#its not like we ask for payment we are asking for an @ for fuck sake

[talesfromthecrypts]

If you are going to copy and paste gifs into your text post you should acknowledge who you took them from

[ranposgirlboss]

~HCS FROM MY BOOK!!-PART ONE~

THIS IS MULTIFANDOM!! also most of these are either slander or made for being a silly joke <333 so please don't take this seriously

fandoms: genshin impact, bungou stray dogs, and honkai impact

genre: fluff, slander, and sillies (it progressively gets less and less serious)

enjoy my shitty hcs from like a year ago <333 (they are actually older lol) ALSO ARE EXTREMELY SHORT SINCE IM LITERALLY JUST TAKING WHAT I WROTE WITHOUT CHANGING IT AND PUTTING IT OVER ON HERE LMAOASBHJAS (there's only so much space on paper </3)

chara list!!: albedo, kazuha, xiao, diluc, heizou, fu hua (sentience), scaramouche, aponia, dazai, ranpo, poe, ANDDD nikolai!!

FIRST TIME HOLDING HANDS!!

ALBEDO

-"its all for an experiment" he says

-lil bitch ok sure

-probably gonna study what this feeling is when he holds your hand and "why he feels so warm on the inside"

-acts like he doesnt care that much but bros probably gonna draw yall holding hands like a 13 year old drawing in her diary 💀

KAZUHA

-i love him but

-probably would make a poem about how your hand feels 😭

-he would be so cute tho ngl

-i mean just as always but also like

-please hold his hand he just loves you so much and along with words of affirmation physical contact seems to be his thing

-UGH MARRY ME

XIAO

-"wow y/n when you hold my hand the voices cease their calls for me to go to taco bell, thank you y/n."

-TAKE ME HIGHH AND ILL SINGGGG YOU MAKE EVERYTHING OKAY OHKAY OHKAY OHKAY (if you know that song here's your free kiss <33)

-and then you get married the end

-W H Y D I D I W R I T E T H I S B Y E -

DILUC

-could give less of a shit

-but for the sake of being a gentleman he says thank you and then continues bat manning sillily.

HEIZOU

-"y/n holding hands is cool but i think we should start an investigation of how fast we could make it to my place ;)"

-KILL YOURSELF. (please dont lead the way my silly detective <33)

-this gif makes me want to impulsively eat vanilla cake.

FU HUA

-YAAAATTAAAAA

-*holds hand* look at the beautiful sight ahead of us Y/N! no i did not make that fire-"

-fu hua arsonist era

APONIA

-MOMMY bjnEBHEKHBWJSK

-"y/n holding hands is great but why don't we open our arms and eyes to god"

DAZAI

-I APOLOGIZE TO ALL MY BSD READERS WHO HAVE TO SCROLL THIS FAR JUST TO GET THIS SILLy

-"i can always hold more then your hand~"

-a flirty bitch, but yall got chuuya knocking on your door asking you to "control your dog"

-ironic how chuuya is the one who says that

RANPO

-UGH I LOVE MY SKRUNKLE DOODLE PUSH POP SILLY SKRUNKLY CRUNKLY MUMPLY SILLY (yes i wrote that WORD. FOR. WORD.)

-will hold your hand for payments

-affection?? candy??? candys nuts fit in your mouth because they sure are about to <33 (i want to erase what i write sometimes)

-gets so happy omg

-not only does he have candy, you, but NOW he gets to hold your hand too>!1/!?!?

-wow he might as well steal from a candy store at this point

-might as well

-he swears it was an accident

POE

-poe held your hand with such sweetness, care, tenderness, love, and affection

-karl pulls up in his Mazarati, ready to throw hands once and for all, how DARE someone get more attention then karl

-poe has some explaining to do

-(i wonder how high i was when i wrote these)

-(i think i was 5'5)

NIKOLAI ( I FUCKING LOVE THIS ONE)

-so you go to hold his hand in y/n fashion

-suddenly you almost get hit by a bus

-"shit my bad wrong item"

-you stare in utter confusion at the bus as it suddenly vanishes like a fucking mob from minecraft or some shit

-nikolai god arc confirmed real

-so anyways you suddenly feel warmth on your hand on you see another fucking hand gripping yours but its literally just the hand detached from the body

-you are extremely scared and concerned why there's another hand gripping yours out of nowhere but with nikolai anything is possible so you just accept it and hold his hand back

-he giggles and nikolais away with the hand still holding yours

-(I ASKED HOW HIGH I WAS WHEN I WROTE THE LAST ONE BUT WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING HERE.)

----------------------------------

the voices

ALOS THNAK YOU FOR READING THIS PIECE OF SHIT IM SORRY. SHE WAS ME FROM A YEAR AGO I DONT KNOW HER 😭

alos my reqs are always open

I ALSO APOLOGIZE FOR THE TAGS

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Forging Ties - Chapter 17 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

When Skye woke up the next morning, he found that the others were still asleep, so he crawled out from between Hamish and Duran and crept out of the room.

He yawned as he descended the stairs and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth out some of the tangles.

Sera and Everett were sitting at one of the tables with the robot standing next to them, so Skye approached them.

"Good morning, Skye," Sera said.

Everett glanced up from the rectangular device with a digital screen that he was poking at with what looked like a small pen, nodded at Skye, then went back to what he was doing.

Skye's fingers itched to reach out and take the half-eaten omelette on Sera's plate but he tried to be polite.

"Can I have that?"

"Why don't you sit down with us and we'll get you some breakfast of your own?" Sera offered.

"Just tell the robot what you want and it'll tell the people in the kitchen."

Skye gave the robot a distrusting glare as he sat down next to Sera.

"Chicken."

"I'm sorry, that item is not listed on the menu. Could you please..." the robot started but Skye covered his ears and made an "ahhhh" sound until it stopped talking.

Sera sighed loudly.

"Robot, for goodness sake. Just go and ask in the kitchen if they can make up a plate of roast chicken."

"I will inquire in the kitchen," the robot said before walking away.

Sera turned to Everett.

"Can't you give that robot some social awareness?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Everett said. "What happened to wanting a simple robot? Do you know how complicated social awareness is?"

"Maybe for some..." Sera said.

"Oh, no, no, you're right," Everett said as he tapped at the screen with his little pen. "Silly me. I had the 'clueless dickhead' slider set to one hundred. Let me just... oop. There we go, back down to zero. Problem solved."

"Okay, okay," Sera said. "Point taken."

Everett shrugged.

"I'll play around with it and see what I can do. It'll be funny if it fucks up, at least."

Skye looked up as Hamish, Duran and Slone came down the stairs.

"Good morning," Sera greeted as they walked over. "Sit down and I'll buy you some breakfast. The robot should be back from the kitchen in a moment."

"Thanks," Hamish said, sitting down next to Skye and slinging an arm around him.

"We're from far-off lands, so we don't have any local currency."

"Miriam was telling me all about that last night," Sera said. "I'd like to give the trip there a shot, if you'd like. The robot's about as smart as a brick at time but it has better odds than any person of navigating those waters."

"That'd be great," Slone said. "Like Hamish said, we ain't got any money on us but if you get us back home I'm sure we can work something out. Can't say I'm rich myself but my pack'll take care of the debt."

"Miriam also promised payment but I daresay we'll sort it all out," Sera said.

"But not over breakfast. Here, the robot's on its way back. Tell it what you want."

"Whatever meat they got ready to go is fine with me," Slone told the robot.

Everett eyed the robot as the light on the side of its head spun.

"I'll check in the kitchen to see if they can fulfil your request," the robot said and Everett nodded, satisfied.

"Just a bowl of whatever's hot," Hamish said.

"I'll check in the kitchen to see if they can fulfil your request," the robot repeated and Everett gave another nod of approval.

"Porridge, please," Duran told the robot."

I'll check in the kitchen to see if they can fulfil your request," the robot repeated once more.

Everett slapped his hand down on the table in frustration.

"Porridge is on the menu."

"Yes," the robot said. "But there are many reasons an item may not be available even if it's listed on the menu. Porridge is made up of multiple ingredients and it's possible that..."

"Stop," Everett said. "Nobody likes a pedant. Just go and put the orders in."

"I will take the orders to the kitchen."

Duran watched the robot as it walked away.

"Does it have feelings?

"Oh, yeah, of course," Everett said. "I programmed it to do everything I say and then I gave it the ability to feel bad about that, just 'cause. No, it doesn't have feelings. It's just a machine."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sound accusatory or ignorant," Duran said. "I used to be a slave, so I'm a little sensitive to these things."

"Ah, fair enough," Everett said. "Where I'm from, this dumb can of bolts is like a children's toy. It's about as basic as you can get and still have it be useful. It can seem like a person sometimes but it's not one."

"It's my enemy," Skye informed Duran.

Hamish squeezed his arm tighter around Skye.

"Has it been giving you a hard time again?"

"It tried to not give me chicken," Skye told him.

Hamish gasped.

"Mean."

"Yeah."

"Another friend of ours will need to come along on the boat, if that's okay," Duran said. "She's not much to look at but she's harmless."

"We've already got one of those, so what's one more?" Everett asked.

"Just have everyone loaded up by dawn tomorrow," Sera said.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

tags via @montresori

what do u think the jianghu is, a democracy? (laugh rule also I love these tags)

anyway ask and ye shall receive, let's pretend for the sake of shits and giggles that any of this exists, because:

there must be application and processing fees. the records won't search and prepare themselves for release, you know.

I could actually see jgy implementing a formalized process to deal with, idk, precisely how often nhs loses any vital information related to his own sect's finances! which would then also require the implementation of some form of robust information security measures (aka protecting the information that is stored on-site at jinlintai, aka someone good at dispatching anyone nosy enough to go snooping through those business records, and also at doing away with the bodies). naturally there would be some form of records custodianship agreement between jinlintai and qinghe which nhs would pretend to yawn and flick his fan through listening to while also ensuring some fine print is included to allow him unfettered access to his sect's records (so he can have a good reason to be seen bumbling his way around on-site storage, for Plot Cohesion Reasons).

as with any robust policy managing access to and correction of information, an administrator must be able to clarify and scope the nature of the request so that he won't spend the rest of his fucking life buried under enough paperwork to sink a flotilla can most efficiently identify any information that may be responsive to the request 😌 "jiang-zongzhu, this one is in receipt of your information request for access to records regarding /tactful paraphrasing protocol activated, all information we have regarding demonic cultivators for the last calendar year. regrettably, the current parameters of your request are too broad for us to conduct an effective records search without overburdening our administrators. could you please clarify for us which types of records may be of most use to you? for your convenience, I have enclosed a glossary of terms, as well as common exemptions and exclusions which may apply. kind regards etc. etc."

all requests are closed within 30 days if there is no follow-up from the requester. jgy used to send out courtesy reminder missives before he realized that this was only creating additional work for himself. now he just lets the bureaucracy weed out the weaklings for him.

Exemptions and Exclusions must apply, naturally. "thank you for submitting your clarified response to our offices, jiang-zongzhu. the additional context and language you have provided was extremely helpful in guiding our records identification and review process. regrettably, we are unable to release the majority of the records that we have identified as being responsive to your request, as these records are subject to an ongoing investigation and their disclosure may negatively impact its progress and/or cause undue harm to our sect. however, we are prepared to release the following 6,500 pages of responsive record pending payment of the associated administrative processing fees. please see the attached itemized index of record, as well as our records shipping policy indicating that transportation of voluminous records requests must be managed by the requester. I have highlighted the relevant sections of the text for your convenience. kind regards etc. etc."

during his next visit to jinlintai, while having lunch together in the gardens, jin ling lowkey is like, "shushu, jiujiu is really mad at you." jgy, widening his eyes over a teacup, "oh dear 🥺 what for?"

Wen Ning being chained up in the Jin treasure room/murder basement when Wei Wuxian is resurrected is actually the part of the story that makes the least sense to me.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles. 

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed. 

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster. 

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made. 

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard. 

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait. 

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on. 

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child. 

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance. 

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease. 

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.” 

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself. 

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.” 

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek. 

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips. 

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement. 

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

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[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok, Hades gameplay reaction time!

(Because I have been terrible this quarantine year about posting thoughts about stories I've been invested in, and I'm really enjoying this game, and I'm playing basically blind and I have theories, and what is tumblr for if not recording those things to look back on later.)

I love this specific kind of fantasy/speculative fiction, that straddles the line between 'allegory clearly designed to explore a real-world issue' and 'the themes of this reflect real-world issues but also everything is times one million for drama and setting's sake'. I love it so much. Because, look, this is a story about a teenager/young adult trying to gather up the skills and resources and help he needs to escape his controlling, possessive, emotionally abusive father's house. That's it. Strip away all of the trappings, and that's what the story is about. By comparison, I think about Star Wars. (I love Star Wars too.) That's also a story about a dysfunctional fucked-up family dynamic. But that family is fucked up because dad went on a magic-corruption-induced killing spree, and his twin children were separated at birth to be raised in seclusion with the intention of someday taking him down, and look, that's cool, but it's definitely not how people actually are. All of the dysfunction in that family is an outgrowth of the fantastical setting, which means it is fantastical dysfunction. It can occasionally mirror or remind us of real-life interactions, but it's a fantasy. Which is great and fun to watch and very comforting and so on, but I don't necessarily want that in every story, and I love Hades because it is not that, at all. When you extend out the basic 'kid trying to escape his toxic home environment', Hades is the story of Zagreus trying to get out with the help of his dad's estranged, complicated, wealthy and powerful family, who are absolutely part of the reason why dad is Like That in the first place, and may not be any more reliable in the long run but who he needs right now. And his stepmom and teacher, who love him enough to help him leave, unconditionally and supportively (ask me how many feelings I have about 'look, Hades can't hurt me for helping you, don't worry about me, I am going to take care of you and that means helping you get out of this house' coming from an adult authority figure, ask me). And his dad's employees, who like him but also have to fear the old man's wrath, and walk that line in different places the best they can. And stepmom's long-estranged parent, because this is a story about families and how they split apart and come back together. And all of that is so real, so grounded in actual, concrete, this-is-how-humans-work family dynamics. But it's also individual. The story works so well because Hades isn't just a silhouette of the controlling asshole father; he is clearly The Way He Is for reasons, complicated ones, good and bad alike. The Way He Is has details, particularities, paperwork, a dog he pretends not to love and rely on. He is specific. Nyx and Achilles are specific, not just generic kind stepmom here to be a trope inversion and cardboard cutout teacher. Nyx has backstory and personality of her own, Achilles has a complex history, opinions, a missing lover, and they BOTH have very particular relationships with Hades that aren't just boilerplate script. Yes, there's abstraction there, you meet these characters in brief visual novel-esque three-line conversations over the course of dozens of escape runs, of course there's abstraction--but there's the very real sense that all of these people have nuance, have good and bad days, that they've made choices to be who they are, even if we don't know what those choices are yet. And, like Star Wars, some of the ways in which this story is so specific rely entirely on the fact of the otherworldly setting! I've seen stories that go the other way, that try to use their setting entirely as window dressing, and they end up feeling so flat I can't even remember them right now because they don't let the environment lend complexity and nuance to their characters at all. The environment these characters live in matters. The absolute control Hades exerts over his surroundings is a divine power. The fact that everyone Zag runs into, for or against him, is either immortal or immortally dead, changes how the react to

one another and to the situation at hand. The shape of his attempted escapes (gauntlet combat with a variety of legendary weapons) might be an allegorical construct of the genre, true, but it doesn't work in any sort of real-world setting where there exists the possibility of authority figures above or aside from Hades and his extended fucked-up family. That's part of why the family is so fucked-up in the first place. But these changes still fit well within the realm of, 'yeah, if you took this extremely real-life dynamic and added these factors to it, I can envision people doing this thing'. I can envision these specific people doing this thing. They add to the specificity of these characters. Letting them be influenced by their unreal surroundings makes them more real. So hell yes for good storytelling!!!!

I'm still relatively early in the game (by which I mean I'm like thirty runs in but only just got past Meg for the third time, because I am not good at this game, although in my defense it's only the seventh video game and second button-mashing game I have ever played in my life so there's that), but I'm starting to develop suspicions about Persephone. Because, look, outside of Persephone's absence from the underworld, this story knows its Greek mythology, uses it, revels in it. And there is some kind of mystery still shrouding Persephone leaving in the first place. She left a goodbye to Cerberus in her letter but not to her own son. Nyx has warned Zagreus multiple times not to let the Olympians know she's his mother. He literally never even knew she existed. That's complicated! Add to that, Persephone left--the exact thing we are trying and failing to do again and again and again. She left with one note, which means either she managed a one-shot speedrun out of the entire realm or she had some other way to leave, because if she'd washed up in the Styx pool to plod back to her room and try again, she wouldn't've needed to leave the note in the first place. And, you know, she's Persephone. Really quite famous for leaving the Underworld! Also quite famous for being forced back. So. I'm wondering if Zagreus, so conspicuously absent from her goodbye, has something to do with it after all. Six pomegranate seeds condemned Persephone to six months, half a year, half her life. I wonder if a child that's half of her her constitutes a fitting trade instead. Which, of course Hades would be even more resentful and dismissive and cruel to the kid he got in place of the wife he loved (who he chased away by being cold in the first place). Of course Persephone would have difficulty saying goodbye to her son in those circumstances. It would make sense. The tricky thing here is how the Olympians fit into it, because I also suspect the rift between Hades and Zeus sprang from Persephone's departure. And yet, if the Olympians never knew Zagreus existed, let alone that he's Persephone's son--how can he count as payment into the deal in their eyes? So in that case, what does Zeus think is the justification for Persephone leaving, after the pomegranate thing? Or are we just not doing the pomegranate thing at all? It would be a shame to lose it entirely, out of a story that really seems to enjoy the myths it's playing with. And there should be something complex here, something more than simply 'mom fucked off and left because dad sucked and now I'm following her because same'. It feels more complex than that. 'Mom and dad had a baby to try and save their marriage, it didn't work, but when mom left she had to leave me behind because otherwise dad would have gotten the cops and her extended family involved' feels more right, while still just as grounded in reality as the story has been so far.

