his life without dealing with Ray’s addictions. But they are definitely falling for each other. That can develop into relationship. And then it will suddenly be a problem. But isn’t it already? How will Ray react if Sand suddenly turns from drinking/smoking with him to trying to stop him? I would say not the best way. There is also an option that for Sand it won’t be a problem so we’ll see.

The addiction is not a verdict. Both Top and Ray are young and very rich and it’s a very common thing for young rich people to have some kind of stuff - drugs, alcohol or both. It doesn’t automatically mean they are doomed. But still whoever decides to be in relationship with them (Mew and Sand, talking to you) have to think about it and think hard. Do you understand what are you dealing with? Do you honestly want to deal with it? Are you ready for all of highs and lows you’re going to face? If yes, then good luck to you - it really can work out. But don’t fool yourself into thinking that there is nothing to worry about.

[russadler]

A Little Death - A Note From The Author

For those on this website back when Cold War came out in 2020, you may have read a fic I wrote around that time titled ‘A Little Death’. It was pretty successful (at least by my standards as a first time author) and likely may even be the reason many of you are following me in the first place.

In 2021 I made the extremely difficult decision to delete it, with the intention of re-writing it as I had to come to the conclusion that the portrayal of the Adler/Bell relationship in this particular story was problematic for reasons I will expand on below the cut (for those curious)

I’ve had many people in the years since message me to ask what happened, and if I planned on re-writing it as I announced my intentions to. I’m incredibly touched that people have held my writing in such high regard, even after all these years ❤️

With Black Ops 6 coming in a few months, the topic has come to the forefront of my mind (and the minds of others) again. After an extremely difficult (and long) period of consideration, I am officially confirming that I will not be rewriting ‘A Little Death’ and consider it permanently shelved.

This is probably a surprise to absolutely no one since I’ve not really mentioned it since, but I have had several people still interested in what was going on. I still want to give thanks to everyone who has supported my writing, I’ve been wanting to start once again but felt like I couldn’t with the weight of this fic on my shoulders. I think finally closing this chapter will allow me to move on and evolve as a writer.

Please read the TW before continuing as I will be touching on some sensitive subjects in regards to Adler/Bell’s relationship dynamics. This is kind of long but honestly it’s a complicated subject, but I didn’t want to move forward without addressing some of the issues in detail.

TW: discussions of consent, sexual assault, manipulation, abuse

Why did I delete it in the first place?

‘A Little Death’ started off as a three part smut fic that grew into something more in part due to the positive reception I had received, but it was also my first ever piece of writing. It lit something in me, and it was no longer about just being “horny for Adler” and it involved into a bit of a character study.

I actually made a post years ago touching on this, but the jist of why I deleted the story was that someone who was close to me at the time I was quite deep into writing it pointed out that a brainwashed Bell, in an altered mental state, could not actually give consent to any sort of sexual relationship with Adler (who also facilitated their torture) I know this might seem to be fairly obvious to many, but honestly at the time I hadn’t even thought of it that way. I felt incredibly stupid someone had to tell me for me to even realize.

Now, I don’t intend this post to be one about total condemnation of the Adler/Bell ship. I mean we are talking about a game that revolves around some very dark subject matter like torture, murder, brainwashing etc. A lot of people have OC! Bells that they ship with Adler, and I still read fic of the ship and have my own OC. The ship is problematic for obvious reasons, but I began to realize that as an author I had a duty to portray dark subject matter with a certain level of responsibility, respect and with appropriate content warnings.

I was doing none of those things. I was writing a fic that portrayed a brainwashed Bell in a sexual relationship with Adler that begins to evolve into this emotional “affair” I had written something like 10 chapters, but I couldn’t continue with the knowledge that I had essentially been marketing sexual assault as smut without even really realizing the implication. I mean it wasn’t all smut, it did taper off into an actual story, but the damage had been done.

Wouldn’t that mean all Adler/Bell fic is problematic then?

I mean yes is probably the right answer, but my own feelings about the relationship in summary, is that a ‘romantic’ relationship with Bell utilized as a manipulation tactic by Adler would not be out of character for him, I mean it literally does happen in the game in a more platonic form. Dark? yes, very much so, but not totally out of the realm of the game’s themes.

Even then, we have to keep in mind that if we are going to write stories that have darker themes that could also contain potentially triggering subject matter, we have to approach these topics with respect and responsibility. Writing a scene or relationship that portrays sexual assault as romantic or sexy is not okay. (which was basically what I was doing, which was very bad) Appropriate content/trigger warnings should be used as well.

