#stuck between a rock and a hard place...

[dregssoftea]

the cultivation world is so lucky that SQQ is in denial because if he knew he liked men?? and men could like him back?? his coquettish ass is using that to his advantage. he already does it on accident. the intention alone would send everyone into qi deviation, let alone binghes rage at everyone flirting with his shizun (he’s gonna become a serial killer if they keep it up) and SJ…? oh dear

[chrissy-kaos]

So I have a problem.. if someone offered you a lot of money to do something you’re really against but it’s not going to hurt anyone but yourself (not physically/mentally) would you do it? (We’re talking 5 figures $ here for context)

[utterlyazriel]

i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....

you’re a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry — you’re the wife of some lord, maybe he’s empire, maybe he’s not, but one thing is for sure; he’s got credits.

enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife who’s grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.

he’s done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesn’t love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them — stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.

you are different from the get-go, first being that you’re alone. in the days he tails you, it’s clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that you’re running off to elope with.

he’s been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like you’ve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.

he wins easily. and then you’re silent as you’re lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if it’s the last time you’ll see it.

it’s only as you’re settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak — “i can get you three times your reward.”

and just as he’s beginning to think you’re different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.

“you’re not in any position to negotiate.”

you shake your head as though he misunderstands, “no, i don’t— you can still complete your bounty. but if you-” you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, “if you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."

and that gets din’s attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. “what’s in it for you?”

you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what you’re about to say is. “a few more weeks of freedom.”

this, din doesn’t buy. you married this man by your own choice— he knows because he did his research. he’s not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.

he says as much, not sure why he’s even giving this conversation time of day— he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.

yet, he says, “you had your freedom. you chose this marriage.”

you deflate at his words and somehow din doesn’t feel like he’s won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, “i didn’t know.” din stops. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even tilt his head but that’s enough for you to keep talking, “i— he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.” something heavy sinks into the bottom of din’s stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldn’t have allowed it.

but din’s seen the galaxy’s worst and knows very well that he would’ve. “i didn’t know what i was signing, i didn’t even know i was signing anything,” you say, voice tight. “just two weeks, please, it’s all i ask.”

it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but… he believed you.

“i can give you a week,” he says and doesn’t wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.

then you have a classic star wars montage — din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if he’s hunting and you’re more than happy about that.

it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself — unless he wants to?— and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that there’s nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesn’t land because you’re too struck by the new planet, a landscape you’ve never seen before.

you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, it’s as though you’ve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.

as you wander, din can’t keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly haven’t travelled much— and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, there’s little to do as a lords wife and you’ve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.

“su cuy’gar,” (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mando’a roll off your tongue. he can’t think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.

you think you’ve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesn’t put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.

it’s only a week but it feels like a lifetime — for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.

after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you can’t help but feel like din’s adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if he’s letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldn’t just for your sake.

when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in manda’o when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that he’s insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.

he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that you’re barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.

you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.

even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.

“home time,” you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.

the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesn’t say a word. he’s suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.

the flight is short and in a manner of hours, you’re walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.

you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you weren’t.

“he deserves handsome reward”, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that it’s being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. “don’t punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.”

your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring

“vor entye, mando,” (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesn’t say anything and you think that’ll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.

then…

“din.”

you halt, unsure of what it is he’s said.

“my name is din.”

you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies — certain you’ll be content with the memories of the week.

it’s not contentness that finds you though; it’s torture, knowing what’s outside, right out of your reach.

you don’t slide back into your old life at all, you’ve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.

your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you don’t have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.

it’s a quiet evening and you’re absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.

a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that it’s your guards, not the intruder, who’s taken the fall.

you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opens— and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. it’s second nature to step forward, towards him.

his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that he’s come back.

he came back, for you.

“do you want to stay here?” he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.

“no,” you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.

“do you want to leave?” he says. “with me?”

you’re nodding before he’s finished his sentence. “yes.”

and then you’re following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done this—come back and made it your choice.

you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around din’s knee and he crumples with a grunt.

you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armour—

“din— din, you have to get up,” you say, voice wobbling.

you don’t even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then you’re fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown you’re in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.

as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, it’s with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison that’s weaving into his blood.

he’s hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless no’s that leave your lips. it’s only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourself— you’re still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, you’re tugging towards him.

you’re both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.