I sort of want to write some meta about how each of the six legendary weapons corresponds to their original divine wielder, but I haven't unlocked all of their codex entries yet (look I am very bad with ranged weapons in this game ok, I am working on it), and I still need to think about the details. Aside from, of course, fuck yes of course Hestia's the one with the railgun. Leave drama and elegance and traditional weaponry to her brothers and sister (Demeter, who knows how to get her hands dirty, gets a pass). Hestia is out here to get shit done. With a grenade launcher.

[serpenteve]

us critiquing the sab books: talk about how allina in the books makes for an unsatisfactory protagonist with an unsatisfactory arc and how the story's treatment of her is also a bit sexist AND her being a passive protagonist while the men around her seem to be driving the plot is annoying.

antis: YOU'RE A SEXIST AND A MISOGYNIST FOR NOT WORSHIPPING ALINA

(tbh that word vomit ask calling alina critiques sexist -- there's been similar word vomit asks that sound more of a rambling rant than an actual ask across a bunch of darklina/darkling blogs and i'm pretty sure it's all the same person but lol)

I just made a post today on how the Discourse™ about the sexist ending of Ruin & Rising has literally come full circle with the antis claiming any critique about the sexist ending is itself sexist ☠️

Honestly, I don't even think these are good faith arguments. From my point of view, it sounds like some antis are threatened and insecure that their canon ship isn't as popular and see any critique about the canon as a personal attack on them.

Like this whole new take that "Ackshully, Darklina shippers are the ~real~ sexists because they hate stay-at-home moms and ship Alina with her abuser!!!11" is a response to a strawman opinion no one is even making.

No one is shitting on stay-at-home moms, housewives, or women who choose to take on more traditional roles. What we are critiquing is why the author chose to write and frame her story the way she did. By writing Alina's story the way she did, she has now participated in a long ancient history in which not only is female power repeatedly demonized but the heroine is forced to give up her power/career/ambition/whatever for the sake of a man and his desires.

To add to that, the idea that "women should be able to stay at home" is also not a particularly timely take either considering that being a stay-at-home wife or mother is no longer a choice, but rather a luxury. When I was a kid, my parents supported a mortgage, car payments, and three whole kids on one (1) salary. That's fucking impossible today.

Which, ironically, is exactly the kind of ending Alina gets. Through her connections with Nikolai and friends in high places, she is able to afford to buy Keramzin and its surrounding lands and take care of the orphans there while the majority of Ravka is stuck working until death and would have gladly given an arm and a kidney to have a fraction of the kind of power Alina had at her peak.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

hot take but i don't ship geraskier in canon/ canon era (at least netflix canon cause that's what i know) and ill tell you why:

-geralt pretty obviously has a lot of self hatred going on and is pretty emotionally constipated. clearly he cares about jaskier to an extent (the elves, the djinn, etc) but i find it hard to believe that he would be able to love someone else like a s/o when he doesn't love himself and sees himself as pretty unworthy of that

-jaskier is the continents version of a fuckboy. he specifically talks about the countess de stael, but its obvious that he's fucked At Least a few people’s wives, daughters, and even some nobility (see ep 4), probably while he's been traveling with geralt (remember, there's a lot of their travels that we don't see). would jaskier really sacrifice this habit that he seems to enjoy for a witcher (especially when he seems to have a penchant for screwing rich people/ nobility and geralt is neither of those)

-jaskier likes the finer things in life (joey has said so himself) (also probably why he likes to fuck rich people) and is a generally well known bard (he plays at pavetta’s betrothal banquet for fucks sake). he's also a viscount (so he claims) and obviously cares about his image. so i find it hard to believe that he would date a witcher because while jaskier is trying to repair geralts reputation, witchers are still pretty unliked and it would probably not be good for his reputation if people found out he and geralt were more than just friends

-jaskiers clothes suggest that they don't see each other very often. now yes jaskier does like nice clothes and stuff but if you were traveling for most of every year with a witcher i would expect that your clothes would get at least a little dirty (sleeping on the ground, monster guts, etc) and jaskiers clothes never appear to be so. furthermore, he never once carries a pack or a saddle bag (gerald, by comparison, always has a bunch of saddle bags, a bed roll, his swords, etc) for the entire show, just his lute. yes Technically he could be keeping them on roach but geralts pretty protective of his horse and probably wouldn't allow it (see ep 2). this leads me to believe that geralt and jaskier probably stumble across each others paths once every few years or so, jaskier tags along for maybe one hunt (or maybe just waits for geralt at some inn), gets some inspiration for a new song, and they part ways. because if he's a traveling bard he obviously has to carry food and clothes and shit (which he's never seen doing) so its likely that all of his excursions with geralt are day trips and they don't see each other very often. 

-geralt isn't fond of humans, especially after blaviken and clearly tries to stay away from them as much as possible. he also probably thinks himself to be a monster (having people scream that at you will do that) and generally only speaks to humans when necessary. granted, jaskier isn't your average human. but geralt probably is still leery of him (esp if they don't see each other that often) so why would he date him (especially if he probably thinks he's going to hurt him)

-geralt isn't one for commitments. all of his partners are prostitutes, or yennefer (but they're only tied together by destiny, not by their own free will but that's a whole other post). he’s aware that 1. long term partners are not the life for a witcher and 2. he'd outlive them anyway. he's quite literally married to his work

-as i stated up top, geralt has Issues and hates himself. even if he were in love with jaskier he'd be 1. too dumb to realize it or 2. ignore it because there's no way jaskier would want him. but more importantly since he hates himself and believes that witchers cannot be happy, he would not explore his sexuality. he probably wouldn't even know he was attracted to men and if he did he'd blame it on his mutations or something ridiculous. he hates himself too much to be comfortable with who he is. 

-jaskier is infatuated with whoever is in front of him at the time. sometimes that's geralt, but most of the time its not geralt. he's very instant satisfaction and would not want to wait around for decades for an emotionally constipated witcher when he could have his pick of (married) women and nobles and whoever else. 

-jaskier? kinda? uses? geralt? its implied in the show that jaskier kinda becomes famous because of his songs about geralt (toss a coin mainly) and clearly uses him for inspiration. the scene in ep 4 when they're in the tavern and geralts covered in guts especially shows this. jaskier calls him “witcher” not geralt, and says “it’s time to repay your debt” as in geralt is somehow indebted to jaskier because jaskier chose to sing about him and make him “famous” when geralt really didn't ask for that at all (see ep 2). jaskier then says “i should be taking 10% of all your coin” as if he doesn't know that witchers often get stiffed out of payment. and then he refers to himself as geralts “very best friend in the whole wide world” which clearly, isn't true. and geralt knows that because  he says “im not your friend” not you're not my friend or we’re not friends, no, im not your friend. he knows he's being used. and he lets jaskier do it cause what else is he gonna do? its a business transaction to him. and also the whole jaskier wishing on the djinn thing like, really? geralt wanted to nap. and probably some other stuff too and jaskier Knew This cause they had just Talked About It and then he took the wishes from him. without asking. so why on earth would they be dating??? 

anyway in my opinion geraskier only works in modern era cause otherwise there's just too much weird canon shit mucking it up. they're close friends in canon and that's that.

[decayedflower]

Stranger II

⋆ gif is mine

Pairing: Yang Hongwon x Reader

Genre: Underground rapper!Hongwon, Barista!Reader | angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Don’t get attached. This was his number one rule. Attachment means getting hurt. Attachment means vulnerability. You are the only person you can trust. So how could she so easily sneak past and break the walls he had worked so hard to build around his heart when all she is, is a stranger?

Warnings: cussing, some angst, hamin being a noodle

A/N: Sorry this took forever to upload, life happens ya know? Next chapter should be more exciting as the ball gets rolling. Hope you guys enjoy :)

You told yourself that no matter how in love you were with someone, you could detach yourself from your emotions enough so that—should the day come—you could live your life without them.

Looking at yourself now, you admit you’re a little ashamed. You couldn’t stop bawling your eyes out for 2 weeks straight. You guess you didn’t do as good a job ‘detaching’ as you thought you did.

You mentally slap yourself. You once lived your life without him bitch, you can do it again. 

It was on a rainy Monday afternoon that you found yourself in bed—cheeto dust on your titties—marathon watching Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo. Curse Nam Joohyuk. How could a man be so goddamn perfect? He was handsome, funny, loving—and most certainly not a CHEATER. 

You sigh and decide that you should probably get up and shower before Hyeri comes home and sees your miserable state. You feel bad worrying her so much. She’s always been way too kind and selfless for her own good.

You grab a fresh set of pj’s and determinedly head to the bathroom. The least you could do was stop moping and try to clear your thoughts of him. For both your sakes.

Just as you finish that thought, you catch sight of the item sitting on top of your dresser. Your favorite hoodie. His hoodie. You scowl and toss it into the trash bin. If only all men were like Nam Joohyuk. The world would be a much more peaceful place.

“Sooo, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You know how Princess Peach is always getting her ass kidnapped?”

You laugh at the odd question. “I do recall the kidnapping of the Princess Peach ass, yes.”

“Well, it just hit me. Why doesn’t the bitch ever fight back? I mean,” Jin places a hand on his hip thoughtfully, “how is it that she manages to get kidnapped by the same dude every single time? She’s a princess. Shouldn’t she have high level security?”

“Huh. I never really thought about that.”

“How could you not! She has marshmallows for bodyguards. It’s outrageous.”

“Does it really matter?” you ask.

He sounds genuinely offended. “Of course it does. You ever see Daisy getting kidnapped?”

“Well, no but—“

“Besides, isn’t it a little ridiculous how there’s this expectation that Mario has to save her? I mean, he’s not even a prince or a knight, he’s a plumber! An italian plumber! The amount of disrespect is just astronomical considering the lengths he goes to—”

“Seokjin why are we talking about this?” You ask, baffled. You take a look at your workstation and head to the stockroom to get more large size cups. Jin trails behind you, obviously upset with your lack of interest in the conversation.

 “It’s a legitimate concern, Y/N. Someone needs to pay attention to these details and it is the duty of I, the consumer, to voice the—whoa whoa whoa, since when do we have oatmeal raisin cookies?!” He screeches mid-rant, staring at a pack of cookies he holds in his hand.

You whip around to have a look, not believing your ears. “What the fuck?”

It’s true. The box of oatmeal raisin cookies sits atop the third shelf, right next to the double chocolate chip cookies.

“The boss sent an email out on Sunday,” Yoongi stands at the doorway holding a box of promotional flyers. If it were possible, you swear tumbleweed would have made its way between the three of you with the silence that follows as you and Jin stare at each other blankly.

“Which,” Yoongi drawls out, “I guess neither of you read.” he states dryly, walking away.

“Who the hell likes oatmeal raisin?” Jin asks defensively. Personally, you couldn’t agree more. Oatmeal cookies on their own were tolerable—it was the raisin part that completely ruined the entire cookie.

“They’re Satan’s spawn,” he scowls, tossing the aforementioned cookie back in the box as if it had personally insulted him. You chuckle and shake your head, walking back to your station with the box of plastic cups.

You start stocking them back up on the counter, making sure it looks neat. 

“Hey Jin,” Yoongi calls out from the front of the store, “can you grab that window marker and write out the menu again? The rain washed some of it off.” He says, examining the missing bits of letters, nose scrunched in annoyance.

You could practically hear the way the older boy starts seething at Yoongi’s lack of use in honorifics. The tips of his ears flare a bright red, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I’M SORRY, COME AGAIN?! I couldn’t hear you over the DISRESPECT.”

Seokjin takes great pride in being the oldest of the crew. He enjoys taking care of the others as if they were of his own blood, you included. He has a somewhat sarcastic sense of humor—but never overbearingly so—always exaggerating his facial expressions and reactions, which you personally find charming. Seokjin is also infamous for his constant dad jokes, the younger ones usually cringing at their cheesiness and have you bending over in laughter. (The other boys beg you to stop egging him on as it only fuels his desire to keep them going.) That being said, Jin is not someone who gets easily irritated. When it comes to certain things, he is just, well, a bit of a drama queen.

You stifle a laugh, watching as Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, very obviously regretting his choice of words. “Hyung, will you please go rewrite the menu outside?”

“Thank you! Can’t you just do that from the get go? I swear you kids are so ungrateful sometimes. I mean, you all seem to forget how I practically raised you brats—”

“Hyung, please get your ass outside or so help me I will go into that break room right now, clock out, take the longest nap of my damn life and just leave you two out here to die.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting his hand up, “I’m going geez. What a drama queen.” He huffs his way to the entrance, shaking his head, marker in hand. “And you guys say I’m the dramatic one.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

Yoongi stands there looking up at the ceiling with his hands on both hips as if silently asking the heavens for a tiny shred of patience.

You snicker behind your hand. You swear hearing those two bicker is your daily source of serotonin. 

It’s 3 more hours into your shift when Hamin shows up at the front counter with his signature soft boy smile.

He first visited the cafe during the summer one day back when you had just been hired. The intense summer heat wave had him coming in search of some shelter from the sun and a drink to cool off. The Grind was promoting the seasonal summer drinks and naturally, as a new hire, you tried your best to advertise it. It was only your second day on the job and in your nervous state you sold him a drink that, to just your luck, wasn’t available that day. You apologized profusely afraid that he would turn out to be a Karen, but Hamin had been very sweet about it. He befriended you after that, making frequent visits to the Grind, declaring that he had found a hidden gem.

After talking to him some more you learned that Hamin had studied psychology for two years at a local college before he decided to drop out and pursue his musical career. Of course he didn’t tell you that last part up until a couple of weeks ago, so you had been under the impression that the reason he spent so many hours at the coffee shop was to study for his exams. You weren’t the type of person to pry into someone’s personal life unless they decided to tell you themselves so you never asked. Ever since Hongwon confessed to you that both he and Hamin were working towards becoming musicians, Hamin began to share more about himself to you. He figured that now that the cat was out of the bag, he could be more open with you. Prior to that day, you knew very little about Hamin’s personal life.

“Hey you! You’re back,” you beam. 

“Yeah, gotta grind,” he pats his bag for emphasis. “Ha! Grind...” he snorts suddenly. “Get it? Cause we’re at...” he gestures to the shop and laughs to himself. He looks goofy standing there in his bright lavender tie dye hoodie, a big contrast to the muted colors of the walls. His tall lean form stands out like a sore thumb. An Adidas baseball cap adorns his head but it’s so washed out you can’t even tell what color it is—or is supposed to be. 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh come on, it was funny,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“It was funny the first couple times Jin said it when I just started working here,” You correct.

“You still laughed though,” he winks at you, making you laugh again. “Anyway,” he straightens up, “Can I get the usual, please?”

You grab a cup and start writing his name. “Just you this time?” 

“Nah, my idiot friend is coming but he’s gonna run late so I’ll just order ahead of him.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket in search of his wallet. “How much is it?” He asks, fumbling through a bunch of receipts and cards.

You wave him off. “On the house.”

“No way, I can—”

“Hamin, dude, relax. You do this every time. I keep telling you, discount: friend. Total: zero.” 

“You gotta let me pay every now and then. I don’t want your coworkers to think I keep coming here to leech off you…”

“Look, if you were really taking advantage of me, you wouldn’t keep disappearing on me for weeks at a time. Consider it an advance payment for when you finally let me hear a song of yours. ”

“Sorry…” He smiles sheepishly, “It’s a deal then. Thanks Y/N, you’re the best,” he grins. You flip your hair dramatically, playing along.

You make his drink and note that work is slow enough, so you head over to his table instead of calling him over.

You place his drink on the table, “so what’re you working on today?” He looks up and thanks you, taking a sip before he answers.

“A solo project. I don’t have anything now that’s worth listening to though…” He says dejectedly. Admittedly, he’s been going though somewhat of a writer's block. 

“That’s okay! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be glad to give it a listen if you’re still willing to let me. Good music also takes time, right?” You smile encouragingly.

Someone yells out your name before he’s able to respond. You turn at the sound, “Oh hey!” you exclaim when you see your roommate. You turn back to wish Hamin luck on his writing.

“Thanks for the lunch, Hyeri,” you pat your stuffed tummy in satisfaction. “I forgot to prep mine last night so I was honestly just gonna wait until I got home to eat,” you confess meekly.

She showed up during your shift planning to ask you what kind of food you were in the mood for so she could bring it to you, but Yoongi caught on and sent you on your lunch break so the two of you could eat together instead. Min Yoongi was a godsend. 

“I knew it! Y/N, you have to eat your meals! Do you know how detrimental it is to your health if you’re constantly working and skipping your meals?!” you cower as she scolds you. 

“I know…sorry. I just forgot...” you squeak.

“Ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I just worry about you,” she sighs, taking her seat again.

“And I’m so thankful!” you say quickly placing your hand on hers, “I’m sorry you’re always having to take care of me. I’ll work harder so that I don’t become a burden to you. I promise. I haven’t been myself these days but...just give me some time.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, “Hey. You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. You’re like a sister to me. And I would never put your emotions against you. You need time to heal and that’s okay. Take it at your pace. I will always look after you, no matter what. Okay?”

Your heart warms at her words. You were so grateful to have her for a best friend. You engulf her in a hug and look at the time. 

“I should head back. My break is just about over. Thank you for everything, Hyeri. Are you staying? I’ll make you a drink. On the house. You can study there?” you ask.

“Well, I was planning on going to my school’s library, but I guess I could use a drink…” She paused for a moment. “Is Jungkook working today?” She asks, hopeful. 

Her crush on your coworker was so amusing. “Unfortunately for you, not today, sorry.” She pouts cutely.

“I’ll make you a green matcha latte?”

“Pretty please.”

You giggle, “Okay, let’s head back then.” 

It was a good thing the two of you decided to eat at the chinese restaurant across the shop, so the walk isn’t long. You came here so often that the kind elderly woman who owned the restaurant had memorized your order. You couldn’t help it that their sweet and sour chicken was bomb as hell. What you would give for that recipe.

You’re internally groaning at the thought of having to go back into work when Hyeri stops in front of the entrance and lets out a low whistle. 

“Whoa, hey. Which one of your coworkers drives a damn motorcycle?!” She points to a sleek, graphite motorcycle parked on the curb, two cars away from yours. 

“Whoa. Uhh...no one, not that I’m aware of. Jin drives a Honda Civic and Yoongi ubers cause of car issues.” You shrug, opening the door. “Must be a customer’s.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s just me, but that thing is screaming big dick energy.” She says, following behind you. You laugh and smack her shoulder. 

“You say that but what if it’s some old bald dude that listens to metal?” You ask, leading her to a table farther in the back so she can study peacefully. 

“Well err...hopefully not. I’m just saying whoever rides that thing, I wouldn’t mind riding too. Hell, I could ride all night…” she trails off. You bury your embarrassed face in your hands and try to hold in your laughter so you don’t disturb the customers. 

“Oh my god. Stop talking. You’re gonna get me in trouble.” You point at a chair, “Sit here and I’ll bring your drink. Behave,” you warn playfully.

“Yes ma'am,” She winks and points shooter fingers at you. You laugh with a roll of your eyes, heading back to clock in. 

“You seem...distracted.” Hamin says, amusement lacing his words.

“Huh?” Hongwon turns at the accusation with wide eyes.

He sighs. “I mean,” he says crossing his arms, “ever since you got here 15 minutes ago, it’s like you keep looking around for...something.”

“So, you’re saying for the past 15 minutes you’ve been watching me like a creep?” He turns his attention back to the music software in front of him. “I told you I don’t swing that way.” he says, clicking random notes on the half-finished project.

Hamin snorts. “Don’t change the subject. What‘s got you so distracted dude?” He asks, slurping up the remains of his drink through his straw.

“The only distraction here is the eggplant sitting in front of me...” He trails off when you enter the coffee shop with your friend in tow. You’re laughing, giving her a smack on the shoulder playfully at a joke she tells you.

Hamin stops his obnoxious slurping when he follows his friend’s gaze. “Ohhhhh!” he grins.

“What?” He snaps. “No ohhhh. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Hamin brings his hands up defensively. “Brain empty. No thoughts.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “Buuuttt if you were so interested you could’ve just asked, you know.”

“And what would I have asked exactly?” He asks with a tinge of annoyance.

Hamin tsks under his breath, exasperated. “Oh come on. I mean Y/N. You wanted to know if she was working. Am I right or am I right?”

“Why the hell would I wanna know that? I don’t even know her. ”

“Hongwon!” He’s caught off guard at the sound of your voice. He internally slams his own head against the table and forces a smile when you approach the table, avoiding Hamin’s gaze.

“Y/N, hey…”

“Hold on, you know each other already?” Hamin asks obnoxiously, “I only briefly mentioned you to him, but you already know his name!” Hongwon shoots daggers at the side of his head.

“Actually,” Hongwon says through gritted teeth, “we talked for a bit when I was on my way out the other day. It would have been rude of me to not introduce myself since she’s your friend.”

“He was even kind enough to walk with me on the way home even though it was raining. Thanks for that by the way, you really didn’t have to do that.”  Hamin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shit. The smile you give him is so sincere that he almost misses what you say completely.

“Really!” Hamin grins, clearly enjoying the situation. He pats his shorter friend’s head in mock endearment. “That’s so sweet of him! I mean, considering he lives in a completely opposite di—” Hongwon sends a swift kick to his shin underneath the table.

“Fuck!” Hamin rubs the spot and laughs through the gritted teeth. “I mean...that’s sweet of him considering he’s normally so shy.” He growls at Hongwon and plasters a smile when he looks back at you. You probably think they’re both lunatics.

“Right…” You laugh, unsure of what’s happening. “By the way, did you want a drink? I’ll make it for you.” You tell Hongwon.

“Oh, uh yeah I was just gonna get an americano. Let me just—” He starts to stand up and take out some cash when you stop him.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” He asks. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”

“Don’t worry, I get free drinks and pastries since I work here.” You say.

“And she shares them with me because I’m her favorite customer. Right, Y/N?” Hamin wiggles his eyebrows at you. You laugh and pick up his empty cup.

“Is he always this much of a moron when he comes here?” Hongwon asks, scrunching his face in distaste. You laugh and ask them to wait while you bring them coffee. 

Hamin waits until you’re completely out of ear shot before he begins his interrogation. 

“You know, for a pair of strangers, you two seem very well acquainted.” He states, eyes narrowed.

Hongwon scoffs. “You know, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but somehow you have a really punchable face.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh shut up. I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I needed to.”

“‘I don’t even know her,’” Hamin mimics.

“I don’t know her. I know her name, that’s it. Not the same thing.”

“So you like her.”

He laughs. “What are you, five? How could I like her? I just met her, idiot.”

“You walked her home.” He says pointedly.

“Part way. I only did it because it was getting late and she’s your friend.”

“Ha! Since when do you care about my friends?”

“She’s a girl, it’s different. If something happened to her because I looked the other way, it’d be on my conscience.”

“You live in completely opposite directions.”

“So what?”

“You wouldn’t even do that for me.” Hamin deadpans.

“Yeah but you’re not a cute girl.” He shrugs, crossing his arms.

“So you think she’s cute!” He slams both hands onto the table, leaning forward to peer into Hongwon’s face accusingly. 

“So what? She is cute.” He shoves him away, “that doesn’t mean I like her.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Hamin smirks and leans back in his seat.

“What?” He snaps.

“Nothing,” He says with a look on his face that screams everything but nothing.

Hongwon drags his hands over his face. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“You may have mentioned that before,” he replies, appearing unbothered.

He’s lucky you decide to come back at that moment. He swears he’d have slapped the smile off his face had he been left alone with Hamin for a minute longer.

You set down the coffee and start to walk back to the counter. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you guys too much so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Y/N!” Hamin shifts in his seat to face you. “Are you busy Friday?” This puts Hongwon on alert.

 “Hmmm...no, I don’t think I have anything going on actually. Why what’s up?”

“You’ve been wanting to hear some of our music for a while now, right? Well,” he loops an arm around Hongwon’s shoulder, “guess who has a gig that night?”

“No way!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands. “Wait, but I thought you didn’t have any music that’s finished.” You frown.

“Well, it’s not that we don’t, I just kinda wanted you to hear our new stuff first. But now that I think about it, this is as good a time as any. If you’re interested, a friend of ours is hosting a party and he asked a couple of artists to play for him. It’s at the Henz Club.” 

“You mean that scary looking club in Mapo-gu?”

“Scary? I mean sure, some odd looking people hang around there, but they’re all pretty chill for the most part. Right Hongwon?” 

Hongwon slaps his arm away. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to come but you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” He supplies. “We’d understand if—oof!”

“Nonsense!” Hamin butts in, shoving his elbow into Hongwon’s side. “You can bring your friend over there if you want, so you don’t have to worry about being alone.” He motions his head in the direction of Hyeri who—not so discreetly—pretends like she hasn’t been trying to make out what the three of you have been talking about for the past 10 minutes.

“Ah, but either way we won’t ditch you after the performance, I promise. How about it?”

Hongwon is still recovering from having the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knows it, somehow you’re agreeing and Hamin is giving you the details. 

“I’m so excited, I can’t wait to hear you guys.” You say cheerfully. 

“You should see this guy on stage,” Hamin gestures to Hongwon, “he really puts on a show. Like a true rockstar.”

 “You know, you saying that doesn’t make me feel good,” Hongwon says with a frown, sitting back in his chair defeatedly. 

 “Oh and don’t be surprised if you hear a lot of screaming.” He ignores him, “There’s always a lot of fangirls, especially for Hongwon. They literally come in swarms, it's crazy.”

“Oh my god. Stop. You’re so embarrassing.” He groans, looking away.

“Wow, you’re really hyping him up,” you laugh.

“Ignore him. He’s just saying whatever the hell he wants.” 

“No way, it’s really the truth.” He insists, folding his arms across his chest.

“Y/N! We need you in the back!” Yoongi calls out, his head poking out from the staff only door. 

“I gotta go. I guess I’ll see you guys on Friday!” You say, waving. “Coming!” You call out, following after your coworker.

Hamin smiles stupidly as you leave. “Isn’t she sweet!”

Hamin and Hongwon hang around at the café for a few more hours until they decide to grab a bite to eat. For the remainder of the time they spent working on their music, Hongwon had not uttered a single word. The most Hamin had gotten out of him was a “sure” when he suggested they get burgers before heading home.

He exits his car, watching as Hongwon removes his helmet to fix the mess it makes of his hair. 

Sighing deeply, Hamin leans against the side of his car, hitting the park button on his remote. “Come on, don’t be so cold. How long are you gonna give me the silent treatment for?” 

He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dreading to ask but needing to know. “Are you really that pissed off because I invited her?”

Hongwon slips the hollow side of his helmet onto the handlebar and mimics Hamin, leaning against his motorcycle. “Depends,” he says, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket to light one up, “why’d you invite her?”

Hamin considers his answer carefully, shifting his weight onto the other leg. It’s obvious that Hongwon is already upset, so anything he says will probably get him angry anyway. “I was hoping maybe you guys could hit off,” he says at last, deciding to be honest.

In truth, Hongwon isn’t surprised to hear this—he actually suspected it—but it still pisses him off nonetheless. It wasn’t the first time Hamin tried setting him up with someone. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. This was something he had told him countless times and yet, he continues to pull stunts like this.

“I know you said you aren’t looking for a relationship,” Hamin continues when he proceeds to bring the cigarette to his lips without a reply, “but I just think you could at least talk to her and—“

“And then what? We fall in love, get married and ride off into the sunset?” He cuts him off abruptly.

“No, I just—“ he starts to say but stops when he can’t think of how to word it correctly.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Y/N went through a bad breakup, and so did I. You think maybe the two of us can find the comfort we couldn’t find with our previous relationships, in each other.” He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that's a load of shit. This idea you have that love can just make me forget about all my trauma, is a load of shit.” Hamin flinches at the sudden aggression in his tone. This really didn’t come across the way he intended it to.

“Guess what, I’m fucked up Hamin!” He continues, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I have too many damn issues and I don’t need some chick to try to figure me out or fix me. I told you already, I’m happy with the way things are. I’m not gonna play into your stupid games just because you want to play fuckin’ cupid.” Hongwon scowls, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Hamin keeps his gaze on the ground, frustrated with how easily and accurately Hongwon is able to guess what he’s thinking. He didn’t realize how terrible it all sounded out loud. He racks his brain for something—anything—to say and argue that those aren’t his intentions, but Hongwon is speaking again before he’s able to do so successfully. 

“I don’t care if you invite her. Just don’t go expecting anything out of me.”

He nods his head weakly. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, bro…” He says scratching his neck, “I’m not trying to find someone to fix you...” he trails off.

“It’s cool.” He sniffles, the cold air getting to him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap like that.”

Hamin is taken aback for a second, not expecting him to apologize. He kicks the floor with his sneaker, “S’cool.”

“You still hungry?” Hamin asks, afraid that their little spat would create unnecessary tension between them.

Hongwon tosses his cigarette onto the floor to put it out with his sneaker. “Fuckin’ starving.”

You went home together with Hyeri later that afternoon once your shift was over. It was always nice to go home when the sun was setting and the air felt cooler. You loved how quiet the city got, allowing you to simply be one with your thoughts. 

Unfortunately for you, today was not one of those days.

You release a sigh as you continue to pretend to not notice Hyeri’s constant fidgeting. “Hyeri, if you want to know so badly just ask already.”

She releases a giant breath as if she had been holding it this entire time. “Oh thank goodness because I felt like I was actually going to die if you didn’t say something soon,” she says grabbing your arm excitedly, like a puppy who was just called over by its owner. 

“What were you doing with those two hotties I’ve never seen before?” You couldn’t tell what made her more excited―the fact that she found them so attractive or the fact that you were talking to men other than your coworkers. “Is one of them single?” she stops walking and gasps, “Are they both single?!”

An older lady walking her Chihuahua gives you a scornful look as she passes the two of you and you bring your finger to your lips to shush Hyeri. “Sorry,” she says with a giggle, “but this is huge!”

You pull her along with you to cross the short crosswalk and to the steps of your apartment complex, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’ve seen Hamin before.” You say, slipping your house key into the lock and opening the door.

“Okay but, this time there was another guy too. And you guys talked for like 20 minutes! On your shift!” She says, removing her shoes quickly to stand in front of you excitedly. You stop untying your shoelaces to give her a look.

“He’s a friend I made through Hamin. Who is also just my friend,” You tell her slowly as if you were explaining it to a child but you can tell by her smile that she’s not listening. You sigh and slip your work shoes off, putting them in the hallway closet. Hyeri hovers behind you, not wanting to be too pushy but also too worked up to leave you alone.

You stand up straight and turn around. “Okay fine. Hamin invited me to this party,” this already has Hyeri clasping her hands over mouth, “he and his friend are playing a gig for a friend—”

She’s squealing and jumping around before you can finish your sentence. “And they want you there as their plus one! Oh my—”

“But I think Hamin knows about the breakup and he feels bad and that’s why he invited me,” you say quickly. Hyeri stops mid spin to give you an incredulous look. “I mean, they kind of saw the whole thing since it happened at work,” you say glumly.

Hyeri wraps her arms around you when she sees how you deflate at the reminder. “Hey, don’t make such a sad face. You guys have been friends for a while now, right? I haven’t met the guy but I’m sure he invited you because he wants you there and not because he pities you.”

“Sorry. I think I’ve been trying too hard not to think about it so all the negative thoughts are really hitting me now,” you say, resting your head on her shoulder. She always had such a comforting mom warmth to her.

She releases you and gives you a comforting smile. “Do you want to go?”

“Well,” you sit on your bed exhausted, “I actually didn’t know Hamin played music until recently. I’ve really been wanting to hear some of his stuff and apparently his friend does music too..”

“Girl, there’s your answer! Who says you have to spend your days sad and alone after a breakup? If you want to go, go.” She encourages you. She had a point. Although somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt guilty. When Hamin invited you, you were super stoked and set on going but now that you were really thinking about it, you couldn’t help but think of Jaewon.

“I can tell you’re overthinking this,” Hyeri says. “Don’t. You’re a free woman! Free from a man who took advantage of you and didn’t know how to treasure you. Do whatever the fuck you want because it’s no one’s business. It’s not like you’re planning to go sleep around.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “and even if you are guess what, it’s still no one’s business.” She says vehemently.

You pick at your nails and bite your lip. “Okay.”

“Okay?!”

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

She squeals again and launches herself onto you. You land with an oof on your bed, her head barely missing yours by an arm hair. “Oh, one more thing though,” you manage to say from beneath her. “They kind of invited you too.”

Hyeri lifts herself up at this. She stares at you with wide eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I guess they saw us talking together and figured we were friends. Also, they caught you trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.” You tell her.

“Nooooooooooo,” she cries and runs to throw herself onto her bed face flat.

“It was the hiding behind an upside down textbook for me,” you snicker.

“Y/N, please I’m in the middle of dying of embarrassment.”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 5 [18+/NSFW]

<- Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 ->

Summary: After your not-boyfriend, Frederick Chilton, turns out to be not-dead, you hope you can elevate your status from fuckbuddies. Maybe be honest about how you feel? But honesty is haaard... especially when he is more closed-off than ever.

(This is probably my favorite chapter. It has actual smut. And ridiculous idiots, and fluuuuuuuff)

5,075 words

After Hannibal fled, leaving a bloodbath in his wake, Dr. Frederick Chilton returned to the land of the living and to administrating his psychiatric hospital as if he had simply been away on vacation.

Likewise, your relationship resumed where it had left off. You thought things would be different now—that you would be more honest with your feelings, and he might open up, too—but nothing changed, except for the things that changed in a direction you didn’t like.

“Oh, Doctor Chilton, I need help,” you purred, leaning seductively against the doorway of his office. He sat up rigidly in his leather chair and stammered a greeting with failed nonchalance.