I think the Bell/Adler gold standard is fic where Bell and Adler meet each other long after the events of the game. Still a pair of messed of people with a messed up dynamic 100%, but Bell is no longer brainwashed and has developed into their own person who can make their own informed decisions. (My all time favourite fic is a Bell/Adler fic that follows this sort of plotline)

I wanted to try and salvage ‘A Little Death’ by re-writing it, but I just…couldn’t. I would have to re-write from the ground up, and honestly the central conflict was Adler “falling in love” and the guilt that subsequently followed because he knew the situation was fucked up and that he was in it for his own selfish reasons.

I have considered re-publishing in mostly the same form but with the sexual content removed and more as a dark fic focused on the messed up relationship Adler pursues with Bell because he wants ‘results’ that bad, but I wasn’t sure if that was any better???

Anyways, that’s why I deleted that fic in particular and not any other. It was deeply problematic and for that I apologize.

If there’s any other questions, please feel free to inbox or DM me.

Thanks ❤️

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Reveal - Nightmare/Blue Fic

Prompt: Secret Relationship (reveal)

Prompt from: @yearoftheotpevent

Media: Undertale AUs/UTMV

Genres: Romance (but in heavy air quotes), betrayal, dark fic (?), betrayal, human AU, idk what else lol

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Dream, Killer, Ink (mentioned), Error (mentioned), Horror (mentioned), Cross (mentioned)

Pairing: Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW - Manipulation, Implications of Abuse, Toxic behavior (?), mentions of violence, mentions of almost dying, being high mention, Nightmare being a piece of work

Other Notes: yes this is my second nightblue piece in like a month im ill for them sorry not sorry also a bittttt darker than i usually write? but i still think its ok also this is one of my most recent fics in it with a time/space jump! i hope its not too bothersome :0

Word Count: 4273 Words

The storm raged deep into the night, beating against the walls of the house, the wind screaming and howling as the rain poured down from the gray sky. It was perfect. The rain and thunder hid any sounds of Blue leaving and re-entering the house. Being out in the rain was cold, it soaked into his clothes and sunk into his skin. Drying off wouldn’t be an issue, and neither would sneaking back into the house after his excursion. At least, if things went his way. He wasn’t sure why he thought that this would be easy, it never was. Life enjoyed giving him what he wanted before sucker-punching him in the gut.

Getting back in the way he got back out was out of the question, climbing from the ground to the second story window that led into his room in this rain was unthinkable. Scaling up the wet bricks would surely lead to him crashing onto the back porch, and that would be a whole other issue. Teleporting was also out of the equation. To prevent intruders, they had set up a system to alert the three of them if any magic crossed the threshold of the house. Unfortunately, that included Blue.

There was a single light on in the house, and it belonged to the TV. Blue watched the channels change, someone trying to settle on one. He mentally swore over and over as he pressed himself against the front door, trying to hide from the rain. Why was he up right now?! It was three in the morning, he was never awake this early!

Rise and rest with the sun. That is how he functioned. Blue couldn’t remember a single time when Dream was awake in the middle of the night. And yet, there he was! At three in the morning! Watching TV!

Blue ran his hands up his face, the rainwater soaking into his skin, pushing his curly hair up. He could handle it being Ink. Ink would likely be stoned out of his mind, and if he wasn’t, he didn’t give a shit if Blue came home late, as suspicious as it was. The worst he would receive from Ink would be some teasing, borderline ridicule. But from Dream? Dream, someone who he respected more than anyone else, and someone who he would consider his best friend? Dream would ask. Interrogate. And he would have no choice but to tell the truth. Dream could read him like a book, and would see through his lies in an instance.

As the cold began to set in, he surrendered himself to the only option he had. He had wracked his brain for an alternative, some way to avoid the confrontation he knew he was about to have. There was always the option of waiting him out, but he wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to spend more time in the cold rain. Maybe he could pull this off, somehow. Dream was likely very drowsy; Blue could tell by the way he half-heartedly switched through channels that he was forcing himself to stay awake. Why he was doing that, Blue couldn’t say. He hoped that it wasn’t because Dream noticed his disappearance.

