#death traps in my opinion

[summertimevibes]

How would aliens react to humans having theme parks?

Like, would they think that it’s a temple of sorts, since we have so many Disney ones? And how would they react to rollercoasters?

Would they think that it’s some kind of torture? How would they react when they hear us say we pay to go on those, that we enjoy it?

Personally I hate rollercoasters so I’m wondering how an alien would look at it.

[healpimp]

saw somebody claim the stickybomb launcher was too ugly for demoman and he should use the half zatoichi instead. disgraceful thoughts like this should be punishable by death, perhaps by tying them to a rocket going into space

[official-l]

Do you consider yourself to be ethical?

No. I’ve never claimed to be. Soichiro doesn’t like it, but I don’t care much, I only alter any plans in that regard if it would cause serious fall out within the task force.

[chibishortdeath]

Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

[thydungeongal]

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[hyperfixatinator]

Where is the line?

In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.

Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:

What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?

Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.

Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.

The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.

Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.

What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."

The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.

Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.

This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.

In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.

Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.

Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.

But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.

However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."

For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.

Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.

Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?

Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.

Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.

In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.

It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:

Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?

From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.

After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.

But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?

Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.

In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.

Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?

Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.

Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.

In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."

Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?

Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.

What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?

We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.

We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.

Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.

Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.

I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.

Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?

We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.

So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.

Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.

Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.

This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:

"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.

The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!

It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.

Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.

Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.

Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?

That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.

Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.

If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?

You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.

So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!

In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."

Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?

Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?

What changed?!

Where does Tim draw the line?

I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.

Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.

That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!

In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.

It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.

"I believe in every choice I make!"

Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.

Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!

Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?

[frudoo]

reader convincing slasher 141 to let her help when they kidnap and torture someone. she wants to be the victim that escaped or found a why to escape but in reality she's leading the other victim(s) into a trap to be caught. its all to see the look on their face and get praise from the 141 I love all your writing and hope you stay safe.

You are so sweet! I'm glad you're enjoying the series!! <3

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Suggestive content. Mentions of bad people. MDNI.

“No. Absolutely not,” John crosses his arms, stern voice booming throughout the dining room.

     “Why not?” You huff, setting down your fork to focus your full attention on the guys.

     “Jus’ cuz y’live with it doesn’t mean we want y’involved,” Simon grunts, unimpressed.

     “Ah dunno, hen,” Johnny frowns, crystal blue eyes boring into yours. “Wha’ if one of us mistakes ye fer one o’them?”

     “Do you really think that would happen?” You challenge, cocking an eyebrow.

     None of them seem sold on the idea, but you’re not giving up. There’s a need for vengeance hidden deep inside of you that’s just begging to burst out, and although you can’t stomach anything the boys actually do, just knowing that you’ll be helping them scrape the scum off the face of the earth is enough. There’s only one of your husbands that hasn’t voiced his opinion—the very one who can’t resist your charms.

     “Kyle,” you puff your lips out into a pout, batting your eyelashes at him. “Please, baby, just let me help you all out?”

     His eyes widen and he throws his hands up in surrender, shaking his head vigorously.

     “Uh-uh, don’t put tha’ on me, dove.”

     You groan dramatically, standing from your place at the table. 

     “I’m thinking about practicing abstinence.”

     Long story short, they took a chance, and now you’re covered in blood and dirt, wearing nothing but an old nightgown and leading a group of horrified victims into the barn with the promise of hidden escape routes just inside. It surprises you how gullible each of them are, and you almost feel bad for leading them straight to their death. You have to remind yourself that these are rapists, abusers, and cons getting what they deserve. You have to remind yourself that your lovers would never do this to someone undeserving of only the worst fates.

     “No, it’s okay! I-I’m just- hey, you’re fine,” you coo to the sobbing woman who refuses to let go of your arm.

     Eventually you just have to shove her down and slam the barn doors shut, locking her along with every other piece of walking garbage inside. You pass John on his way towards the very building you’re leaving, yelping when he pulls you right into his burly arms.

     “Clever girl. Shoulda never doubted you,” he murmurs, lifting his mask to press a hot, lingering kiss to your lips.

     “Get it over with. I need to wash the fucking bitch’s germs off of my skin.”

     John laughs, giving your ass a tight squeeze before replacing his mask over his face. 

     “Hope you were jokin’ about that whole ‘abstinence’ thing,” he hums, pointing his pinky finger up to a window on the second floor of the barnhouse, where your remaining three lovers have been watching the whole thing play out, hands down their trousers. 