Since his return, his voice shot up an octave whenever you walked in the room. He was like a shy teenager with his first crush, and you could only assume he was re-learning how to exist in the world after trauma. What else would it be?

Slinking up to his desk, you unfastened the top buttons of your shirt. He swallowed, hungry, but not immediately pouncing upon you with a lewd promise growled in your ear and a firm grasp on your hip like he used to do. New reserves of insecurity crouched beneath his skin like lions hidden in tall grass. It broke your heart to see that timidity in his eyes, but it was all incentive for you to work harder to relax him.

“I’m afraid I don’t have insurance, doctor,” you pouted, pushing aside a stack of papers to sit on his desk. “And mental health care is prohibitively costly because of a broken for-profit system, leaving the most vulnerable populations without access…” you put an emphasis on vulnerable, biting your lip.

He quirked a brow. “Your sexy-talk needs work.” 

“Oh, doctor,” you moaned, sliding off the desk and straddling his lap to pull at his tie. “Until we get universal healthcare”—you brought the end of his orange tie up to your mouth and bit it, gazing coquettishly into his eyes—“surely there’shh some ofther way I can pay you…” you lisped, mouth stuffed full of tie. 

He never knew it was possible to laugh, be annoyed, and aroused at the same time, but you were always teaching him new things. 

“That would be a severe ethics violation,” he said sternly, brows lowered, but clearly teasing. You snorted. 

It was impossible to remain self-conscious around someone flirting so badly. His hesitation melted away as he turned your awkward role-play around on you, so you moved on to phase two. Sinking to your knees at the foot of his chair, half under his desk, you smoothed the fabric of his pants over his lap, rubbing his inner thighs to coax his legs open and position yourself between them.

He drew in a sharp breath, but disguised it as a gasp of offense. “This is highly inappropriate. I am going to have to ask you to leave my office. Future visits will be attended by a nurse to ensure proper conduct, or I can refer you to another psychiatrist,” he said in a dry monotone, fully committed to playing hard-to-get. You growled in annoyance at him in between bursts of laughter. He patted your head patronizingly. “Now, now, I am a magnanimous doctor. I am not angry with you as a patient for this behavioral outburst… just disappointed.”

You licked your lips. Challenge accepted. You ran your hands over the front of his dress pants until you found the outline of his cock, and stroked it through the fabric, arching your back while giving him your best please-fuck-me look. He swallowed.

Unzipping the fly, you reached into the warmth of his pants, searching through a bed of curled hairs until you found his cock and drew it out to admire. The skin was velvety and soft, pulsing with heat as you gave it a few slow strokes, watching it grow larger and more firm. You loved it at its full arousal, when it took its sculptural form and shape with veins running up the underside of the shaft, when the foreskin pulled back and the domed pink head stood out, ready to plunge itself into you. 

God, you loved his cock. 

“On the other hand,” he quickly changed his mind, “perhaps I require a demonstration of this ‘alternative payment.’ For the sake of due diligence.” 

Your brought your tongue to its head and gave a teasing lick, tasting the salt of his precum, then kissed it like you would kiss his lips. You pecked a series of kisses down the length of his shaft until you were buried in his neatly trimmed curls, lips brushing the wrinkled skin of his balls, then flattened your tongue against his cock and traced a torturously slow wet line from the base to the tip. 

“I confess... you are my most attractive patient,” he said in a shaky, staggering breath, one side of his lips quirking upward. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now. He wanted more. “That is very good.” Not content with you stopping to look up at him, his hand cradled the back of your head, pushing you down and urging you to continue. “But I will need more payment than that.”  

Taking his entire thick cock in your mouth, you slid down it until he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering a little as you adjusted to having your throat stuffed full of him, jaw forced open wide. His manicured fingers curled into your hair, gently petting you. “Easy,” he soothed. 

It was nice sucking the dick of someone as fastidiously clean as Frederick Chilton. You always appreciated that as you began, moving slowly up his shaft until your lips were only closed around the swollen head, licking it gently, then faster until you felt his fingers tighten. He always tasted faintly of soap and very little else. His sedentary lifestyle helped as well; he was never running around and building up a nasty sweat. It was a pleasant little bonus to the whole affair. His cock was the most delicious you’d ever had.

Your head bobbed up and down in his lap with renewed vigor, building a rhythm with his hand gently guiding you to his preference (which you followed to please him, and deviated from to get a reaction). You loved watching his face—his breathing as he struggled to control it, the way his mouth twitched, and his eyes watched you work. That desperate little whine in his throat when you broke his rhythm, which grew into a low moan he tried to suppress when you started a new one.

He gave you instructions: slower, faster, use your tongue... just like that. Good. You twisted, and sucked, and pumped his base with your hands, gliding your tongue along the underside of his cock until the exquisite moment when he broke down, and stopped trying to keep his breathing (and noises) under control. By the end, he was a shaking mess mess, barely able to stammer out “k-keep going!” You loved to watch the moment he surrendered to you completely, his fingers digging into your scalp as his hips jerked helplessly, and his mouth falling open as he released into you, moaning and gasping so loudly the staff were sure to hear. 

You kept him buried in your mouth as his hot seed spilled on your tongue, swallowing every drop until his muscles stopped their convulsions, and you licked his cockhead clean. Cleaning up was a pain in the ass otherwise (and Frederick might implode if any got on his dress pants), but also, his largely vegetarian diet made him taste exceptionally sweet. You smiled up at him and ran your tongue over your lips as he panted, a sheen of sweat on his brow. 

As he was coming down, the phone on his desk rang, and naturally, the ambitious jerk answered it without so much as a thank you, or even putting his dick away. Orgasm complete: never mind you, back to work. Based on his half of the conversation, it sounded important—something about a publishing deal for a book he writing on Hannibal the Cannibal. The tone of his voice took on that haughty smarter-than-you air as the topic turned to intellectual property rights, and he was clearly driving for more money. So you started sucking his overstimulated dick. He gasped loudly into the receiver, and stared down at you in horror as he tried to cover for it. “I apologize. A bee got into my office, and I have to swat it.” He pushed you off his lap, eyes sparking like choppy waves on a windy sea.

“That was rude,” he growled when he got off the phone, a somewhat deranged smile slanting up one side of his face. He bent you over the desk and slapped your ass, whispering promises into your ear of how he would pay you back later.

You knew he would keep his promises. Each one. He had a lot more aggression to work out lately, and while you weren’t its target, a good hard fuck always made him feel better. You knew when you went to his house tonight you were guaranteed to have a lot of fun in a lot of positions—but you also knew when you were done, he would usher you out with some excuse for why you could’t stay.

That was the biggest, and worst, change. You thought the incident would bring you closer, but he hadn’t let you spend one night with him since the day he was shot.

It made you feel cheap.

Worse, it meant you were drifting apart. He used to be grateful (though he would never admit it) that you were there for the nightmares. When he woke up shaking he would turn to hold you, crushing you against his chest like a teddy until the shaking stopped, and he drifted back to sleep still holding you tight. You would have thought he would need you there more than ever, now. Something made him stop trusting you.

  *****

“Did I do something wrong?”

You were in the cramped passenger seat of his midlife-crisis Porsche cabriolet as he drove you home yet again, and a silence had fallen over him. It was a warm spring night with beautiful stars in the breeze above you glowing their brightest, albeit faded amid the glow of Baltimore’s city lights.

“Not at all. I am simply setting healthy boundaries, darling. I begin to suspect you only like me for the amenities.”

His house was new—he did not want to move back into the place he had found Abel Gideon dissected, and Hannibal had slaughtered and arranged two FBI agents for display—and even more grandiose than the last. All of the staircases were spiral for some unfathomable reason (because it was fancier), and it contained an entire gym, pool, gourmet kitchen, and a television the size of an actual movie theater screen. The bath had hot-tub jets.

Admittedly, it was nice staying there. It made you feel like someone who’d seen the inside of a country club. But his answer was complete bullshit.

“You know I don’t care about all your fancy crap,” you groaned.

“Do I? You told me you only stayed the night because my house was nice, and you enjoyed my coffee.”

Ouch. OK. Called out. “Obviously I was lying! I only like your stuff because it’s part of who you are—I can’t imagine you not being shamelessly bourgeoisie—not because I want a sugar daddy. If that’s what you’re worried about… why don’t we stay at my apartment?”

The thought never crossed his mind that you might call his bluff. He was horror-stricken.

“At your little… chalet?” he said like he was poking a dead bug with the end of a stick.

“It’s an apartment.”

Trapped by his own logic, instead of dropping you at your front door, Frederick got out and hobbled up the narrow staircase with you.

“My god, what is this? For ants?”

“It’s called a full bed, Frederick, and there’s plenty of room,” you answered with a little annoyance creeping into your voice. You knew he was prissy, but from the moment he set foot in your two-bedroom (which you could barely afford) he had been acting like he was in a decrepit slum. It was hilarious, actually, how living like a normal human being made him squirm.

He flopped down into the middle of the mattress, a sullen expression on his face like a toddler in a time-out. “You cannot expect me to sleep on this prison cot.”

“Move over,” you nudged him, crawling onto the covers beside him. “There’s plenty of room if we cuddle.”

He didn’t look interested in cuddling at the moment, however. He stared up at the ceiling like he was about to explode. You smiled. Even at his bitchiest and sulkiest, there was no one else you would rather spend time with. He tugged at your heartstrings. You admired his profile—his square brow that could express so much emotion (right now: petulance), the new scar on his cheek that was clearly the source of some embarrassment to him (though you thought it looked rugged), the stubble down his jaw with the slightest hint of grey. He was just so handsome.

Seeing his scar this close up was rare, as he always tried to keep you on his right side whenever you were seated or laying next to each other. You rested your chin on your arm and smiled at him, but he didn't smile back, or even glance over. He just stared at the ceiling like you weren’t even there. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively, hoping to get a laugh (or an irate glare that was secretly a laugh).

No response at all. He was moody.

You rolled on your side to cuddle him, intent on kissing that scar, but when your hands touched his chest, he flinched, recoiling with a surprised yelp.

That was the last straw. His nostrils flared and eyes widened as if this was the gravest indignity he had ever suffered. He jumped up from the bed frantically saying, “I have to go.”

And he did. Just like that.

You tried not to cry. He was being a jerk. He was going through post-traumatic stress. He just needed space, and it wasn’t your fault, you said, but you counted up all of the ways it was your fault anyway.

You were always so blunt and rude with him. As much as he deserved it when he was being officious, exploitative, surly, or generally the poster child for “check your privilege,” he probably didn’t want to be around someone who called him out all the time. It was a miracle he tolerated you at all. You’d gone easier on him since he returned from the dead, but maybe he simply didn’t want a rude fuckbuddy anymore.

You decided you wouldn’t bother him. He needed space, and you constantly showing up at his office and calling his house wasn’t helping, and it obviously wasn’t what he wanted.

Not three days went by before he called wondering where you had been. You could hear him trying to hide the worry in his voice, and the relief when you told him you were fine, and not angry. He wanted to see you. Not just the usual tryst, either: he wanted to take you out for dinner.

You had no idea what was going on.

  *****

Chilton was terrified when you stopped calling him. His greatest fear hit him deeper than a scalpel—that you were dead. Hannibal was back from wherever it was he went, and he was killing off everyone close to his enemies. Or any other of hundreds of killers. When it was clear that nothing horrible had happened to you, and you were, in fact, alive, he realized his second greatest fear—he had fucked up and finally driven you away.

A few of his exes used to give him the cold shoulder when he had committed some error, like failing to spoil them with gifts or expensive dinners, or pretending to forget their name. Maybe you, too, were punishing him, and he still had a chance to win you back. It seemed very likely that you wanted more from him than just sex. He had been selfish and unreciprocal with you—though outwardly, you never asked for anything else, except to stay the night. But he could never do that, not anymore.

Instead, pampering you at a Michelin-star restaurant seemed like a good start.

  *****

Dinner with Chilton that night made it clear why you had never gone out on a proper date with him before. His world was not your world.

As you walked in, you were fairly sure the maître d' glared at you for wearing what you considered your nicest outfit—but given that your typical dinner was boxed mac n’ cheese in your underwear, your best may not have been up to standard.

Frederick was at the bar waiting for you, severely out-dressing you in a formal black suit and dazzlingly contrasting tie, but didn’t make any underhanded comments on your attire. He crossed the room to meet you, flashing that used-car-salesman smile he hadn’t used on you since the first time you met, and offered his elbow in a revoltingly genteel fashion. It was like he was a stranger.

The the maître d’hôtel guided you to your reserved table, and Frederick set his cane to the side, sat, and crossed his legs. You felt like you were being interviewed. Was this an interview? From an inner pocket of his suit jacket, he produced and handed you a silver-inlaid pen that cost more than your rent.

“I don’t want this.” You left it sitting on the white tablecloth and stared at it like an alien artifact, trying to figure out what made it better than a two-dollar pen from the drugstore. Maybe he could still return it.

He got flustered, blinking in confusion, then held his chin up haughtily, jaw clenched. “No accounting for taste, then.”

You groaned. For some reason he wasn’t pretending to be wounded this time, he actually felt rejected. Over a stupid overpriced pen. “Fine! I’ll take it if it’ll make you feel better,” you caved in, snatching it off the table. “But if we break up, I’m pawning this.”

His mouth curled, primed to make a retort, but then went slack.

Was he thinking of breaking up?

Was that what dinner was about? That’s right—that trick of breaking up in a public space so you won’t cry and make a scene. It would explain why he’d been acting so nervous and distant lately. Why else would he suddenly want to take you out?

An awkward silence fell over the table. You wished this place had paper napkins you could stress-doodle on with your stupid new pen. Was it a breakup gift? Were breakup gifts a thing?

The waiter blessedly interrupted to take your orders, which Chilton gently assisted you with because everything was in French, the menu did not have pictures, and none of it appeared to be mac n’ cheese. He also ordered an entire bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild for the table, which you divined from the slight puffing out of his chest was meant to impress you.

When it didn’t, things went back to being sulky and awkward. By the time the bread arrived at the table, he had already downed a glass, and reached to pour himself another.

Instead of grabbing the open bottle, he completely misjudged the distance and knocked it on its side with a string of swears. Dark red liquid poured out onto the table. Acting quickly, you reached to pick it up, but collided with Chilton who was also trying to salvage the bottle, and succeeded only in batting it toward him where a puddle of wine began overflowing over the edge onto his suit.

Puddle! Spilling! You needed to mop up the excess quickly! You grabbed slices of baguette and started soaking it up.

“Why are you using bread when there are napkins for this?” Chilton hissed.

“I don’t know! You’re the dumbass who knocked over the Roth IRA Burgundy.”

His eyes bulged from his skull. “Rothschild! Bordeaux! And it wasn’t that bad until you flung it at me!”

“Do you want to help, or do you want to continue berating me?”

“I am more than capable of doing both!” he cried, grabbing a napkin and righting the bottle.

The table was a complete disaster. Wine even got all over your stupid fancy pen, which matched the stupid fancy pen in his office. Oh. That was sort of sweet, actually. As you wiped it dry, you noticed it had your name inscribed around one of the silver rings.

The waiter hurried over to assist, and Chilton looked positively mortified.

“Sorry,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little clumsy.”

After much fussing and cleaning was finished, Chilton sat back in his chair, eyes boring into you. He swallowed.

“Why did you...?”

“They already think I’m a mess, this way they’ll at least let you back in here.”

“Well, that is very…” a dark blush crept up his neck from under his collar. “You didn’t have to do that"

You reached your hand across the fresh tablecloth, and he took it, rubbing soft circles in the flesh between your thumb and forefinger. (It was a testament to your familiarity that the massive, ostentatious gold ring he always wore no longer felt in the way when you held his hand.) His eyes lingered on you, and the blush continued working its way up to his face.

Things felt open enough to quietly ask, “So, what is all this, anyway? You’ve never wanted to take me out before.”

“I assumed you wanted something from me; you have been ignoring me,” he bristled slightly at your density. ��If this is not it, then what?”

You blinked. He really thought you’d been holding out on him to… get something? And the way his voice strained when he asked, “then what?” told you he would do whatever it was you requested.

You shook your head at the tablecloth and squeezed his hand. “The way you left the other day, I assumed you didn’t want to be around me.”

“Oh.” The brilliant psychiatrist hadn’t thought of that.

He didn’t apologize, and you knew he never would (about anything—it was one of the reasons so many people wanted to punch him), but his demeanor softened and any resentment you’d been holding onto faded with his dumbfounded expression.

“So.” You cleared your throat. “How’s… uh, psychiatry?”

“Well, most daily therapy sessions I have delegated to focus on writing…” He launched into a mundane description of his work, and you just… talked. Like a normal couple. It was strange in its ordinariness, but it was nice to not have your entire interaction revolve around getting dick. It made going back to his mansion after dinner and getting dick even more meaningful. You were sure this time he would let you stay.

When he tried to send you away again, you had had enough.

  *****

“I don’t understand, what changed?” you asked a little too brusquely and immediately regretted it. “I know you need space,” you breathed out in a more understanding tone, “but I need to know where we stand… Do you want to break up with me?”

He froze in the middle of throwing a shirt on over his bare chest and dropped it back into the dresser, turning to gawk at you with shocked-wide eyes. “What? No! Of course not.”

That was a relief at least. “Then why won’t you let me stay?”