With a cold and trembling hand, Blue opened the front door, pushing it open with his shoulder. He had to force it closed, the wind fighting him as he did so. As the door shut with a gentle click!, the TV paused. It was on some documentary that Blue doubted Dream was interested in. He didn’t move far into the house, allowing his clothing and hair to drip onto the mat by the front door. Dream twisted his body, facing Blue with only his face, his hips still facing the TV. It looked incredibly uncomfortable and Blue doubted he would stay in the position for long.

Due to the heavy rainstorms that have been happening in their world, the trio had been keeping towels next to the front door as of late. Using one of them, Blue managed to get most of the water out of his curls and clothes, although he would stay a little damp until he changed.

“Where were you, huh?” Despite the playful tone of Dream’s voice, Blue felt his heart leap into his throat. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he got rid of the water soaked into the scarf onto the towel. He slipped his scarf around his neck, feeling the texture on his face as he gathered his thoughts.

A lie was out of the question, Dream knew his tics.

However, maybe he didn’t have to lie. It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t give Dream all of the information, right?

“Oh, you know.” Blue spoke, flinging Dream’s playful tone back at him. He managed a slight smile, despite the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

Dream chuckled. He finally decided that twisting his body at the waist was uncomfortable and sat up on the couch, arms resting on the upper couch cushions. He leaned into the palm of his hand, watching as Blue discarded his boots next to the shoe rack.

“I don’t, actually.” He dropped the smirk on his face in favor of something softer. “Indulge me?”

“Mmm…” Blue hummed, wringing out his gloves over the kitchen sink. He had flicked on the one light right above the sink and none else. It wasn’t necessary, as he knew the layout of the kitchen better than the back of his hand, and turning on more lights would awaken Ink, and that would be a whole other problem to deal with!

How much could he hide from Dream? Maybe skewing the truth would work just fine…

“I was with Cross.” Not exactly false.

Dream’s face dropped, which Blue expected. He turned back around on the couch, grumbling to himself. The mere mention of Cross should dissuade Dream from continuing the conversation entirely. Both Cross and Dream disliked each other greatly, but Blue could not figure out why. Their personalities clashed, sure, but Blue didn’t think it was to that high of a degree.

“And?”

“Huh?” “You were with,” Dream grit his teeth as he stood up, brushing off his black jeans before walking into the kitchen. “Cross, and? What did you do with him?”

Blue was still a little damp by the time Dream got over, but he didn’t mind. It would dry. As Dream walked over, he flicked off the light, leaving the two in darkness. The only light source was the TV, which was beginning to dim, and Dream’s golden eyes. Dream leaned against the counter, one hand on it, the other on his waist. His posture was casual, he wasn’t upset. At least, Blue hoped he wasn’t reading it wrong.

“...We were in a library.”

Blue hoped that the darkness would shield his nervous tics, shield Dream from his lies.

“Was this a planned meeting?”

“Yes.” Again, not a lie. Not fully.

The silence wrapped around his neck like a noose, leaving him breathless. He couldn’t read Dream’s face, both due to his incredible poker face and the darkness around them. He cocked his head to the side, thinking.

“You could’ve told me, y’know.”

Oh thank the heavens.

“I mean, I don’t like Cross, at all, but I respect your relationship with him. I’m not going to like, stop you from seeing him or anything.” Dream kept his arms crossed as he spoke, his body relaxed as he shrugged. “Buuut, I feel like you're hiding something. You’ve got this nervous energy around you, B. Did something happen?”

There it was. He should’ve known Dream would catch on eventually. It was hard to hide things from someone who could read your feelings. Blue sighed, the sound of his heart pounding in his head was clogging up his mind. He leaned against the counter by the sink, his hands gripping onto the countertop.

“You can tell me anything. Even if it has to do with Cross or whoever.”

Blue inhaled sharply, his resolve faltering. He got no pleasure from hiding and lying to Dream (or to anyone, for that matter). Maybe he could just be honest?

No, only a naïve fool would allow himself to think with such optimism.

“Why can’t a guy have his secrets?” It took all that Blue had to keep his voice stable, not allowing the anxiety to bubble over into his voice. If he could play defensive, and then change the subject, then he’d be able to get off scot free.

“Why can’t that guy tell his best friend his secrets?”