     “They look hungry.”

[theother-victoria]

all hearts as one beneath the sun

SYNOPSIS: before kakavasha dissolves into the nihility, there is one hope he has to let go of. may you meet again in a kinder world and under a warm sun.

CHARACTERS: kakavasha, aventurine, dr ratio, aventurine's family, sunday

TAGS: angst, no comfort, established relationship, mentions of suicide, 4k+ wc

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

NOTES: sobbed to "had I not seen the sun" the entire time I was writing this I love making myself cry w my own work

special thanks to @akutasoda, @tragedy-of-commons, and @https-sourlimes for proofreading this! love u all <33

link to the playlist

Aventurine was mildly surprised when he received word that he would be handling the Penacony mission. Why him, of all the Ten Stonehearts? Surely someone more capable such as Opal would be trusted with a mission of this caliber. 

He only realized why when he pried further into the details. 

Penacony was a death trap. With so many powerful and important people gathered in one place, one wrong move on his part would spell his end.

He chuckles sardonically. Figures. They’re sending their most suicidal employee out for a suicide mission.

As if to rub the situation into his face, he finds out they’re pairing him with Dr. Ratio. What purpose is he supposed to serve, suicide prevention? Too little, too late, in his opinion. 

The doctor doesn’t look too thrilled about the fact either. It makes Aventurine feel somewhat better about this whole situation. 

“You’d best get your affairs settled before we leave, gambler. The odds that you make it back alive from this mission aren’t as high as you’d hope they’d be.”

“Ooh, well I do like the sound of that.”

A glare sent his way makes Aventurine roll his eyes, but he shuts up anyway. Plans are made and discussed for what role each of them will be playing before it’s time to leave. 

“Well then, I look forward to working with you in Penacony, Doctor.”

“Just don’t act like a complete idiot and we’ll be fine.”

The two men head their separate ways. Ratio’s advice to settle his affairs lingers in his mind, though. That means there’s a will he has to sign, assets he has to distribute, funeral arrangements to be made, and more. Of course, most, if not all of it, will be going toward you. You’d be set for the rest of your life, never having to work a day again if you so chose. 

He heaves a sigh. Ah, it’s all so tedious. It was all so much easier before you came along. He had no will to worry about. He’d toss caution to the wind every mission and wind up sorely disappointed when he returned, still alive. If he did end up dying, his assets would end up being pawned off and most likely make their way back to the IPC somehow. So what even was the point then?

With all that being said, he didn’t mind putting in all that extra work for your peace of mind and so you’d continue to benefit, even after his death. 

Still, the stakes this time around are higher, and he has you to consider now before placing his bets. One wrong move and you’d be left without someone to welcome home. And then there’s the consideration of whether he’d be willing to die when the moment came. Sure, he’d attempted several times before but they’d all failed. Would he be able to take the plunge this time, should the opportunity present itself? 

“Hey, Doc?”

Ratio is about to leave, but the uncharacteristic hint of hesitation in his voice makes him stop and look over his shoulder.

“... How can you tell if you’ve lived a life worth living?”

Ratio stares at the blonde in silence in disbelief over what he’s hearing. Aventurine chuckles, trying to dispel the awkwardness that’s settled in the air.

“No answer? Never mind-”

“That answer will vary from person to person. However, if you were to ask me personally…”

The doctor’s ruby eyes flit over Aventurine’s frame, narrowing in contemplation- and perhaps a hint of resignation. 

“Ask yourself this question: can you die today without any regrets?”

“Can I die today without any regrets?” Doctor, what were you thinking when you posed that rhetorical question on me? Obviously the answer would be no!

Expensive leather shoes click against stone as Aventurine hurriedly makes his way through the Dreamscape. The weight of having mere hours left to live looms above his head like an anvil, leaving him scrambling to figure out how to cheat death- not for the hope of living to see another day, but so he can carry out his mission. 

When confronted with death, even a suicidal man will cling to the urge to live for one reason or another. 

He’s hardly paying attention to where he’s going, muttering out half-hearted apologies to those he bumps into as he stumbles through the Dreamscape before he ends up in a secluded area. The kaleidoscopic iridescence in the corners of his vision makes him stumble and he audibly groans when a searing pain flashes through his temples, the Harmony’s brand on his mind assailing him again. 