He was far too exposed: his abdominal scar still prominently pointing up to his blaze of brown chest hair, and you, ambushing him in his own bedroom. “You cannot let it go, can you? You want to know?!” he snapped, limping resentfully across the room. He had reached a breaking point. “It’s because I cannot sleep with the prosthetics in.”

“The...” your brain crashed and you frantically clicked enter on the reboot screen, “...prosthetics…?”

He scowled. “Did you believe the bullet passed neatly through the copious empty space in my skull without causing any collateral damage? That this little scar is the sum total of my injury?”

Of course. You hadn’t even considered that there was more to his near-fatal shooting than what you saw on the surface. It was breathtakingly ignorant now that you thought about it. He was shot. In the head. He spent weeks at an expensive medical resort where they could perform all kinds of reconstructive miracles, and he let you believe he was dead until they had finished whatever it was they were fixing.

“Show me.”

His face twitched. “You do not want to know.”

“I do.”

“Then I do not wish you to know.”

“Why?”

Emotion boiled under his face, but he breathed in through his nose and kept his outward composition calm, controlled. “It would change the way you see me. Every time you look at me, I do not want you to see that.”

You crossed the room to him. Gently, you put your hand on his arm, and slowly rubbed up and down. His breathing was shallow, controlled but barely. He didn’t push you away. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck, listening to his pulse whispering a swift beat. “I just want to know you, Frederick. Please.”

  *****

Doctors had seen it. That was by necessity: he had paid for the best cosmetic prosthetics available in the country to look exactly like his old self, with the exception of the scar on his left cheek which could never be fully hidden.

He had shown it to Mason Verger, but that, too, was different—a mutual display of their motivations for revenge. It was almost a contest to see who was the more disgusting, the most wronged.

You would not be the first to see his face, but you were the first whom he cared about disgusting. The first whom he cared about. He did not want to see you recoil from him in shock. He did not want to lose you. He did not want you to see the darkness hanging over him.

He acquiesced, but refused to make a circus display of taking his teeth out in front of you, and vanished into the master bathroom for a long time. As you waited, you rehearsed not reacting—not showing a hint of shock that would make him regret the choice to let you in—yet as each minute ticked by, you grew more and more anxious.

The door opened.

“Jesus fuck.”

His lower eyelid sagged without the support of a massive chunk of facial bone holding it in place, and the eye within was the milky blue-white of a fish preserved in formaldehyde. The skin of his cheek sagged over half a mouth of missing teeth, and the left corner of his lip hung slightly too loose.

“Eloquent as always,” he said, adding some bite to the word. He hoped you knew what a jerk you were.

You rushed in to hold him, and he stiffened, looking away. “Oh, your eye,” you whined. He must have been completely blind in it, but he masked it so well you never noticed. He flinched as you touched his face.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

You pulled your hand back and searched his expression. “Do you want me to stop?”

He thought about it, and huffed, rolling one eye. You were being so cute, and at least not fleeing in terror. He stuck his chin out. “Go ahead. Do what you want.”

With a sour frown, he let you explore his skin with your fingertips, finding scars and hollow cavities where bone was supposed to be. “You’re missing… oh, god, it must have shattered the maxillary bone, and,” you felt farther back, continuing to find hollow gaps. “Oh god, baby…”

“Do not pity me, it is unbecoming.”

“Heh,” you breathed, slyly sliding your hands up over his shoulders and arcing them loosely around the back of his neck. “I thought you didn’t care about my motivations,” you said, languidly drawing out each vowel.

That earned an irritated look, finally meeting your gaze. You grinned back.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip.

You kissed him all along the sagging side of his mouth, pressing your lips to every new contour and texture. A few worried noises escaped his throat, along with half-formed words of caution of what you might not want to kiss, but they were quickly swallowed by groans of pleasure as you worshiped his mouth, reveling in each new discovery. All his imperfections were perfect, and you wanted him to feel that in every touch, filling each glowing breath with all the love and acceptance in your heart.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore, but it itches.”

“I hate itches.”

“As do I,” he breathed.

You kissed him again, this time his tongue danced along your lips to taste you. It darted between your teeth, curling around your tongue as his strong hands snaked around the back of your head, pulling you harder into the kiss. He grunted, teeth clashing with yours as your lips interlocked with feral passion, consuming each other until your lips were bruised and you had to break away, breathless and panting.

“I’m so glad you're alive,” you smiled, trying not to let tears well up in the corners of your eyes. “You came back to me. You’re amazing, you know that? What you can survive.”

His chest puffed out a little. He was amazing, wasn’t he? But when he spoke again, it was sullen.

“I did not want you to see what a monster I’ve become.”

You shook your head. “You’re still beautiful. Absolutely perfect. I’m sorry it happened, but you know I’m going to love you no matter what…” You trailed off as a word snagged in your throat. Did you just say…

“You love me?”

Dry. Your throat suddenly felt drier than sandpaper, and swallowing didn’t fix it. You weren’t supposed to admit that to him. He was going to tease you, to twist it around somehow to use against you—

“I love you, too.”

[raiseyourcups]

Cabur

Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (Aili Verdella) Warnings: 18+, chapter contains smut (which includes references to a breeding kink, throat grabbing but no choking, fingering, slightly rough sex, the armor stays on), mentions of children being killed  Word Count: 5.1k Also on AO3

Masterlist

Summary: Aili and Mando finish the job as quickly as they can, the tracking beacon still counting down. And after the job they have a small...heart to heart of sorts, fueled by just a little alcohol on Aili's part but only enough to lower her inhibitions. 

Note: I am going to reblog this once with the additional backstory I added for Aili so if you want to skip the smut you can but you won’t miss out on important story info.

“Watch my back while we look for Mayfeld and Qin,” Mando said, still unsure what Aili's problem was at the moment. She hadn’t said much after he stopped her from potentially killing Xi’an, not something he would’ve faulted her for, but it was odd to hear her so quiet now. He doubted it had anything to do with him stopping her but he still barely understood anything about how her mind worked. 

“Hey,” he stopped her before they continued down the hallway, avoiding touching her for now. Mayfeld and Qin couldn’t get very far anyway with the doorways leading to the ship shut until he opened them. Aili hesitated before looking up at him, dark brown eyes meeting his own like she always managed to. “You good?”

“I’m fine. I’ll keep any security off us,” Aili said, looking away just as quickly as she had looked up. She focused on her blaster, making sure it was okay after her scuffle with Xi’an. “We should move, not a lot of time left on that beacon.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” Mando was a little surprised she had been able to do so when she had been so focused on keeping Xi’an in a chokehold.

“You haven’t been?” Aili asked, giving Mando a look that was almost like her normal attitude towards him. But he could still tell she was a little more guarded now and he didn’t understand why. But they really didn’t have the time for him to question her. 

They hurried down the hallways as quickly as they could while keeping quiet. The last thing they needed was to give their position away to Mayfeld and his several blasters. Aili stood back as Mando snuck up on Mayfeld, hiding behind a wall when he spun around to look down the hallway. 

“No!” She heard Mayfeld shout right before he hit the ground and she stepped out from behind her spot to raise an eyebrow. There he was just on the ground, hadn’t even fought. Boring. Mando looked over to her before starting to drag Mayfeld down the hallway. 

“You stop Qin, I’ll be there soon,” Mando said, hesitating for a moment like he was going to say something else before he shook his head and kept dragging Mayfeld down the hallway. 

Aili nodded and took off for the hallway that held the ladder that would lead back into the Crest, blaster out in case there were any more security droids or if Qin popped out from around a corner. It didn’t take long for her to spot Qin getting ready to start climbing the ladder to the Crest.

“Qin, was it?” Aili asked, leaning against a wall and looking at Xi’an’s brother with an almost manic smile. It didn’t reach her eyes in the slightest. The Twi’lek let out a sigh before dropping down from the ladder. 

“You two killed the others.” 

Aili didn’t bother to answer, simply tilting her head to the side with that smile still on her face. It wasn’t like he was asking her a question. No, he had stated it like he expected nothing less from Mando or the company he kept. So who was she to even attempt to give him an answer?

“They got what they deserved,” Mando suddenly said from behind her but Aili didn’t even flinch this time. Qin let out a snarl and turned to attack them, Mando pulling out his blaster and pointing it at the Twi’lek while Aili kept hers holstered. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you before I do to you what I did to your sister,” Aili stated, her words implying much worse than she actually did. 

“You kill me, you don’t get your money. Whatever Ran promised, I’ll make you get it, and more.” Qin stepped forwards once, tossing his blaster down to the ground. “Come on Mando, be reasonable. You were hired to do a job, right?” 

“Can I please just knock him out?” Aili muttered mostly to herself but still loud enough for Mando to hear her. Qin looked over at her before back to Mando, holding his hands out. 

“Do the job. Isn’t that your code? Aren’t you a man of honor?” 

“He is. I’m not,” Aili said before stepping forward and punching Qin across the face harder than she had hit Mayfeld back at the hangar. Sure, the hit made her knuckles hurt a little but now Qin was unconscious and wouldn’t be able to piss her off more. But most importantly, he was still alive. Mando let out a heavy sigh. 

“You didn’t want that to happen, you would have held me back,” Aili said, looking over at Mando with a blank look on her face. Mando didn’t say anything to deny her statement because she was right. He could have held her back even if she fought against his hold. 

“Get on the ship, make sure the droid is ready to go.” Mando said shortly. “I’ll get him on board.”

Aili didn’t have to be told twice as she stepped over Qin’s unconscious form and climbed the ladder quickly. She had barely placed both feet onto the ship’s floor when she spotted the droid in front of the now open hatch that led to the cot. Another glance let her know that it was holding a blaster and had it pointed at Little Green. She didn’t wait to ask questions, pulling her blaster out of its holster and shooting the droid. So now she or Mando would have to pilot the ship, oh well. 

“What happened?” Mando asked as soon as he tossed Qin on board and against a wall. He shut the hatch below him, sealing the ship off from the prison ship. She watched as he placed the beacon in Qin’s pocket and they both knew he wouldn’t notice it until it was too late. 

“Droid was going to shoot the kid,” Aili stated, putting her blaster away and picking up Little Green in one smooth movement. “We gotta get outta here and into hyperspace. Now.”

Mando stayed quiet as he moved past her and up the ladder. He quickly unhooked them from the prison ship and sent them into hyperspace. Even with the beacon rapidly counting down, they couldn’t be tracked easily through hyperspace. Aili waited down in the cargo for a moment before heading up into the cockpit to place Little Green into his seat, strapping him in before she took her own seat. 

The cockpit was silent as they got back to the hangar even as they heard Qin wake up at one point. He didn’t come up and they didn’t go down. Mando landed as quickly as he safely could, turning to Aili. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

He was gone for maybe a minute, getting their payment from Ran before immediately shutting the gangway. Aili didn’t wait for him to get back up to the cockpit, moving into his seat and lifting the landing gear, backing the ship out of the hangar. They had under two minutes to get the hell out of there now that the tracking signal was in a static position. Mando got back up to the cockpit, opting to stand behind his usual seat as he watched Aili dodge around the three New Republic ships that came out of hyperspace. 

They waited another minute before Aili sent them into hyperspace, no real destination in mind other than away from the space station and the New Republic X-Wings. “I told you that was a bad idea,” Mando said, leaning forward to unscrew the little metal ball that the kid liked so much. Aili narrowed her eyes, unsure who he was talking to but for his sake it better have been directed to Little Green. Because she had been very vocal about her dislike of the plan and distrust of the whole crew. 

“I’m going down to the cargo hold,” Aili suddenly said, the need to drink away her feelings back with a vengeance. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that they wouldn’t have to ever deal with Ran or Qin again. She didn’t wait for Mando to say anything, leaving the cockpit without another word and sliding down the ladder to go over to the one bag she kept hanging on the wall to keep it out of Little Green’s reach. 

She felt a small smile cross her face as she pulled out the bottle and took a long swig of it. It had been almost too long since she had been able to drink anything, too distracted taking care of Little Green and making sure Mando didn’t get them killed. The smile didn’t last very long as she went over everything that had gone wrong on this job. She unclasped the cuirass and set it down on top of one of her other bags, pulling her jacket off as well.

Aili took another long swig from the bottle, sliding down the wall to sit down on the still uncomfortable ship floor. She was still pissed. At herself, letting the fuckin’ Twi’lek for calling her an animal get to her, at Mando for even dragging them onto that job. She didn’t even care that she had been the one to tell him that they needed credits, he was the one who found the job so it was more his fault. 

She was also so wound up that she didn't trust herself to be around Mando for longer than a few minutes at the moment. Which is of course when the galaxy decided to send him her way because they were in hyperspace afterall, not much to do in the cockpit. 

“Drinking?” Mando didn’t even try to keep the surprise or disapproval out of his voice. He hadn’t even known that she had brought alcohol onto the ship. 

“Corellian whiskey, want some? It’s not as good as Tevraki whiskey but it’s all I had.” Aili held the bottle out towards him, knowing he wouldn’t accept it anyway. Couldn’t remove the helmet for even a drink in front of someone breathing. 

“Tevraki whiskey isn’t fully human-compatible.”

“Oh look at the man too scared to live dangerously,” Aili mocked. “You’re the one that used to fuck that Twi and she’s an aikiyc chakaar.”

“Are you drunk?” Mando asked, eyes narrowed behind his helmet trying to decide if Aili was or wasn’t already drunk. He had no idea how much she had already had to drink but he knew he didn’t want to deal with a drunk, pissed off Aili. 

“No.”

“Give me that.” Mando moved towards her, faster than she expected, and reached out to take the bottle away from her. 

“No!” Aili shouted, tightening her grip on the neck of the bottle before Mando could take it from her. She leaned to the side to move away from him but leaned too far towards empty space. They both went tumbling onto the ground, Aili’s head banging against the floor while Mando’s helmet thumped against the wall. Other than that they were fine. The bottle of whiskey, on the other hand, was not. It didn’t break but now there was wasted whiskey on the floor. Aili let out a growl and pushed herself back to her feet and she stared up at Mando with a heated glare.

She stared at him, chest heaving as she tried to decide how angry she was. “Where’s the kid?” 

At first she asked only so that she could kick Mando’s ass but then she had a better idea for the anger and other feelings she had felt building up from the moment they had landed on the prison ship. She only hoped that she could egg him on enough. Hoped that he would take the bait and she could work off the extra energy. She also wasn’t as blind as he seemed to think she was and not even he could hide it behind his helmet.

The helmet cocked to the side before he answered, “Asleep in the cockpit.”

Aili took one more moment to make up her mind before looking at Mando straight on, an unreadable expression on her face, "Good. Turn off the lights."

“What?” Mando was taken aback, unsure why Aili would want the lights off. 

“Turn off. The Lights.” Aili repeated herself, tilting her head a little. He slowly hit the button on his vambrace that would turn the lights off and then they were standing in the pitch blackness of the hangar. She spoke again, her voice steady and just a little darker than usual, "Take off your helmet."

She waited and was rewarded when she heard the sound of metal being placed down on the floor. She was surprised he didn’t argue but maybe he thought she was going to punch him and didn't want her to break her hand on the beskar. If only he knew.

She gave him another few seconds to stand up straight again before she grabbed out for him, pulling him into her and giving him a harsh kiss. She was a little impressed that she had gotten his lips on the first try but it wasn’t that hard to estimate where they were based on his height in comparison to her. He responded for about half a second, leather clad hands going to her hips and squeezing before he pulled away like he had been burned. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Aili asked, breath hot against his face and it took all his self control to not give in again. It had been so long...but he knew she wasn’t in her right mind. Why else would she want him?

“Making a mistake.”

Aili pushed herself up on her toes to speak into his ear, "You can either fuck me right now or take me down to a planet so I can find someone with the balls to do it."

“You’re not,” Mando paused, swallowing hard at the thought of... “You’re not in charge here.”

“Somebody has to be and you’re clearly not.”

“I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret tomorrow,” Mando said, trying to force himself to walk away. He didn’t know if he could, not when he had more than one thought running through his head and none of them were helpful. Not when he felt like this was a long time coming. Not when he still had his hands on her hips. 

“You think I’m actually drunk so let me reassure you; I am not drunk and I am telling, not asking, you to fuck me.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond and Aili was already annoyed, ready to push him away and sent a course for the first planet she could think of. She went to say something else when a hand wrapped around her throat with no real pressure behind the grip. She let out a quiet gasp in surprise. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” 

He pushed her back against the wall, one thigh between her legs now. Aili let out a sound between a gasp and a whine as she rubbed herself on his beskar-covered thigh and the Mandalorian chuckled. The sound went straight to Aili’s core making her need it more. “Thought you didn’t like getting fucked against walls.”

“Shut up.” She didn’t need him using her own words against her, especially not something she had said literally months ago. How he even remembered that was beyond her. 

“What was that?” He asked, putting the barest amount of pressure on her throat, his thumb pressing down on her carotid just enough for her to feel it. Aili let out a breathy sound but that didn’t mean she was going to back down. Not when she was getting exactly what she wanted without even needing to try that hard. 

“You heard me.”

“Keep talking back and you can get yourself off,” Mando said, squeezing the hand around her throat just a little. Just enough for her to feel it and for him to feel as she swallowed. Which gave him an idea for another time, if another time ever happened of course. 

“I’ll shut up,” Aili started, a smirk that he couldn’t see crossing her face. “Sir.”