“Ah…” Blue glanced away, the smallest bit of anger pooling inside of him. Despite his inherent goodness, Dream was one to play underhanded, and pulling out the ‘best friend’ card was a cheap tactic! He ran his hand through his damp curls, pushing them off of his forehead. He kept his eyes on the floor as he ran his hand down the back of his head, his hand resting on the side of his neck. He flinched as his fingers pressed down on the tender spot on his neck, his face twisting as he shoved his hand back into his pants pocket.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You jumped. Are you hurt, let me see.” Dream stepped closer, flicking on the sink light. Blue shrunk away, hiding in his scarf. His mind was whirling, he needed to get out of this, he needed to divert Dream’s attention. This was possibly the worst thing that could happen. He couldn’t believe he flinched like that! He knew it was there, the blemish was still warm, it stayed warm, even when the cold rain soaked into his skin.

“Dream, I…” He didn’t get the chance to finish as Dream pulled him back into the light, holding onto his forearms. Dream turned him to the right, allowing the light to hit the left side of his body. His nails dug into the palms of his hands as Dream shifted his scarf down his shoulder. Goosebumps appeared along his skin as Dream’s warm hand touched the side of his neck.

“What is…?” Dream murmured, getting closer to Blue, eyes squinted. “It’s not a bruise, is it?”

Reserving himself to the situation, Blue nodded, his voice barely audible. “No.”

“Then it’s…” Dream’s eyes widened and he pulled back, confusion and hurt dancing across all of his features. “Cross didn’t give you that, now did he?”

“Of course not.”

“So you lied.”

“Not exactly.” Blue strained, giving Dream distance, space. He messed with his scarf, having it cover his neck once more. “I was with Cross, and I was in a library.”

“Nightmare’s library.”

And there it was. The nail in the coffin.

“...Yes.” Blue said, his voice hoarse and throat dry.

All of Dream’s hurt became anger at the mention of Nightmare. Blue staggered further back, getting out of Dream’s way, out of his reach. He watched as Dream’s face contorted, his mind trying to wrap around his betrayal.

As much as he hated calling it that, there was no other word. His hand went up to his neck once more, slipping underneath his scarf. His fingers gently ran across the hickey, he had to make sure that it was really there.

“So, so lemme get this straight.” Blue could hear the hurt, the barely contained anger, in Dream’s voice. “You, knowingly, went to Nightmare’s castle, not just a meet up in another timeline, no, you purposefully went into the homebase of that bastard, and let him suck on your neck!”

Blue’s body stiffened, his shoulders going tense. “That…is what happened, yes.”

“Why?” Dream snapped, his hands balling into fists. Blue’s eyes widen at the sight of his fists, his heart slamming in his chest. Seeing this, Dream took a long, deep breath, and loosened his hands. He had never hurt Blue, but other people had. He didn’t blame Blue for his reaction. With a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing his coils back. “I need you to tell me why you ran off to…to him of all people!

“Please. Let me understand. Make me understand why.”

“I…” Blue sighed, dropping his hands. “Okay.”

Dream kept his arms crossed, folded tightly over his chest as he gave Blue time to think. Time to get his thoughts in order. He shifted on his feet, heart slamming in his chest. He was about to admit everything. The prospect of that was…terrifying. He didn’t want to lose Dream as a friend, or lose him at all! At the same time, though, he didn’t want to stop speaking, or getting intimate with, Nightmare. Would he be forced to pick?

The more he thought about it, if he had to choose one or the other, he was beginning to realize that, maybe, his loyalties didn’t lie with Dream. A scary thought, considering he would have shot someone point-black with a blaster for Dream. When did this change? Where he would pick Nightmare over Dream?

“Do you remember the fight up in the mountains? The one where Ink and I evacuated an entire town from an avalanche?” “How could I forget?” Dream said, laughing a little. “I searched for days looking for you in the snow, only for it to turn out that Nightmare had taken you.”

“Yeah. That was the fight that, ah, started everything.”

“What do you mean? He took you prisoner, B.” Dream scowled as he spoke, concern rising in him. He knew about Blue’s relationship (if you could even call it that) with Error, the guy was too trusting. Too full of optimism. Believing that everyone could be a good person, if they just try. Horror dawned on him. Nightmare could, and would, use that.

“Not exactly. You see…I was trapped under the snow.” Blue took a deep breath. “It was scary, I could barely breathe, it was cold, and I couldn’t use my magic. I…I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“Oh, B…”

“But I did! Obviously,” Blue snorted. “It was Nightmare, actually, who fished me out. I don’t really remember what had happened, but when I woke up, I was in Nightmare’s castle.”

“The dungeon.” “No.”

“No?” Dream asked, an eyebrow rising.