Dammit… am I really at the end of the line now? And before I could do anything meaningful either…

He hears the sound of a… child humming some distance away? That’s strange, there’s no one else here. 

“Mister, are you lost too?”

That voice. 

He turns around slowly, as if that would change anything. Aventurine’s eyes dart across the boy standing before him, with rags for clothes and scraped knees. The child in front of him is everything he is not- or rather, what he was, but is no longer. Optimistic, with bright shining eyes. Hope still exists for him. 

Those eyes. Oh, it’s himself. 

Aventurine thinks he’s about to be sick. 

“Woah, you have such pretty eyes! Can I call you Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

Aventurine stiffly nods. 

“Sure. Call me whatever you want, kid. What’s your name?”

“It’s Kakavasha. Nice to meet you!”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin confirming his suspicions. 

Kakavasha looks around nervously.

“I was searching for my family, but I got lost. This place is so much bigger than home… Mister, do you think you could help me find them?”

Aventurine shakily extends a trembling hand out.

“Of course. Lead the way. How about you hold onto my hand so you don’t get lost anymore?

Kakavasha latches onto it and begins wandering around, calling out for his parents and big sister. Every unanswered call feels like a punch to the gut but he has a faint flickering of hope that he’ll be able to see them.

“You really love your family, kid,” remarks Aventurine in an attempt to keep some conversation going. 

“Of course! I do!”

Kakavasha pauses in his steps and thinks for a bit, eyes wandering skyward and free hand resting on his chin.

“… Do you have anyone you love, Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

“Yes, I do. Their name is (Name).”

The boy’s eyes light up, sparkling in curiosity.

“Woah, really? What’re they like?”

A light chuckle escapes Aventurine’s lips as he crouches down to Kakavasha’s eye level and ruffles his hair. 

“They’re the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Wow, they must be a really amazing person for you to say that…”

“They are. They're incredible.”

I don’t deserve them.

He chuckles and stands back up again, hand reaching for Kakavasha’s. The little boy continues to lead the way, until he suddenly stops and turns. 

“Would you like to meet my family? They’ve been gone for so long I think they went back home. You can introduce (Name) to them as well!”

Panic wells up inside him. Seeing his family? In this state? After all he’s done? No, he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Not under these circumstances!

“Kid, I don’t think-”

“It’s ok if (Name) shows up late. They’re nice people and they’ll understand.”

“No, I-”

“Come on, let’s go! They’re already waiting for us!”

Aventurine feels himself being forcefully pulled under and he instinctively closes his eyes. A blast of hot, sandy air hits him, making him shield himself. When it settles down, he opens his eyes to a familiar sight. Sand stretches as far as the eye can see. There’s minimal vegetation and he can feel the sun beating down on his back already.

Sigonia-IV. He’s returned home. 

Kakavasha eagerly tugs on his sleeve. 

“This is my home! I know it’s not much, but everyone I know and love is here. I think you’ll like it too.”

Still holding onto Aventurine’s hand, Kakvasha begins running toward the horizon. Aventurine, meanwhile, feels numb all over. 

There’s no way this is happening. Is this some sort of cruel prank? What did that chicken-wing boy do this time? But if this is just a cruel prank…

He looks around at the yellow sand stretching as far as the eye can see and the mountains in the distance.

… Then it’s far too realistic. How is this happening? If I filter out the memories of the massacre, then everything is the same as I remembered it. 

“We’re almost there!” calls out Kakavasha. “Just a little longer now!”

Three familiar figures stand in front of a tent some distance away and Aventurine feels his heart seize up in his chest. He’s long forgotten their faces, but he instinctively recognizes them.

Mom. Dad. Big Sis. 

Kakavasha lets go of his hand and sprints toward his family. He leaps into the arms of his big sister, who spins him around giddily while his mother plants kisses over his face and his father holds his tiny hands. 

As he approaches, he realizes they have no faces. Where there are supposed to be eyes, a nose, and a mouth, there is nothing. A blank canvas with dents and ridges where the features are supposed to be greets him and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise up in warning. 

The only exception to this is his sister, with her grinning mouth and her long blonde hair billowing in the wind- the only feature he remembers clearly about her. She takes notice of him and tilts her head curiously to the side. 

“Kakavasha, did you br▇ng a f▇▇▇d of ▇urs?”

Her voice comes out scratchy and distorted with only a few syllables recognizable. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes why.