The Mandalorian let out a surprising growl before he removed his hand from her throat in order to use both hands to pick her up by her thighs and slam her against the wall. Aili let out a dark chuckle, “That’s more like it.”

“Keep that mouth shut before I find a use for it.”

“Promise?”

He removed one hand from her thighs and pulled her in by the back of her neck. Their lips met in a fiery crash and Mando forced Aili’s mouth open to deepen the kiss. They eventually parted and Aili knew she had made the right choice egging him on. She could feel his arousal against her own and if it were even possible, she felt herself get more turned on. She purposely ground herself against his still-covered cock and she smirked at the low groan he let out. 

Mando lowered her back down to the ground. “Take off your clothes.” His voice was raspy and Aili didn’t think her smirk would ever leave her face. But she did as she was told, letting him think he was calling the shots for now. As soon as she dropped her last piece of clothing onto the ground, Mando pushed her against the wall again and she let out a hiss at how cold both the wall and his armor were against her now bare skin. 

“I’m going to fuck you against this wall and you’re going to take it.”

“I don’t know you still seem like a lot of talk.”

Mando let out a long sigh, picking up one of her legs and hooking it around his hip rather than responding. Aili let out a gasp, she hadn’t even noticed that he had unzipped his pants and now his own arousal was rubbing against hers. Fuck he was big. She wished she could see it but that wouldn’t happen any time soon. But still, even just feeling it was enough to make her clench around nothing. 

Mando moved to get into a more comfortable position, his cock rubbing against Aili again. They both let out groans at the feeling and Aili hoped he would get on with it before she took matters into her own hands. Literally. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Mando groaned out. He wrapped a hand around his arousal and pumped it a few times, using her wetness to coat it.

“Mando,” Aili sighed out, needing more than he was giving her right now. 

“Be patient.”

“I’m done being patient,” Aili growled, using the leg he had hooked around his hip to bring him in closer if it were even possible. Mando was quick to bring his other hand to grip the back of her neck again, holding her in place for now. 

“Fine.” That was all he said before letting go of his cock and bringing his hand to Aili’s cunt. He wasn’t going to fuck her unless she was prepared first. He wasn’t that cruel. She let out a gasp when he entered one finger and she was belatedly thankful that he had at least removed his gloves. The rest of the armor being on though? That was doing things for her. 

Mando pumped his finger a few times before adding a second one, thrusting them in at a faster pace to work Aili towards her first orgasm. She grabbed at his arms and let out a loud moan. Why were his fingers so big? “Mando, please.”

“Never thought I’d hear you beg me,” he said before adding another finger and pushing his thumb against her clit and alternating between pumping his fingers in her heat and rubbing at her throbbing clit. “I want you to come for me first, mesh'la.”

It didn’t take long for Aili to clench down on his fingers, her hands tightening on his arms as her orgasm hit her. He worked her through it, pushing his fingers in and out until she sagged against him as the high faded away. Aili caught her breath, she knew it had been a while but she still wanted, no, needed more. “Are you going to fuck me now like I asked?”

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Mando asked, pulling his fingers out. He figured she was ready enough and he moved her into her earlier position. Up against the wall, both feet off the ground as he held her up by her thighs which were loosely wrapped around his waist. Kriff, she was so small in comparison to him, he thought to himself before shaking the thought away. He grabbed his cock with one hand and lined himself up with her cunt.

“If I did shut up, we wouldn’t be-” She was cut off by Mando completely sheathing himself into her with more speed than she had expected. She let out a loud gasp followed by a moan at the intrusion. Mando let out one just as loud as her wet heat enveloped his cock. It was better than he had expected. 

Mando chuckled, the sound right at her ear. “That shut you up, didn’t it?” 

He set a brutal pace, barely giving Aili enough time to catch her breath. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, unsure if her legs would give out and fall from their place around his waist even as she tried to lock her ankles together. Even with the pace he set, it wasn’t enough for her. “Harder.”

He obliged without saying a word, hands gripping at the back of her thighs so hard that she was sure she would have bruises when she woke up. The cargo hold was filled with too many sounds all at once, moans and grunts as well as the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Aili clenched without meaning to and Mando let out a curse. It felt so much better around his cock than it did his fingers. 

“Fuck, Mando,” Aili cried out, thighs twitching and tightening around his waist in intervals as little shocks went through her body. 

“Ibac’ner, cyar’ika.” Mando breathed out without meaning to, not even caring that he knew Aili knew some Mando’a. He doubted she had ever learned those words, probably only focusing on insults. 

“Fuck,” Aili gasped out when Mando hit a spot inside of her that made her see stars even in the darkness of the cargo hold. She knew this would be better than finding some idiot in a cantina who wouldn’t even fuck her right. She didn’t even know what the kriff he was saying in Mando’a but she found didn’t care at the moment. “Ri-right, right there.”

Mando adjusted his grip on her thighs, making it easier for him to angle his thrusts just right. He hit the spot with every push inside of her, sending her closer to a second orgasm. He was close too but he didn’t know where to come. Part of him, a part he usually kept deep below the surface, wanted to come inside but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that without asking and so he did before he could stop himself, “Where-where do you want me to come?”

“Inside, fuck, inside,” Aili groaned, her nails digging into his back as she felt her orgasm coming again. The thought of him coming inside of her was almost enough to push her over the edge. 

Mando was pretty sure he had heard wrong and his hips stuttered at the thought. There was no way she had...“Are you sure?”

“Mando, I swear to the Maker,” her words trailed off when he hit that spot again and she swore she saw a whole galaxy as she hit her peak for the second time that night. Mando kept pumping inside of her, working her through it once more until he felt his own climax coming. It only took a few more thrusts before he was releasing inside of her, a groan escaping him at the feeling. He usually wasn’t allowed to come inside and the thought of doing it now was too much. 

Aili held onto Mando’s shoulders, still coming down from her high. Her breath coming out in pants along with the Mandalorian’s. He had placed his forehead in the crook of her neck, his hot breath almost too much for her to handle. They stayed like that for a few minutes trying to catch their breath. 

“Are you okay?” Mando asked, his unfiltered voice still weird to Aili’s ears but she found that she preferred it to the voice modulator. No, she wasn’t going to analyze why that was just yet. Or ever. 

“I’m great,” Aili finally said, pulling away from Mando and leaning the back of her head against the wall. 

Mando pulled out, letting Aili’s feet touch the ground again, and tucked himself back into his pants. He listened to Aili get dressed and waited until she was done to speak. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“Is this your idea of pillow talk because I don’t see any pillows,” Aili said, hoping she could talk her way out of explaining the literal storm going through her mind at the moment. The fact that she had probably just screwed up their semi-professional relationship was one of the last things on her mind but it was still there.

Mando let out a deep sigh. “It’s pitch black in here, you can’t see shit anyway.”

Aili paused for a long minute, trying to weigh her options. Either way would make her seem weak but what did she really have to lose now? They had already fucked. “I’m not an animal,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What are you talking about? What Xi’an said?” Mando was actually surprised. He had noticed that Aili had all but shut down after Xi’an had called her that but he hadn’t thought it was this bad. He had simply thought it was like everyone else calling her a loth-cat, that she was just ten levels of angry and annoyed. 

“No, yes. It’s complicated.” Aili didn’t know how to explain that it had nothing to do with Xi’an, not really. It didn’t have anything to do with the job, not really although that hadn’t helped at all. 

“If this is because you almost killed her, I don’t care about that.”

“I told you how I grew up. They...treated us like the fathiers on Canto Bight, just numbers in a system. To be used and then disposed of when we outgrew our use,” Aili let out a chuckle that sounded a little watery to Mando’s ears but he wasn’t about to comment on it when Aili was opening back up. “I never stopped being of use to them.

“They made me...they made me fight every single girl that made it through basic, the ones without potential by the time they were eight they--" Aili had to stop talking, clearing her throat a little. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Mando interrupted now understanding why she had been emotional when telling him how old Sula had been when she destroyed the base. To know that she could have been made to kill a child that was now a foundling in the Covert. 

“They put a blaster in my hand and told me to kill them because I was the Leader,” Aili spit the word out like it was a curse. For all Mando knew, it could have been back then. “Any time I refused they would shoot me instead and let it bleed for hours before giving me bacta. Eventually I would, I would just kill them, to save myself from the pain. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

“They treated you like…" He was beginning to understand why she had chosen to not join the Covert or take the Creed. She still felt guilty about being made to hurt and kill children. Probably couldn’t look at the other foundlings without sizing them up. 

“Animals,” Aili interrupted before Mando could keep talking. “You can have the cot tonight, I don’t think I’ll get much sleep.”

She made to go back up to the cockpit. “No,” Mando said, reaching out to stop Aili from leaving, a gentle hand on her arm that she surprisingly didn’t shrug off. “You need sleep.”

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a child?” Aili asked, staring up at the dark space where she assumed Mando was standing based off the hand on her arm. 

"Don't act like one then.”

Aili narrowed her eyes knowing that Mando couldn’t see it anyway, “You know this doesn’t change anything between us.”

“Didn’t think it would.”

Aili glared at Mando, or the space she was still assuming he was. “Well we can’t just leave Little Green up in the cockpit by himself.”

“Little Green?” Mando asked with a quiet chuckle. That was not the kind of nickname he would have expected from her nor any kind of nickname. She still called the small green alien, “the Child” or even just “the kid” around him and others out loud. 

“Shut up.” 

That was more like it, Mando thought to himself. “I’ll go get him.”

Aili didn’t comment on the fact that Mando had left the lights off despite putting his helmet back on. Mando came back down soon enough, handing the kid over to Aili without saying anything. His helmet allowed him to watch as she hesitated before heading over to the cot. He didn’t say anything as she left the hatch open, leaving her an out if she needed to get up fast and he wondered if that was a thing from her life before. Or something she picked up after blowing up an Imperial base and probably making enemies of people she had grown up knowing. The light coming from the hatch was barely enough to make the rest of the cargo hold visible past a few inches but he kept his helmet on as Aili fell asleep. 

He watched as she curled around the kid, Little Green she had called him, and he wondered if that was what it had been like before she found the Covert. If that had been why the Armorer had made the agreement she had, had seen a lost 20-something year old who had no idea how to take care of herself let alone four children that she had saved from a fate worse than death. 

He ignored the growing feeling in his chest as he sat down against the ladder leading up to the cockpit, watching over the sleeping pair and hoping they could have at least a little time before the next inevitable shitstorm. He slid his helmet off once more, once he was sure that Aili was asleep, and he just watched and wondered about more than he needed to think about.

[lilietsblog]

non-spoilery as of end of pgte book 2 prolonged scream about what Cat does there

so there are multiple things there that Catherine's narration kind of glosses over, and tbf it's for good reason! Catherine is not a braggy kind of person in her narration, if she goes "I'm fucking awesome" it's to psyche herself up for some new bullshit, not to rest on her laurels, and it's honestly fantastic and helps the narrative a lot, that said, we should all totally step back and appreciate that

1) Catherine is seriously for real inheriting Callow here. Like this is not a trick? This is not a clever wording loophole? Catherine is literally at that point in the process of putting her ducks in a row for her "Callow is now mine bitches" plan, and while it's not exactly immediately transitioning to her being in charge of everything solo, she is very much getting the inheritance of ruling Callow from her father teacher I said teacher

2) Catherine put her life on the line for her people twice over - on an increasingly thin one. First she goes into the city of Liesse itself while knowing about the pattern - she's unwilling to let William claim his victory here in this way :) and this might sound obvious, especially for someone who's just read the book, but - there's nothing selfish about this. Catherine gains nothing from besieging Liesse (except very marginal OR very low likelihood potential gains that would 100% not be worth the risk) and loses nothing from retreating to the Legions, this is purely for the sake of the population of Liesse itself. Second she goes specifically to seek William out to deal with the devil problem (WHICH WAS ALSO BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING AND I JUST WANTED TO POINT THIS FACT OUT. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING HOW SHE DID THAT RIP AKUA'S LOOPHOLE CAT'S GONNA DRIVE A TRAIN THROUGH IT)  (oh and also this would help the rebel forces which HER forces were actively fighting at the time, just to harp on this point a bit more) - again, while knowing that a pattern of three is active and she's fated to lose. She did her best struggling but she KNEW she was going to lose. And the plan for her to survive was like... 1. die 2. become undead 3. convince a choir they want to support her over their champion. Like, can we all appreciate how insane a plan that is? Catherine went with it straight-faced, and like... Paradoxically, I'm pretty sure it's because it was insane that it actually worked. Because Catherine knew it was absurd, knew she was basically laying down her life for this one city, and she did it anyway. She threw her life down and dared angels to say she wasn't worthy of what she wished to claim.

Because none of this was a trick. Cat’s narration kind of focuses on the part that WAS tricky wording / loopholes, and it sure is convenient that Heiress was there to represent "the enemy" that Cat was presumably protecting Callow from... she was though? Like I'm sure Akua's presence helped drive the symbolism down with the subtlety of a dropped anvil, but factually Cat's goal is to stand between the worst of Praes and Callow, and even her helping tamp down this rebellion ALREADY IS actively working to minimize casualties (Black had changed his strategy due to her involvement). Getting William to confirm that the chapel is Callowan land is more along the lines of not letting Akua get away with a loophole (also fucking hilarious, "could be relied upon to fuck over at least one person in the room" no I didn't reread I just remember that because I adore it). Of course the chapel is in Callow in every meaningful sense! It's attached to Liesse and events in it are going to ripple out into and then from Liesse geographically, that's the entire problem! If the chapel wasn't Callowan Cat wouldn't give a shit and wouldn't have given her fucking life (SHE'S LITERALLY DEAD AT THAT POINT, A SKILLED NECROMANCER WHO MANAGED TO OVERPOWER MASEGO COULD PUPPET HER) to get there!

None of this is a trick! The sword in the stone was a decorative flourish and not even a part of Cat's original plan, because the thrust if it was not the #CallowanAesthetic. The thrust if it was the authentic narrative, in the sense of A=>B: when the person whose job is about to be ruling Callow gives their life to protect its people, and the protection takes the form of getting to a point of contact with angels to get them to switch tracks from doing one thing to another (importantly, Akua also wanted to mess with William's ritual, Cat hijacking it first locked her out!), well then in that situation the angels kind of have a job to do.

And if their chosen champion is the SOURCE of the original problem and this new person who's coming in for a last minute save is literally his deadly nemesis and about to kill him... well fucking sucks for them, I guess! They are angels. They have a job, and when something's gone wrong with how they're doing it, the course corrections can be rough.

Cat did not do a sleight of hand here. Cat full on committed to a course of action that was going to achieve her chosen goal - interrupting both William and Akua - even if the resurrection trick didn't work and it killed her. Cat straight up laid down her life for her people, then asked for it back.

And the way Guideverse works, when things line up just so... well, the chapter is named that for a reason :)

I will also contrast it to Akua’s “pattern of three” plan, because it’s an excellent example of how things DON’T work - of how they work when you are doing it wrong, and how tricks that really ARE tricks blow up in your face. A pattern of three works on symmetry and reversal - claim the victory at first, get inevitably defeated at the last moment. And it’s not that it’s impossible to abuse that, but you gotta PAY. You always gotta pay if you want the result to be real. Akua tried to avoid payment - she lost NOTHING in that first confrontation with Cat that she so demonstrably lost except underlings she didn’t care about (RIP those people). Akua got a technical loss that was actually a victory in every sense that mattered... well hey, guess what the pattern reversed into!

That’s the difference between basing your story on something real - something that would have worked this way in a non-narrativium world too - and trying to cheat your way through loopholes. Would non-narrativium world Akua have fled from that confrontation with Catherine, if she’d seriously considered her a rival and enemy? Nope, not unless she had the same “outsmarting herself” sort of plan Cat would later get to foil. Would non-narrativium world Catherine have gone into Liesse to put her life on the line against both her nemeses at once to save its people? Well... yeah. It’s the same thing with or without story lenses. That’s why it works.

And that’s why it’s fucking awesome.

(I do not just mean on the meta level “look how cleverly Guide is written”. I mean on the object level, reading the end of Book 2 is cathartic and awesome and breathtaking, because every part of it is painstakingly built up to and earned. Things happen the way they FEEL like they should happen - and the only thing the narrativium does here is expose the wiring.)

[intricate-oeuvre]

On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part II

Word count: 2.8+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: strong language; hints at implied smut

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

With a grunt the male witcher let go of the girl.

“What are you doing here? I got everything under control.” Axelia hissed, running her forearm under her nose to get rid of the blood and dirt.

“You look like…” Geralt was looking for appropriate word to describe Axelia. Her once white hair now was full with dirt, mud and blood, little pine needles stuck in the ends. Her fair skin seemed to have gone through same, dirty and bruised, thin layer of sweat making it look even muddier.

“What? Like shit?” Axelia offered and stretched out her hand, waiting for Geralt to give back her her sword. Once she felt the cold hilt of the sword in her palm, she yanked her hand back, retrieving her sword and securing it on her back.

“Thank you very much.” Axelia rolled her eyes and stepped around the witcher. For a second she froze, swiftly looking both ways and with a sigh reached behind her and took the black tulle blindfold and fastened it across her eyes. There at her feet was the head of the monster, both antlers dirty, some moss and grass wedged in them. She reached down to grab its antler, first time missing it, but then with a huff she picked it up.

“You killed my monster.” Geralt observed, turning to look at the dead carcass on the ground.