“I was on a couch by a fireplace covered in blankets. And when I sat up…Nightmare was there.”

Blue half expected Dream to say something, but he was prompted to continue.

“I was scared, at first. I thought he was going to hurt me. He promised that he wouldn’t.”

“And you believed him.”

“I…” Blue flushed with embarrassment, “Yes. I did. And he didn’t! We just…talked. It was really nice, actually.”

“What.” Dream’s face flashed with a sense of hurt and anger once more, and Blue’s face fell in response.

“Dream, listen. I had never had a conversation like that before! It was like…like we clicked. I’ve never had such an intellectually stimulating conversation before!” Much to Dream’s alarm, Blue’s cheeks visibly warmed and his lips pulled themselves into a smile. “It was incredible!”

“Oh my God, you don’t see it.”

The smile dropped from Blue’s face, his arms going down to his side. “See what?”

“That he’s using you!” Dream hissed, anger filling him up once more. Anger at Nightmare, anger at Blue. “He’s using your trust to hurt me, to make you believe that you can trust him! He’s been fucking with you, and you fell for it!”

“That’s not…We’ve had our differences in the past but, I think that-”

“If by differences you mean tormenting you, then sure.”

“Dream-”

“But by all means, if you want to run off and be with him, I won’t stop you.” Dream gripped onto his forearms, teeth grinding together as he spoke. “I mean, I get it, really, he’s got the castle, the tentacles, the throne, the never ending cruelty. Didn’t realize that was your type.”

Blue could feel the venom being spit at him when Dream spoke. His heart slammed in his chest, and a familiar lump began to grow in his throat.

“Why are you so angry?” He croaked.

“Because you’re pissing me off! He’s obviously using you for ulterior means and the fact that you can’t see it, that you’re letting him mark you and who knows what else, makes me want to tear my hair out!”

Dream met eyes with Blue, and his body softened, just slightly, when he saw Blue’s wide eyes and pursed lips. He rubbed his forehead, nails still digging into his skin. “I can’t…I can’t deal with this, with you, right now. Just…go.”

“What?”

“Get out! I need some time to think. So go.”

“...Okay.” Blue whispered, voice trembling. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, forcing him to make a mad dash for the front door, his hands shaking as he opened the door. Outside, rain and thunder greeted him, but his legs forced him out, boots smacking against the buddy ground. Just when he was starting to get dry, the rain soaked him again, running down his face and making his clothes feel colder. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or not; rain and tears felt about the same. That was probably for the better.

Perhaps it was deranged of him to know who was at the door by how they knocked. However, it made his job a whole lot easier. Knowing who was coming in by the knock allowed him to have a few, sweet, seconds to prepare himself, to know how he should be presenting himself. With Cross, he would stand, if he wasn’t already, and take his position as Cross’s superior. There was no such thing as being too formal with Cross, it was informality that was the issue. For better or for worse, Cross felt more comfortable, or simply less anxious, if he knew who was in charge, and if that person made it clear. If he had to guess, this complex was likely his father’s doing. With Horror, on the other hand, being informal was the goal. He would often stay sitting down, being casual, and as open as he could be.

The rapping at the door told Nightmare that it was Killer who needed his presence. Killer knocked with his knuckles, brushing his hand against the door. There was no need to stand with Killer, although he would limit the informality. Killer was a wildcard, who knew how he would interpret certain things. Nightmare supposed that was somewhat his fault.

“You may enter.”

The door creaked open, and Killer slipped in like a shadow, barely making a sound. He stood at the door, as Nightmare had taught him to do, waiting. Nightmare finished his sentence, setting the quill down before gesturing to Killer to come with two fingers. He quickly read over what he had written in response before deeming it good enough before turning his attention towards Killer.

One of his legs was propped up, the ankle resting on the other knee. Nightmare leaned his face against the back of his hand, his teal eyes settling on Killer’s pure black ones.

“Whacha workin’ on?”

“Settling a land dispute. Nothing particularly interesting.” Contrary to popular belief, his title as King wasn’t just for show. He had a proper kingdom, and it was his job to make sure it stayed afloat. He may rule with an iron fist, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care. “What do you want?”

“It's Blue.”