“the very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?”

the lie surges up within you easily. “no! no, it was a plan of my design. i… i tempted him with credits to help me escape.”

and if din wasn’t already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monster— his heart stirs in his chest.

and what’s worse is that it works.

your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeance— “escape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.”

din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til you’re only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. “yes. you’re right. i should have known better.”

din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his leg— the poison is weighing him down but it’s not enough to dull his senses.

he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick succession— but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what you’ve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.

“stop it!” you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husband’s hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.

“stop,” he snarls. “trying to get away from me,”

“no!” you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.

“i won’t stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,” you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.

“but,” you begin.

“no,” din’s voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than you’ve ever heard it.

“if you let me give him the antidote,” you voice trembles. you’re running out of time. “i will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escape—”

“no,” din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. “i will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.”

the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally it’s lowered an inch— your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. “cuff him.”

you’re snatching up the vial before he’s even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to din’s weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.

apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured din’s breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to push— when his arm sways back, away from the needle.

“no,” he says once more, breathless. “not… for your freedom.”

you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.

“i’m not worth dying for.” you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.

your chest heaves, the finality of what you’ve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasn’t just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.

“goodbye, din,” you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submit— when din’s gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.

you barely get a moment of confusion before he’s murmuring, “get down,” and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.

you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and din’s hand tugs you forward so you’re upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.

din’s body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and there’s another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.

the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is… this real? are you free?

“breathe, mesh’la,” din commands softly.

you realise you’re holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you — then din’s shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise there’s blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.

“your leg—“

din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. “i’ll deal with it at the ship. c’mon.”

he stands like it’s no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and… your husband.

he isn’t moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab din’s blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.

din’s gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what he’ll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.

you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,

the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return — that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.

your choice.

[azrael08]

One of my personal favourite quodo headcanons is that when news gets around ds9 that they’re finally together-together as in, an actual real couple, everyone assumes that they have already boned like a bajillion times

Everyone on the station is like “Those two r a couple? Oh yeah, that goo man who has so much repressed energy that it comes out as an intense obsession for a little goblin sex freak who runs the bar and said goblin sex freak? They must have the kinkiest of sex, doing all types of weird roleplays and shit in the bedroom.”

And then by pure accident like a full year into their relationship Quark lets it slip to Jadzia at one of their bestie sleepovers that he and Odo have never done anything beyond making out and Dax is like “😦” and then she lets it slip to a bunch of other people and their all like “😦”

[death-limes]

i’m tired of anti-voting rhetoric.

someone’s going to win in November. there’s no denying that. someone is going to win. no matter how many people refuse to vote, thinking that’s somehow going to make a statement or send a message, someone is going to win. and it’s going to be one of those two fuckers. a third-party candidate has never won before and there’s no indication that that could happen now. both of the assholes in question have horrendous foreign policy. in that regard, it doesn’t matter who wins, and as voters there’s nothing we can do about that except continue with activism. but with regards to domestic policy, one of those assholes is going to make life significantly harder for underprivileged people in america. that same asshole has all but stated outright that he wants to be a dictator. that asshole’s party isn’t fighting amongst themselves about him — they’re voting and they know exactly who they’re voting for. the other asshole with the better domestic policy has everyone within AND outside his party fighting about him because even though he’s better than the other guy he still sucks. lots of people in his party are pledging not to vote for him, instead voting for someone else with no chance of winning OR simply not voting at all and throwing away a right that people in other countries have fought bloody revolutions in order to earn. those people are helping the dictator asshole win. regardless of any “message” they might be trying to send, in the here and now, they’re helping the dictator asshole win.

taking domestic policy into consideration when deciding to vote is not americans “only caring about ourselves.” it’s recognizing that the foreign situation is fucked either way but we can still make a decision that’s better for the underprivileged people who live here.