“Apologies. Didn’t see your name on it.” Axelia said sarcastically and made her way to get out of the forest.

“Weren’t you supposed to stay at Kaer Morhen?” Geralt asked catching up with her.

“To do what?” Axelia tilted her head at the sound of his deep voice.

“Winters there with Lambert and Eskel became unbearable.” She opted for explaining further. Only receiving deep Hm from the witcher besides her.

For the rest of the journey to the field, there was silence. Geralt only looking at her from time to time, trying to understand how she was still alive.

“I know you are staring, Rivian.” Axelia spat at him as both of them reached the edge of the forest. “I can sense it.” All this time, her head was bowed, but nonetheless she put her feet, one in front of another with such confidence, that one could not tell that she was blind. Geralt was about to say something to her, but Axelia’s head shot up and she stared into the distance.

“You got a horse. Excellent.” She beamed, making her way faster to the horse.

“You are going nowhere near Roach.” Geralt called after her.

“I am not carrying this head all by myself on this fine day.” Axelia huffed almost reaching the horse. She heard a whistle coming from Geralt and then the horse trotted pass Axelia to her owner.

Girl sighed and with the leshen’s head in her hands, turned around to face the fellow witcher.

“Fine! I’ll carry it myself then.” She rolled her eyes and turned to continue the walk across the field towards the grove. Axelia still could hear him and his horse walking some steps behind her.

“I don’t hold you here, you can go. Coinless that is, but free to leave.” She stopped once again, letting her shoulders sink lower. Not the first time she has said something along those lines. His presence here made her remember things she didn’t want to remember. Taking a deep lungful, she looked up at the murky sky. Dropping the leshen’s head near her feet she sighed.

“How did you know it was me? You haven’t seen me in years.” Axelia said, when she heard that the witcher had stopped somewhere behind her.

“The scent.” He stated simply.

“I stink that bad, huh?” Axelia murmured loud enough for Geralt to hear.

“Velvet rose and sandalwood.” He said making her look to the side, brows furrowing underneath the tulle.

“Sensed it before I even stepped into that forest. It seems to accompany you wherever you go.” He explained to her. She swallowed thickly, not sure what to tell him.

“Since when you trust only your nose?” She tried to play it off, reaching for the antler to grab on.

“Why do you even know that smell?” She shook her head, trying to rid her head of thoughts.

“I don’t know.” Geralt answered, more to himself, because he genuinely didn’t know the answer himself.

“You know what? Forget that you met me today. I got money to collect.” She said frankly and made her way through the sporadic grove. Well, today she didn’t think that she’ll need to stop on so many occasions. But here she was again, because somebody was pulling on the other antler.

“Hey! Go find your own! This is mine! You are not getting my payment!” Axelia hissed as she spun around, still not letting go of her antler.

“Why are you here?” Geralt asked, still holding other antler, Roach looking upon both from a distance. Axelia didn’t answer, huffed and pulled on her antler, hoping that Geralt will let go. But he didn’t.

“Can you not?” She let deep breath through her nose. He still waited for her answer while pulling the scull back to him.

“For fucks sake! I will punch you, Geralt!” Axelia yelled at him. Her head raising to look somewhere near his head as she pulled the scull to her with both hands on the antler now.

“I have no doubt that you will.” Geralt tilted his head to the side, the corner of his lips slightly raising. This time pulling the antler that was in his hand, harder away from her.

With angry and annoyed grunt, Axelia pulled on the antler once more. Geralt wasn’t so keen on letting her pull it. With a crack, similar to one that thick, dry wooden branch would make, the scull with only one antler was left in Axelia’s hand, while the other was left in Geralt’s. For a second there was silence. Both of them confused on why it broke so easily.

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed in his deep voice.

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID NOW, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, GERALT!” Axelia screamed as she swung back the scull and tried to hurl Geralt in the head with it. But his reflexes were faster and he duck out of the way, only Fuck leaving his mouth.

“You. Broke. My. Antler. Idiot.” Axelia screamed. Each word punctuated with swing of a scull as Geralt was stepping back and ducking out of her way.

“Someone has to file off those horns of yours!” Geralt said as he ducked out of her way again.

“MY HORNS? Who do you think I am?!” Axelia yelled again, getting ready to make another blow at the witcher. Now, using the antler that was still in his hand, Geralt clashed it against the scull. One of it’s branches getting caught in the eye socket of the scull, thus expertly yanking the whole thing out of Axelia’s hands. With infuriated sigh she stopped, her hands balled in fists at her side. She stared at him, her peaked witcher senses allowing her to see enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can I do my job peacefully?” She asked, almost sounding delirious because of all the yelling beforehand, yanking the antler from Geralt’s hand. Witcher didn’t answer. This whole situation funny to him. He always liked to rile her up, when they both were younger back at Kaer Morhen.

“How did you know it was me?” She asked again, pinching the bridge of her nose and turning away.

“I said. The scent of velvet rose and sandalwood.”

“How did you know it was me? It could have been anyone else with that fragrance.”

“But I have only met one person with that scent. And it is you. Every single time I stepped into those stone walls, there was that smell. Even back when we went through those trials, if I felt that scent, then I knew I was still alive.” He explained, his eyes catching every single movement of her. Axelia stopped her pacing and looked at Geralt. She didn’t want to remember what they had gone through to become what they are now. What she is now. Why is he telling this?

“You talk too much, Geralt.” Axelia sighed, turning towards the village.

“Only when you are around.” He hummed.

“Since when do I own such niceties from you, Rivian?” She brushed her palms against each other, rubbing off some dirt and dried blood from them, antler wedged in her side for a moment. To Geralt she seemed distant and cold. Witchers were never know to be the ones to show emotions, but even taking that into accord, Axelia was more chirpy toned. Less- this unbothered person. It seemed as if both of them had switched their moods. He was the broody one, and she was the joyful one, trying to make the best out of everything. Suddenly, it seemed that that had switched these personas.

“Why didn’t you turn away? Why did you walk into the forest? You know that I can handle myself.” She turned her head to look across her shoulder at him.

“I wanted to. But my gut told my I shouldn’t.” He said, taking a quick glance at Roach as she was feeding on the grass that grew in the grove they were standing in.

“If that would have been Yen, then—” he started to explain, but was stopped by how quickly Axelia had turned around and hissed at him:

“Ah, yes, Yennefer. How could I forget her? How could you forget her? You know what?” Axelia spat at him, exaggerating her point by throwing up her hands, antler still in her right hand.

“Will you let me finish?” Geralt said, getting tad annoyed by her attitude. He already had Jaskier to get on his nerves, he didn’t need her too, he didn’t want her to get on his nerves.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Axelia said pointing that antler at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, being cautious if she thinks of hitting him again.

“I know what is about to come out of that mouth of yours.” She shook the antler at Geralt. He was about to protest when she sighed and held up one finger.

“Keep the head.” She threw the antler at his feet.

“You killed the monster, its your money.” Geralt pointed out.

“I can’t deal with you right now. I didn’t ask you to be here. Why don’t you just leave, then? The same way that you left me to rot on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen?” She exhaled and turned to walk to village and get away from there sooner.

She remembered that night as if it had happened yesterday. It had been a pleasantly dark evening. Air was still crisp, spring had barely come after a long, cold winter. Axelia had watched how Geralt packed all the stuff he needed for his next journey, as he was the last to leave. She had been dressed in her own armour. He seemed oddly quiet that night. Not that he ever talked much. Axelia, even with-out her eyesight, could see that he was planning on doing something. But she couldn’t tell what it was that he was planning. As much as she knew, he was leaving. That’s what she gathered from Vesemir.

As both of them were walking through now empty halls of the witcher school, Axelia was trailing behind Geralt. Tense silence between them. Girl with light hair, knew that it was spring and Geralt was about to leave for whatever was next for him. And she had thought that this could be that one time they could both leave together. Now she felt ready, finished all her witcher training, learned what there was to learn in the school. Both of her swords, just like Geralt’s, sat snugly on her back.

“What’s the next stop?” she had asked while he was fastening his bag on the back of his horse.

“Velen. At start. Then wherever the coin is.” He said with a grunt as he pulled the belts of his bag tighter. Axelia hummed in approvement as they both made their way back up to school. Stepping in the kitchen/dining room, Geralt looked around some shelves, as if to make himself busy.

“You seem a bit lost there.” Axelia chuckled sitting at the table and looking how he was picking and putting down various items. Only response she got from him was his iconic deep hum.

“Need help there, good sir?” She asked kind-spirited.

“No.” was his clipped answer.

“Alright then… What are you looking for?” she asked, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Nothing.” He turned to look at her. He looked around for a second and then half-awkwardly said:

“I’m leaving now, then.”

“I know.” Axelia smirked at him and got up to follow him out.

“You are staying.” He stopped to look at her when he heard her follow.

“You know very well that I am not, you stupid.” Axelia rolled her eyes and walked around him to go to his horse.

“I’m serious. You are staying here.” He dead-panned, leaving no room for defences.

“What? I thought that after… I thought we…” Axelia furrowed her brows at him, feeling slightly stupid.

“Don’t follow me.” He said getting a hold of her shoulders and spinning her around.

“I’m leaving.” He pointed at her and turned to walk away.

“Not with-out me.” She said stubbornly and still followed him.

“Axelia.” Geralt warned.

“Geralt.” She said in same tone. “You are not leaving me here. I am not staying here basically all alone anymore.” She said almost pleading.

“I can’t take you with me. You have to stay. Look after school.”

“The fuck do I look like to you? Inn keeper?” She pushed him out of her way. But before she could actually take any steps further, Geralt had grabbed her from behind and pulled her against his chest. Both of them falling silent for a moment.

“You can’t leave me here. Not again.” She whispered, trying to force her voice not to waver. The deal with Axelia was that, she was like a failed experiment as one could say. She wasn’t the best that Kaer Morhen could offer when it came to excellent witchers. She needed to hone her senses and use what she still got. One was to be with sharp eyesight and dull emotions, while Axelia was complete opposite: blind emphatic girl with sharp reflexes and inhuman strength. And yet, somehow, she made it to the top, with some minor setbacks to still fix, but good enough to go out there.

“You can’t come with me, Axelia.” Geralt had said gravely in her hair.

“No. Please don’t leave me. You are the only one that believes in me.” She whispered, her milky eyes brimming with tears. Geralt looked at the door. He couldn’t stay any longer.

“Close your eyes.” Geralt order to her.

“We’re too old to play games.” Axelia said, her brows furrowing again, as her hands wrapped around his.

“You didn’t oppose the last time when we were in bed.” He whispered, his chin now on her right shoulder. With sigh she closed her eyes. Geralt pressed his lips against her temple, not something he did usually. Somehow, she felt that he was lingering in that one kiss. Moments later, his hands left her waist, and she was left feeling cold.

“Geralt?” Axelia asked, still not opening her eyes. That moment she heard the deadbolt of the kitchen door fall shut.

“Not where we e—” She opened her eyes, standing alone in the room, door locked from outside.

“Geralt?” She questioned again this time louder. “This isn’t funny.” She walked to the door and tried to open them, but it was no use.

“You can’t leave me!” she called out yanking on the handle.

“Vesemir is never going to let me leave!” she continued, not caring if she was about to wake someone up.

“Geralt! Please don’t leave me!” She banged on the door, hitting her shoulder against it, trying to break the door. With unholy swear leaving her mouth she run to the back door of the kitchen, even if it meant taking the longer route, she was not letting him leave her. Running down the lengthy corridor and passing through armoury and two training rooms, she ran through big hall, pausing momentarily too look at the locked kitchen door.

“Geralt!” Axelia called, not feeling him anywhere near her. She run to the threshold of the School of Wolf and with her empty eyes looked around.

“Please, no…” She whined pathetically as she realised that she has been left behind. Another year to waste all alone while other witchers were gone.