Ah, Blue. Nightmare hummed, smiling at the name. He was endearing, and kind. Despite his moments of incredibly handy naïveté, he was quite intelligent. Not the greatest conversationalist, but intriguing enough to forgive his struggle with small talk. He had to admit that he quite enjoyed the conversation the day he plucked Blue from the snow. If he had to be completely honest, it was a spur of the moment action. He didn’t want Blue to perish, not in such a fashion. Taking him home though, that wasn’t his plan. At least initially. It just so happened to work out that way, and it spurred on one of the schemes he had put on the backburner.

Earning Blue’s trust, his unwavering loyalty, and then ripping him from Dream’s hands.

“He’s at the front door, Boss.” “So soon?” Nightmare grinned, completely unsurprised. “Let him in. He knows the way.”

After all of their meetings, all of their erotic rendezvous, if Blue didn’t know his way to Nightmare’s bedroom by heart, then it would be a surprise.

It took a minute, maybe three, although Nightmare wasn’t paying attention, for Blue to come barreling into the room, damp with rainwater and his body trembling, likely for more reason than one. A towel was half-hazardly draped over his shoulders, likely given to him when he made his way up here.

“Back already? Did you miss me that much?” Nightmare grinned as he stood up, stretching his back a little as he did so.

“No- Well, I mean,” Blue chuckled, cheeks flushing. “Yes, I did, b-but that’s not why I’m here! I…”

Blue fidgeted with his hands, glancing away. “It’s Dream. He, um, found out.” Nightmare could feel the terror radiating off of him. It was as if Blue expected him to get angry, get aggressive. Not like this was unexpected, especially when they had spent so much time fighting against each other, when Nightmare spent so much time terrorizing him, feeding on his sweet, negative emotions.

“Found out what?” Nightmare asked, getting closer and gently holding Blue’s cold hands. He made a point to keep his voice low, his body language unthreatening.

“About you.”

“About us?”

“Mhm…” Nightmare gently wiped the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, using his other hand to feel his quick heartbeat via his wrists. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I thought it was late in your universe?”

“I-It was! It was like three in the morning! I don’t know what in the world he was doing up!”

“And he…?”

“He saw the hickey and…he knows when I lie so I couldn’t…”

Nightmare gently held Blue’s face, his thumbs on the center of his cheeks. “I’m not mad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Nightmare placed a kiss against his forehead, “I don’t care if he knows or not. The more time I have with you, the better.”

“You promise you’re not upset?” “Yes,” Nightmare chuckled, “I promise. Now, you’re a mess, why don’t you dry yourself off? You can borrow a shirt of mine, for now.”

Blue glanced towards the window, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking. Even though it was very early in the morning in the universe containing Dream’s house, the sun was peeking over the horizon on the eastern side of the castle. Sleeping now would set himself up on the path of becoming nocturnal.

“You can head to sleep.”

“But-!”

“Quiet. Allow your brain and body to rest.” Nightmare said, gently tapping Blue on his ass in the direction of his bathroom, causing him to squeak. “I’ll get you a shirt in the meantime, go get dry.”

With bright red cheeks, Blue skittered off to the en suite bathroom. Nightmare watched him go, eyes boring into the back of his head. Everything had panned out as planned. Not that he expected it not to, Dream was incredibly predictable and his reactions were perfect. Admittedly, he wasn’t completely sure if he would be able to wake Dream, as the guy slept like a corpse. It did work, and it went just as he intended it too.

All that was left now was to get Blue to stay in the castle with him permanently, which would be one of the easiest parts of his elaborate scheme. He could almost taste the despair Dream would feel, discovering that he had pushed Blue right into his loving embrace.

Choosing a shirt for him wasn’t difficult. They’d all look the same on him anyway: massive. He selected a black, satin, button-up shirt. He had slept in something similar in the past, and it had the added bonus of being a texture that Blue didn’t abhor, so he knew that Blue would be comfortable. He walked over to the bathroom door, opening it a crack before handing the shirt off.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” Blue stepped out of the bathroom, his curly hair messy and frizzy from drying it with a towel. His scarf, which was decently dry, hung loosely around his neck. In his arms were his clothes, which Nightmare took from him when he bent down. “You look adorable.”

Blue pressed his face into his scarf, nodding. His legs were cold, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Th-Thanks.”

“I’ll go put your clothes in the dryer, you get into bed and sleep off your adrenaline and anxiety, you reek of it.”

“Right! Right, okay.” Blue walked over to the bed, pausing before getting into the plush, velvet covers. “Are you sure…?” He asked, gesturing with his thumb towards the window.