[wingedqueenlynx]

Surprise angst jumpscare. With Cathy being severely touch starved and lonely ;<;

I need to be stopped

I can't keep getting away with this ;<;

[transjinako]

its kind of annoying to me how much people put weight on like, how Easy it is to learn a game per say. Like a major source of discourse for getting into yugioh or getting into fighting games is how much time it takes for someone to learn how to play either game but really i think your ability to just do SOMETHING meaningful is so much more important than actually like learning how to play good

[ashe-smash]

Rewatching the Deadpool movies

I’d like to be in a Cable Colossus Sandwich yess yess

Divider by me (@/ashesmashe)

[sangrefae]

just curious because i know you mentioned in your gale gets reaped au the cousin lie would probably come up again, is the same going to happen in your fic? loving every chapter btw. the characterisation is just so 🤌🤌

HONESTLY....... ive been going back and forth on it since making that post. i feel like the cousin lie would reinforce negative stereotypes for people from the Seam, and gale would really want to avoid affirming anything the capitol thinks. but he's also incredibly adverse to forcing his feelings onto katniss, especially as a means of survival, and it would be the quickest way to shut any romance angle down........ but also he's still gale and in the back of his mind he doesn't want to Completely give up any chance he has with her so i think he'd hesitate on that, too. so i'm still kind of in-between on what to do dhfbvkjdfb

[sparklingcid3r]

Based on an earlier post I saw about the different ways Darrel and Pony experience being queer, do you have any headcanons for arguments of like Darry trying to protect Pony from bullies and people in Tulsa, but Pony thinking Darry is just embarassed of him?

hell yeah!!! i love talking about queer curtis brothers angst and otherwise HIT ME W THAT SHIT🙏

- these are probably their harshest arguments that they have and it hurts darry worse than usual. at least when he’s yelling about pony being late it comes from a perceived understanding that there are rules and pony breaking them is not okay.

- but when he’s not being completely honest with pony about why he’s fuming, it stings even worse. before, the look in pony’s eyes was exasperated and angry, but now pony can’t hide the deep cuts that darry slashes into him every time they yell

- the first time pony comes home with a busted face given to him by greasers, darry puts his foot down. his brother isn’t safe living like this anywhere he goes. he tries to encourage pony to find a lady friend, he doesn’t even have to like her like that—darry did it, for chrissake, surely pony can stick it out for a couple more years

- pony of course takes it as an insult, an arrowhead to the heart, but retorts that it wouldn’t be fair to waste a girl’s time like that if he’ll never love her anyway

- darry says something along the lines of “how would you know? you ain’t even tried!” which translates roughly in pony’s head to “you might not even be queer, you aren’t broken yet.”

- he takes it about as well as you expect. the house is filled with screaming and hot tears of frustration, that pony has finally found the limit to darry’s love, the thing that can get him kicked out. that darry can’t bring himself to be honest about who he is to his own flesh and blood because he’s not as fearless as they make him seem. he’s a coward, he’s heinous, and the guilty twisted like a knife in his gut seeing pony getting attacked from all sides and thinking we were right to hide.

- these are the worst arguments that soda has to mediate because he knows both sides, of course he knows. he tries to convince darry behind closed doors to come clean, it’s killing pony and it’s killing darry and it’s killing soda, but every time the anger and frustration flare up, darry’s panicked eyes in soda’s direction force his mouth closed. this isn’t his battle, it’s their’s

[the-merry-otter]

Hmm. I kinda have the energy to start a new project today. However. I still have a billionty unfinished projects, including my green dress AND the market wallet I started the other day as a distraction. Help what do I do.

[ikjun]

every episode junmo is like so WHAT if i nearly die for gicheul !!! it’s for the job !!! my brother in christ your job is to bring him down not to show him your eternal devotion and readiness for carnage all for his name and sake i think we lost the plot a little but you do whatever and get that body count going for you i am sure the police force you actually work for will be super thrilled to find out you constantly mow down anything in your path to the point of accidental man-slaughter because someone looked at gicheul funnily and you lose your shit when that happens

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

‼️Semi-Emergency Commissions‼️

Long story short, my housing situation got a lot more expensive and I’m running low on scholarships. It’s my senior year and I graduate in December, so I just need to get through until then—but I’m stressed as hell about being able to afford my last semester in college. I would really appreciate any help :( and you get art out of it!