She remembered very clearly how that night she had slept and cried in his pillows. She was weak, something that witcher shouldn’t be.

~~~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

tags: @boiled-onionrings @fandomwithnolifesblog​ @901seconds​ @kingniazx​ @shesakillerkween

[tarasylnin-lavellan]

Justice's Ally

so one of my mutuals characters will be in the next installment the wonderful @w-h-4-t s Harel and she is a HUGE part of this piece since this is very heavily based off of the dialog that she and I ran back and forth for this so thank you lethalan you are amazing

Okay my lovelies here is safe for work recap so that you will be up to speed.

Tara has a terrible dream in which she is chased through a twilight forest. This forest is filled with massive dark crystal formations and trees that seem to stretch up out of sight. She is hunted and attacked by something that resembles the Dread Wolf. After she wakes terrified and half awake she loses the iron control she always keeps. We find out why, she has a spirit bound to her, Cullen reacts badly to this news saying she is an abomination and runs from her.

Tara is left with no choice in order to ensure her own safety she flees Skyhold. She is fleeing for the arbor wilds knowing that she can evade capture there and figure out what in the world she is going to do now.

Now on to the regularly scheduled angst

Dorian had decided that he wanted to read "Draconica the study of Dragon kin." He picked this up rather than the two before it in the stack. "Knowing us we are going to have to fight some scaly monstrosity soon." A small note fell from the pages in the dawn light, and Dorian caught it. His eyes scanned it quickly it was in Tara's precise script. He felt his heart tear at the terse words, "oh no, isa'ma'lan." He felt the outrage rising in him a bitter flame, that bastard ran her off! Dorian stormed toward the tower, people clearing out of his way quickly.

Dorian slammed the door open, and Cullen started violently halfway pulling his blade free. Dorian flicked his hand and all of the doors to the tower locked. "You, bastard if you hurt her so help me," Cullen stood rigid his eyes locked on the younger man. Dorians temper flared " SHE WAS YOUR LOVER, AND MY SISTER!!! THE ONLY FAMILY TO EVER LOVE!" Cullen cut him off his voice harsh and hurt "she is an ABOMINATION!" Dorians face grew dangerous as he looked at the ex templar "HOW DARE YOU!" his hands began to smoke faintly as he clenched them.

Cullen's face contorted in apprehension "You cant even control yourself." He let out a pained breath "maybe Meredith was right, maybe you are all abominations waiting to happen. Cullen looked tired and sad as if he didn't want to believe what he said. Dorians keen eyes caught the doubt in Cullen, he worked to calm the fury and outrage in his heart.

"She has always been like that, you ignorant bastard! She is a miracle not a MONSTER!" Cullen slammed his hands on the desk making things jump crazily. "MAGES its always MAGES WHY you blasted mages keep using me." Cullen's eyes welled with tears of grief, and he gritted his teeth hands shaking on his desk. "USE YOU?! she left to save you!" Dorian waved his hand "ah you are impossible, she was born like that she didn't change your eyes did." Cullen looked up frustration and hurt flashing in his amber eyes, "your glib tongue do you no favors mage!" Dorians hands rested on his hips, "shut up, just shut up and listen to yourself. This is Tara, our Tara, you're calling an abomination you washed up chantry fanatic! You want to call her monster, mage killer? We all have things that we would rather others not know. But Tara is.... SHES DONE EVERYTHING TO MAKE SURE SHE NEVER FALLS INTO A HOLE LIKE THAT BUT YOU you have..."

Cullen scoffed at the mage "you didn't see her, you cannot tell me my eyes have changed." Dorian scoffed right back "let me guess... she woke up screaming and fell out of the bed. And then hmm let me guess a blue light formed from her skin and her eyes glowed blue white." Cullen's eyes widened in surprise "who do you think holds her after those awful nightmares when you aren't around golden boy? My greatest regret is that she'd sacrifice her stupid selfless beautiful soul for an ignorant bastard like you. My beloved sister ran because she knew you would be forced to kill her, TO KILL HER FOR YOUR DAMNED HONOR. She didn't want to put YOU through that not for the sake of her own life! Knowing her she'd let you kill her," at this Cullen's face paled visibly "I see that I am right the damned fool, offered her life in payment, typical." Cullen growled "Enough!" slamming his hand on the desk again in pure emotion. "How HOW am I to look at her.... when all I see is that THING, HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL!"

Dorian looked at the torn man, "you feel as though she lied to you and used you. We cannot change the fact that Tara didn't tell you of her nature. However we must look at the intent, Commander. Not everything is this rigid black and white you blasted Andrastian's love so much. I will never know the pain you feel right this minute, but I do know that we are missing someone integral in our lives. Someone who has just run to maker knows where to save us." He sniffed in distress " its just like her, isn't it? She loves us so much.... that she would do anything for us....even... at the expense of herself." She would run to her death but she knows, she knows that it would break you to put her down. So she shattered everything she has instead for you. I know the courts Cullen, I know peoples faces from years of living in that snake pit and yours is all too easy to read. You think her cruel for hiding, and terrifying for the albatross. You cannot simply pull all of that love out, you idiot. All those restless nights, up at all hours researching Lyrium addiction and treatments. Her every waking moment, spent looking after your shattering body and mind." Dorian sighed heavily "do you have any idea how many times I had to peel her off her desk because she had passed out there? She is painfully selfless, and in your ignorance and fear you close your heart to her.

In Tevinter she would be accepted she would even be admired for what she is. She is a rare person, a true spirit born, a person who dies but a spirit breathes there own life into to bring back. But here? here she would be killed without question, simply for existing."

"She tried not to love you, the fool, but she simply couldn't help herself. Every day that woman puts up a Fucking WALL, EVERY DAY. And the moment she lets it down you prove her right and tear out her heart. And yet she left for YOU to save you the pain of her death. She would rather you despise her than grieve her. She probably wishes she were truly dead right now."

Cullen's voice was weak and pained "....magic.. exists to..."

"If you finish that sentence, Templar I will have no mercy for you" Dorian snarled. "Don't you dare quote scripture at me, I know spirits, I know those things you call demons. And Tarasyl'nin is not one. Don't. You. Dare. All that wonderful woman has done has been to SERVE others, she asks for nothing in return EVER. You are not out there by her side in battle, she will throw herself in front of anything to protect the innocent. Now tell me Templar is that the actions of an Abomination?"

"STOP IT she lied to me," Cullen barked in response but his heart was wavering desperate to believe. "She lied to protect you, because she adores you. You know our Tara can be a bit abrasive but when she loves, she loves hard. She would do anything for the people she cares for. Why cant you see that? just put the armor and the scripture away for a moment. Take a step back, its Tara, she never truly hid from you, Cullen she only wanted to be loved" Dorians voice hitched on the word loved. "She just wants what all of us want to be loved, for who we are. She tried so hard not to love you, to stay away from you but she couldn't help it. So she tried to protect you to let you think she was...normal. She wanted to protect you from her, HER of all people. The person who would throw herself to her knees and, let you kill her if you thought that was right." Dorians eyes filled with tears and he wiped them away viscously "she knew... the moment that you found out that you would kill her or she would have to run. She made plans to make sure you could never find her." Dorians chest hitched painfully " and now I have lost the only family that loves me." He looked at Cullen sullenly "I wish she had never met you, I tried to warn her damn you."

A heavy silence fell over the pair each lingering in the grief that filled the room like choking smoke. At last Cullen let out a sigh and massaged his forehead, "what is the dem-...the spirit like?"

Dorians eyes widened in astonishment "Pardon?" Cullen let out a slow breath " the spirit, what does it do? or think...or what?" Dorian eyed him warily "you...you actually wish to know?" Cullen looked up at the ceiling "I... rifts are tearing apart the world, A magister god has appeared and I have just learned the woman I love is part spirit. The world cannot get any more mad, perhaps instead of resisting like I have always done.... I... suppose its time to... learn. to get accustomed to this. Besides " Cullen looked down with reddened eyes "I cannot bear to lose the only good thing in my life after so much horror."

Dorian watches Cullen, his eyes discerning and shrewd, "as you wish Commander. Tara told me that she was still born this can happen with twins. Her mother begged the gods for help to save her daughter. Apparently a spirit heard her instead, and a blue white shape wrapped itself around the still child. In that moment she cried out but her eyes glowed faintly blue. The spirit is tethered to her it is all that keeps her alive, it is not so much a voice in her mind as hmm her subconscious. It influences her but cannot control her actions. However it is protective of her much as you beloved hounds are. It will appear in times of great stress and danger, it is the spirits power that she uses in battle. Her power is limited and focused because it is the spirits strength. It inspires her and at the same time, it grates on her taxing her. Think of it as ice melting in water except the ice is melting very very slowly. Its a part of her that is slowly blending into her. She is a living bridge to the fade and all that lies beyond.

Cullen let out an apprehensive breath "what spirit is it?" his hands clenched painfully on the wood. Dorian watched this impassively "It is a strong willed but impartial spirit... Justice... you templars know its darker form I know vengeance. As I recall that fool of a man Anders was possessed by one like it. However the difference is, Tara made no deal she has always been like this. She has grown in the shadow of this burden, she is not some foolhardy apprentice looking for power. She would rather destroy herself, than let the spirit corrupt her, as I fear she may now."

Cullen's eyes fly wide and he pales visibly "makers breath....we have to find her! The inquisition! the.. the... Tara.. she is out there!! Alone!" Cullen franticly tried to gather things, seemingly without direction. Dorian chuckled faintly at the man, "you are proposing that we attempt to find a Dalish woman, in the forest, with a head start no less?" Cullen whirled looking frantic " what other choice do we have? If we send a raven, it will not know where to find her! We... there has to be some way, makers breath if only she had a phylactery." Dorian cut him off "you honestly want to talk about that horrid practice after every thing we just discussed?" "The Inquisition needs her! Cullen interjected and Dorian scowled " never suggest a phylactery again.”

Now thankfully I have already sent out two expert trackers." "Some of Leliana's people?" Dorian waved a manicured hand at the question "Oh void no, people that can sense spirits much better than your Templars or soldiers ever could." "Cullen swallowed heavily "we have to get her back post haste." Dorians eyes glimmered in response "ha, look at you just a moment ago you were screaming bloody murder and now, he has become a knight again, Good show!" His eyes became level in a moment "I need to know that she will be safe, before I even consider letting them TRY to bring her back."

Cullen hung his head and responded "I will not harm her, of that you have my word....I....I just want her to return for the inquisitions sake. Dorian cleared his throat pointedly "....and for mine." "Lets hope Harel and Cole can find her then, I do not wish to live without my sister. Cullen's emotions crowded his mind "and.... I don't want to..." Dorian sighed dramatically "by the black Devine's breeches, you Ferelden men cant take even a little emotion."

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 7 - unknown

you are a mystery he brought upon himself, one he is unsure if he wants to unfold.

It was not often that someone willingly put their life at risk for him.

Trust did not come easy in the remaining scorched earth with what was left of humanity shedding skin to reveal what had been suppressed within all along - greed, selfishness, the urge to spill so much red simply because it could, stealing, slaughtering.

To trust someone even for the slightest of seconds as you did so much as to look the other way, was signing off a death contract with your name on it, effective immediately. One look away, and there would be a rusty blade pressing dangerously deep into your throat. One single slip-up with the wrong person, and your head would be blown off - blood and brains coating the old paint. One wrong word out of your mouth, the slightest hint of information, and your entire camp would be slaughtered like pigs.

One moment of forgetfulness and get your throat chewed on by a freshly-turned, just like that little boy Sam would have done if they let him.

It was very much unlike the infamous, ruthless smuggler that he had molded himself into - everyone he crossed paths with knew he barely had any mercy for himself, let alone helpless survivors. He would try to reconcile himself and his thoughts by telling himself he only helped you out to have another pair of arms protecting over Ellie, knowing you would be indebted to him - had you tried to cross him or the little girl, one bullet in your skull would do the trick, wouldn't it now? Wouldn't it come as easy as breeze to put a bullet into the lone survivor he carried to safety?

Joel Miller knew, from the depths of his barely living fragments of his soul, that giving a second chance to a woman who had been in her deathbed was a complete and utter mistake.

It was yet another mystery to add onto his already confused state as to why that mistake had saved their asses willingly and relentlessly, more than once.

Who the hell were you?

The gruff man would internally curse something colorful, faced with yet another consequence of taking in a companion - the unknown. He knew of your first name, and that had been about it - the very simple limitation of his knowledge over you.

Another thing he had learnt about you earlier had been just how much of a fucking fighter you were - shooting men who belonged to one of the most dangerous factions on the face of doomed earth, like they were nothing more than target practice. Not a trace of hesitation to get to what you had wanted, even if it meant getting innocent blood on your hands, doing all of that with the remnants of lead lodged into your thigh from weeks ago. And not once did you back away from keeping an eye out for Ellie and him, leading the ghost of a good man inside him to believe that you were loyal to your promise. The survivor that engulfed his being only believed in that when you had taken the Firefly stragglers by your own, with him not even interfering as he watched the members of the very kin he searched for during this entire mission across the country get murdered.

Those two, now deceased, incapable stragglers were the least of his worries as he concentrated on the tension that having a stranger sit right beside him created - one who had been good as well as unpredictable with a pistol. In an attempt to ease his worries, he had taken the trusted revolver from you after the encounter - which was now tucked alongside his own on the side of his worn-out dark jeans, on his left hip.

All he needed to do was get to wherever the fuck his brother had holed up, safe and sound, and then tell you that you had been on your own from then on - that you had paid him back for saving your life, and you could disappear from the face of civilization for all he cared. Those fabricated scenarios were what he would tell himself, trying to make himself believe more than anyone, as if trying to hammer down a nail into sturdy wood - yet the nail would not go in, no matter how hard he hit.

Why would you, when you had been apparently more than capable of taking care of yourself, protect him and Ellie when you were not even asked to do so? Sneak inside with a recovering, trembling thigh and fight your way out to provide a means of escape, doing so without any help nor threat coming from his side?

He did not like questions he did not know the answers to, not one bit. He liked to be the one asking them, using any means necessary to obtain just exactly what he wanted. Sometimes, he did not even bother asking, instead opting to unholster his handgun. Above all, it had been the shoot and never ask questions mentality that got him this far into the end of the world.

Then why, for God's sake, was he repeating those same ones in his head, pondering possible answers that he so desperately needed at this point?

With Ellie dozing off into some deep slumber in the back, Joel's calloused hands gripped onto the steering wheel as he drove in steady gear, a void expression on his face relishing in the quietness of the atmosphere, the only sounds being Ellie's little snores and your soft breathing to accompany the low rumble of the engine.

The unwarranted companion in this scenario, you let your tired eyes wander around as the slightly damaged tires sled rather smoothly on whatever had been left from the cracked asphalt of the interstate.

It was a weird feeling, riding in an actual running car again, even though you were not in the driver's seat for a change. This time, you tried to make yourself as comfortable as you could on the passenger seat, extending your legs out to rest after being pushed to the point of exhaustion.

The slowly setting sun served picturesque views in front of you, casting the dashboard and everything around in a reddish pink hue, illuminating your features adorned with dried blood. The late summer heat, ready to surrender itself to the breezy night. Trees lined up ever-so-unkempt around the highway, stray abandoned cars scattered here and there along the way.

It was times like these, when the nature bestowed its beauty upon you at sundown, that took you back to the old world. How it all used to be. Enjoying the warmth of the fading sunlight without worrying about bullets whizzing around you. The days you would sip an ice-cold drink happily without checking for spore contamination first.

But for then, you counted your blessings. It had been pure luck that the man beside you had not killed you yet, pure luck that he let you live this long alongside of the duo just at the price of protecting them till they reached their God-forsaken destination - traded in with your precious life, that seemed like a fair deal you were willing to honor as long as it kept your head attached to your body.

You needed to stay alive first and pay your debt to this man - then, you would go after and find out about just why the fuck the Fireflies wanted you again.

It had been hours since you had infiltrated that suburban house to steal this truck you now rode in. The leftover adrenaline still coarsed through your veins, sending tingles over and around your body, which had been unusual given how habituated you had become with killing over the years. It was as if your body and mind were in unison knowing that these last two victims under your wrath had been no ordinary ones. They had been ones you used to drink and eat with, ones you used to belong to - members of your old allegience, tasked with findig you at all costs, merely obeying orders and putting their life at risk for the safety of the greater good. You had learned not to put remorse in your system as you took lives, yet a part of you ached knowing that they were only following orders just like you had been once upon a time.

The thoughts lurking on your mind were interrupted with the man right next to you clearing his throat in a low rumble, catching your attention and making your gaze turn towards him. His features supported an unusual curiosity, like he was trying to talk to you somehow yet was trying to pick just the right words, his jaw clenched beneath that peppered beard.  

“How you holdin’ up?” came his rumble of a sentence. Due to your survival mode fading off in a much, much slower pace than normal, the pain in your injured thigh came gradually, shots of shivers emanating through your entire body. In the haze of your thoughts, you did not even realize that your bloody fingers had been pressing onto the wrappings, tightening around the dirty fabric. The fucker had managed to pop off some of the scabs around your wound, thankfully the opening was not a threatening one - nevertheless, it hurt like someone was still poking at it, like someone was twisting and turning a rusty blade in it.

The stare in your orbs softened in slight appreciation of his concern - you could not give a damn if it had been genuine or not, there were not many people around who would even ponder asking. “I’ll manage. He got some good hits in.”

“Alright then,” he gave out in a tone that reflected his pensive state, opting to lay his elbow on the side as one hand kept on steering. The last remnants of pink sunlight reflected the greens in his irises mixed in with the gold as you held your stare for a second too long - it was the most you had ever looked at the man, after all, with the past weeks being nothing but pure survival and following their path against your will.

“Look, back there, in the house,” he started, voice gruff as ever as he casted a side glance at you. To your surprise, his orbs did not house hostility, rather had a softer gleam of an emotion you could not discern yet. “ - it was either them or us.”

Oh, if only he knew.

“And I appreciate it. Reckon we’ll arrive in a couple days - then we go our separate ways.”

To that, you could only nod slowly, your face devoid of emotion. You could not blame the man - even though he was the one asking for some sort of payment for your life, no survivor wanted a stranger tagging along for more than necessary. The words uttered out of his lips, however, were no threat - they simply remarked the fact that you did not belong there with them, you were there out of sheer need of guarantee and you would be left alone again very soon.

Only this time, as you gazed at the fading orange skies, maybe being alone was not what your heart had desired.

[shadia-shoplifter]

The Beginning

First of all what is a pilferer? Well; a pilferer is a person who steals without the use of violence. Shops are the preferred hunting ground for the professional pilferer.

I like to see myself as a professional.

Second who am I? I'm Shadia; so very pleased to meet you. Not my real name obviously. All names have been changed to protect the innocent.....or in my case the guilty. I'm twenty nine years old...I think? I stopped counting or celebrating birthdays after twenty three. So when people ask me my age. I often have to count which appears strange to people. Well! it's rude to ask a girl her age anyway...That's what I say.

So; for you budding pilferers out there wondering how do you become a seasoned professional pilferer? The strange thing about pilfering is....You don't choose pilfering; Pilfering chooses you. Pilfering is like an invisible stalker lurking in the bushes; hiding around every corner; just waiting for circumstances life itself to bring you face to face with this malevolent force. To slowly sink its talons into my innocent flesh; claiming my soul forever. That's what happened to me.

What circumstances brought me to pilfering?

Working in a pizza factory on a zero hours contract isn't the most helpful situation to be in. What is a zero hours contract? A zero hours contract is an agreement with your employer that you will be given work in line with operational demand. If pizza orders are down in particular week or month then you're sent home; usually if your face doesn't fit. "Sorry Shadia Asda has cancelled their order you're not needed this week." Square peg round hole springs to mind. That's it no work; no money.

Just when you think your day can't get any worse; life gives you a little nudge. I didn't know it then but I was two steps away from meeting my phantom stalker. Fate points it finger accusingly at me. just two more nudges and my soul has gone.

Bang! the cooker blows up, squelch! the washer machine floods the kitchen. Cooker kaput! Washer wasted! This super mop is shit! My mother used to say trouble always comes in threes. My stomach is rumbling; my clothes are stinking and rent is due! I have no money. In my case trouble is a quartet.

The rest of the day is a blur. I suddenly found myself wondering around Asda-other supermarkets are available- hungry and honking. My spectre is closing in on me! I was looking at children's clothing. Christ! I don't even have a kid! I was there at the cross roads of my life; honesty this ways please; dishonesty slightly to the left. I could feel the adrenaline; my legs starting to tremble my hands became to shake. This is what they mean by flight or fight! but this was not physical battle. This was a metaphysical conflict for my soul. Stomach churning, hands shaking I picked up two pairs of boys jeans and before I knew it I'd stuffed them in my bag. Oh my God what do I do now! my head was spinning. Get out; Get out; Get out now! a voice screamed in my head. I felt sick. I briskly walked through the shop. The strip lights made my head hurt. Just walk casually a calmer voice said inside my head. I avoided shoppers with trolley like landmines; avoided all eye contact with customers. I felt everyone knew what I had done. A floor assistant was walking towards me. This is it! She knows; She's going to stop me. I wiped my forehead with a hanky I found in my pocket. She's getting closer, closer, closer. Oh she's walked past. I felt I could breath again. "Excuse me," I heard the assistant's voice behind me. I slowly turned trying not to look guilty, "Yes" I said trying to smile but it didn't feel convincing. The assistant stepped toward me; this is it caught. "Is this yours?" She held out my handy. I must have dropped it in my panic. "Yes; thank you" I replied sounding flustered. I turned and walked on.

I pushed past the checkouts. Why do supermarkets make it impossible for you to leave without buying something! The final hurdle through the door and free. Bollocks! The security guard is standing by the door talking to the manager. They know! They're waiting for me! God they're waiting to capture me. I walked through the door every fibre of my being was tense. Time felt like it was standing still as my heart pounded against the the wall of my chest like a police officer's batten. As I passed the barriers the BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I panicked and ran. I barged my way through the car park. I could hear the security guard shouting; his feet pounding behind me slapping against the payment slap! slap! slap! I kept on running putting distance between us. I could sense shoppers staring. I could hear people say, "Oh it must be a shoplifter," as they stepped to one side to get out of my way. I charged toward the road. A black Subaru pulled in front of my blocking my way. I stopped exhausted sweat was pissing from my head. I turned around and saw the guard getting closer; people was standing staring. Some people were covertly nudging the person beside them and nodding in my direction; code for, "Look! A shoplifter!"

I leaned on the roof of the car waiting for the guard. I heard a voice say "Get in" I stood a moment, "For fucks sake get in!" It was the driver a black haired lad wearing a white tracksuit, "Get in or I'm off!" Not thinking I jumped into the back seat. Tyres squealed! We we're off! leaving the guard behind. My soul was whisked away in a black Subaru driven by a teenager. I'll always remember the day Monday 24th November 2014. My twenty third birthday.