“It’s only six in the morning. I’ll come wake you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Nightmare walked over to the bed, holding the damp clothes in a tentacle. He pulled the covers over Blue’s shoulders, and leaned down, allowing their lips to meet. Blue smiled up at him, his big, blue eyes filled with nothing but genuine gratitude and adoration. He shifted onto his other side, back away from Nightmare. Nightmare smiled, smiled something sly, and borderline cruel as he gently tucked a piece of hair behind Blue’s ear. Everything had gone like clockwork, and he would reap the benefits for as long as he could.

[ofreardcns]

( matteo martari / cis male / he/him ) — GAEL FIORI has been living in Port Leiry for THEIR WHOLE LIFE. They currently work as a BOOK KEEPER FOR NO MAN’S LAND, and are FORTY-FIVE years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a VAMPIRE or if they’re connected to REARDON CLAN. They tend to be quite MANIPULATIVE and GREEDY, but can also be CHARISMATIC and PROTECTIVE.—

( tw: death, murder, drug abuse, potion? abuse, organized crime with implications of human trafficking )

tl;dr: when a skilled, potioneer witch falls head over heels for a hunter, is it really a surprise when that hunter turns around and kills him? this is the story of witch who pretends to be a hunter for far too long (twenty five years to be exact.) during this time, the witch-turned-hunter tries his best to be a good father. this includes secretly drugging his daughter to keep her from realizing she has magic and keeping the wool pulled over his husband and his son's eyes. when this witch is shot by both his husband and his son, he is given a second chance at life as a vampire. now he owes the reardon vampire clan - with all their shady dealings - a life debt and has signed the vampire equivalent of a blood pact to serve them for eternity. with a face you can trust, the reardon's have thrown him into being clan representative. gael's out to put the word 'organized' back into the term organized crime. a witch who once hunted the supernatural is now out here kidnapping humans.

about under the cut I penned by rey

ORIGINS

name: gael fiori

age: forty-five

alignment: the pendulum swings between chaotic good and neutral evil

species: vampire (formerly a witch - potioneer - pretending to be a hunter)

hometown: port leiry

sexuality: bisexual

affiliation: reardon clan, clan representative to the council

creative touchpoints: the charisma, vanity, and pettiness of lestat of the vampire chronicles mixed with the good humor, witchy gaslighting, straight up evilness of guy woodhouse of rosemary's baby

occupation: book-keeper at no man's land, former manager at sweetwater

family members of note: adrian castillo (deeply estranged husband), gemma castillo-fiori (daughter), gabriel castillo-fiori (son)

BACKSTORY

Gael is born with an old greed in him, something with teeth, one that hungers for love. Through his youth, and then his teens, and well into adulthood, Gael is a charmer, one that seeks out affection everywhere and anywhere he can. And, for what it’s worth, he returns the love he is given with great ease. Gael loves with every fiber of his being and it is so very easy to love Gael. 

So easy that sometimes, a person might even question whether the love they are feeling is pure and true. Most of the times it is. Some of the times it is not. Gael is skilled witch, one that can brew affection like making a hearty soup. Gael doesn’t always need such things, but sometimes he prefers the assurance, and on the night he meets his future husband, Gael falls hard and fast. He knows that he can’t live without him; he feels it in his heart deep. So Gael brews up something quick. 

Karma - or something much darker - is watching. It should be noted that any affection Gael concocts for that first meet-cute with Adrian Castillo is a one time thing. As stern and angry Adrian is, Gael finds a way to make him melt all on his own. They fall in love - true, real, uninfluenced love - and, per the aforementioned karma, Gael walks into the arms of a hunter. 

Of course, Adrian is a hunter. It’s his whole life, his raison d’etre. Adrian gives hunting the sort of signal minded focus that Gael would find charming if it weren’t for the target it paints on his back — or the target it would put on his back, if Adrian knew about Gael’s magic. Adrian doesn't. Gael, whose finger tips are a little too used to toying with fire, chooses to hide in plain sight by playing both house and hunter. As he does, he finds a sort of happiness he never thought he would. 

That happiness grows tenfold six months into their relationship. Adrian brings home two children, saved from a night of hunting (witches, specifically. The irony of this is not lost on Gael - but that's neither here nor there.) It doesn't matter that it's been only six months. To build a home and family with the man he loves is something Gael wants. There's that old greed, showing its teeth.