Basics

I can do just about anything in terms of species. Humans, D&D races, anthro/furry, animal/feral, mechanical, monstrous, alien, cyborg alien beasts, you name it.

I can also draw pets, you, friends and family, fictional characters, whatever.

I can do mild to moderate gore, but I don't have experience with excessive gore, nor do I really like it. Same for body horror.

I will not draw NSFW art. Non-graphic nudity or romantic moments are cool though!

I reserve the right to turn down requests based on my availability, whether I believe them to be out of my skill range, etc, etc.

Notes:

I can take payments through ko-fi, PayPal, or Venmo. All comms will be run by you a couple of times throughout the process to receive feedback and see what is and isn't working.

Full body digital pieces come with a simplistic background (ie. pattern, very simplified environment/effects, gradients, etc). Sometimes I get silly with it and might add some extra detail, but I won’t charge for extra detail that I added in the process just because I had an idea and was having fun with it.

I am best reached via my Discord, @/dyltgir, but you can also contact me via my DMs here on Tumblr, or on TikTok, Cara, or DeviantArt.

I can also do character design if you don't yet have refs and just loose ideas. :3

If there's anything you're interested in that doesn't appear here, feel free to reach out!

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Examples can be found at this link!

To highlight recent work:

[salemontrial]

Oh my really specific dipcifica exes to lovers au we're really in it now...........

[kiwisandpearls]

feels a little depressing how unwelcoming the selfshipping community has become to proshippers and profic people. Like, i don’t even wanna go into the selfship tag anymore because I know a good chunk of the selfship posts are gonna have a dni at the bottom insulting me and wishing death or harm on me in someway just because I’m profiction. And don’t get me wrong, I know the proselfship and proship selfship tags exist but still, it just kinda sucks the fun out of selfshipping for me.

[aurelio-the-propmaster]

”Aurelio..?”

It was later at night, and Aurelio was probably resigned or about to go to sleep when Erik seemed to appear from nowhere, mask slightly askew. As always he crept in the cover of darkness, and this time, he wasn’t smirking.

“I trust you’ve heard of Clare Dupont, correct? She arrived here recently and as with a few others I’ve begun to mentor her. I knew her back— when I was a child. When I was at..” he swallowed. “I was.. shown for my face at a circus as a boy. She was there too, but as a young girl, daughter of one of the performers. She was an acrobat. Occasionally we’d talk, and it was nice to have a friend. Of course she’s come back and I’m glad to be her friend again— but she’s ruined everything!” He exclaimed, stepping closer.

“She said she’s in love with me, Aurelio. Love. With me,” he said, in disbelief. “For one thing, you alone know where my heart truly lies,” he briefly wanted to take Aurelio’s hand but didn’t. “For another, I’m not sure if she’s lying. I haven’t mentioned you to her yet, but I didn’t think she— and I don’t know what to do. Erik cannot lose a friend over this nonsense when he’s so lucky to even have them in the first place! But I haven’t a clue what to do and I wanted to ask you.”

(from @operas-phantom.. hehe some drama that happened. yes clare does have her own rp blog @clairedupont-blog. hehe drama. drammaaa)

Aurelio pauses in his prop repairs as Erik speaks, looking up at him with a worried expression. He turns in his seat, gently taking Erik's hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze.

"Erik, I trust you to stay loyal to me," he starts, keeping his voice and tone soft to help calm them both, which doesn't really work as he considers a great many possibilities. "Now, breathe; you're the smartest person I know. We'll figure it out, and everything will be okay."

Aurelio pauses, staring at their joined hands with a sigh, and trying to think about what to do. Telling Claire the truth could end in disaster - getting reported, then one or both men being jailed or put to work, or Aurelio being forced to transition into a woman due to being a third of the way there already as an intersex person, etc. But, lying and skirting around the situation could draw suspicion or hurt others. In any case, he just doesn't want Erik to suffer more than he already has.

"What ideas do you have in your head?" he asks after looking back up at Erik, hoping a bit that they can reach some kind of conclusion.