For a while, this task of building is Gael's whole world. But things get complicated with Gemma begins to show signs of magic. Gael is in perfect control of his faculties, but he knows what it is to be a young witch, to have your magic grow within you all tangled and wild. He can hide well enough, but to expect a child to do so is a different thing. So Gael returns to the thing he is good at - potioneering - and he brews up something to suppress Gemma’s magic. He doesn't tell her. He tells himself: this is to keep her safe. And it is — Adrian with all his hunter's fury aims to put any supernatural thing six feet under. Gael knows the bonds of family won't stop that. He’s right, but that doesn’t come into play for another twenty years. 

Adrian and Gael raise the twins to be hunters and they grow to be their own people. Gemma, in all her innocence, finds a way to be so headstrong. Her twin, Gabriel, carries the world on his back for the both of them and does his best to live up to the stiff expectations Adrian puts on him. It's a dangerous world out there, and Adrian and Gael are raising their children to be weapons. At thirteen, Adrian and Gabriel track down the twins' biological mother, that dark witch that evaded Adrian’s bullets all those years ago, and Adrian puts Gabriel’s to the task of ending her life. Gabriel, of course, completes it like the dutiful son he is. (Gael isn't there to witness, but he can imagine the way his son's brows furrows when he shoots the witch between the eyes.) If there’s a distance between Gael and his son, it grows greater that day. 

That’s how it goes with a family of hunters. You bite the bullet and get used to taste of gunpowder. Maybe that’s why Gael is too used to the smell of smoke, doesn't realize his life is going up in flames before its too late.

Appropriately, it begins with a fire. They're on a hunting trip. Over twenty years of magic dampers have slowly chipped away at Gemma, and her poor, repressed magic lets lose a fury of flames. The four of them are out in the wilderness, under the light of the moon, and suddenly their world is haloed with heat. It's impossible to tell who or what the source is, but Gael knows. And what he knows is this: he must do everything he can to keep his daughter from being discovered.

Adrian is sharp. That's all that needs to be said about that.

For two weeks, Adrian and Gael circle each other in a torturous dance of knowing. How does the saying go? Not 'this story is a tragedy because it didn't have to end this way,' but rather 'this story is a tragedy because it was always going to end this way.' The Castillo-Fiori's are hunters and Gael is a witch. Gael is murdered by both his husband and his son. It was always going to end this way.

(Gabriel, his golden child, is fulfilling one hell of a legacy, picking off his parents one by one. And Gael wasn't wrong about Adrian, his husband has exactly what it takes to kill a person he loves. Gemma, at least, is far away from all of this when it happens. Safe. Gael is left in the dirt to die.)

The end comes with a haunting epilogue: Gael's magic keeps him alive just long enough to send the magical equivalent of flare into the night sky. A Reardon vampire who owes him answers it. It is both more and less than what Gael expected. What comes of it is this: Gael gets a second chance at life as a vampire.

NOW - Ever since being turned two years ago, Gael signed over his life in a binding pact to the Reardon clan - this is in exchange for this new lease on life. In the two years he's risen to the status of clan representative for really putting the word organized back into the term "organized crime." There's a parallel here that's not lost him - the witch who once hunted the supernatural, now is the vampire that kidnaps humans.

Now that he is finally starting to settle into his new life and new form, Gael's attention returns to what matters most to him: his family. At the core of him, Gael is both the greediest and most protective man you know. He will do anything to protect his happiness; he basically hoards it. And since key to his happiness is his family, he's now a vampire unhinged. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

THE VAMPIRE THAT TURNED HIM - This is the Reardon vampire that turned Gael and brought him into the fold. Gael helped them them once upon a time, surreptitiously, as a witch. The favor is repaid here with literal blood and Gael's signed a blood pact to pay off his life debt.

FEUL HIS NEWBORN VAMPIRE BENDER - Let's be real, Gael has a fresh, new thirst for blood and is about as insatiable as they come. Let him flirt with you! Let him bite you!

NO MAN'S LAND - There's some shady shit going down at No Man's Land and as the newest book-keeper, Gael's now a part of it. Maybe you're into the fight club, maybe you have something to do with people that keep disappearing here.

DECIDED ENEMIES - Have you hurt any of his family members? Gael's out for your fucking blood.

ACCIDENTAL ENEMIES - Gael's played hunter for too long to not have made a few enemies. Turn the tables on him, you're out for his fucking blood.

SECRET ALLIES - Gael's a good potioneer. Maybe he helped you brew a potion once upon a time.

ANYTHING - In general, Gael is very down to clown.