He can’t remember her voice anymore. Or the voices of his parents, for that matter. He’s forgotten what they look like, and now what they sound like. What’s been forgotten can’t be restored. 

“Yeah!” exclaims Kakavasha nestled safely into his sister’s arms now. “Everybody, meet Mr. Pretty Eyes!”

They greet him with friendly waves and scratchy sounds that he thinks are supposed to be words of greeting. He almost chokes on the guilt and regret building up in his throat

“▇▇ look just like ▇▇ Kakavasha over here! ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ his long-lost b▇▇▇▇r or something?” 

Aventurine forces out a laugh as the others join in. 

If only they knew…  

The sun is going down now, and the solar winds that blanket the planet grow harsher. They quickly usher him into the tent, telling him to make himself at home and inviting him to stay for dinner. There’s no way out as far as he can tell, so he obliges.

 It’s smaller than he remembers, he thinks as he ducks to avoid hitting his head. There’s a rudimentary kitchen setup in the back that Kakavasha’s mother is tending to as she begins preparing dinner. Kakavasha hops into his sister’s lap and shakes the sand out of his hair and gets it everywhere, to which she lightly scolds him with a tug on his cheek. 

He takes a seat on the fraying rug in the center and rubs a brightly-colored teal tassel between his fingers. The sand is already starting to seep into his clothes. He feels grains of it in his shoes and it pools onto his pristine white dress pants. Grains of it are nestled deep into the fur collar of his coat from the harsh solar winds outside that even vigorous shaking won’t dislodge.

Kakavasha’s sister smiles at him. It’s a bit unnerving, just seeing a smiling mouth with no other features.

“So, Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes, w▇at 's your ▇▇▇ ? At least, I’m a▇▇▇ ming Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes isn’t yo▇▇ r▇l name.”

“It’s Kaka-”

He swallows hard and kicks himself. He’s not Kakavasha. Not anymore.

“It’s… Aventurine.”

The very act of saying that name makes him feel like he’s betraying his family, stabbing them in the back. 

“A▇▇▇▇▇ , huh? What an in▇▇▇ing and pretty name!” remarks his sister. He feels the air rush out his lungs and almost coughs up a sardonic laugh from the sheer irony of it all. First his family, then his language, then his body, and now even his name? Is there anything left that he can truly call his from his culture? 

Thunder distantly rumbles overhead. Kakavasha and his sister peek their heads out curiously of the tent. She gasps excitedly and points to the darkening clouds overhead. 

“Hear that? ▇▇ sign ▇▇ your birthday is ▇▇▇ ▇!” she exclaims as she holds Kakavasha’s hands in hers.“▇▇▇ ▇▇ excited?”

… His birthday? 

Thunder rumbles overhead again and he hears the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the tent. 

His birthday. The Kakava Festival. 

His heart sinks into his stomach as his family chatters around him. They talk about birthday celebrations and what they’ll do that day, but it’s a muffled mess in his ears. Is it really almost his birthday already? Sigonia-IV followed many beliefs that were independent from the rest of the universe, namely the Aeon belief system, and that also extended to the calendar system. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure what day his birthday was in the Interastral Standard calendar system. He usually just flipped a coin and that was if he even bothered to celebrate, which he hadn’t done in many years. 

Aventurine does some quick estimating and realizes that yes, it’s almost his birthday. But how would he celebrate his birthday in this world, where all was good and he still remembered their faces and voices? 

Aventurine closes his eyes and thinks. His mother would be overjoyed to know that her beloved son finally has a lover now. She’d make him clean the tent from top to bottom in preparation for your arrival, even though the sand would find its way back inside again within a matter of a few hours. His parents would cook up a feast for your arrival while his sister would pester him to tell more stories about you- as if there were any left that he hadn’t. When the time would come and you’d nervously step through the tent flap with one hand holding his tightly and another clutching some gifts, his mother would rush forward and greet you with a kiss to the cheek, having already accepted you as family. His sister would steal you away from him to dote on you, much to his half-hearted chagrin. His father would tell corny jokes that you’d cringe at, and his mother would teach you recipes that had been passed down for generations, her warm, weathered hands resting atop yours and lovingly guiding your movements in the kitchen. 

The five of you, safe, warm, and alive under the sun. 

Hours after the rest of his family had gone to sleep, you’d lie side by side outside, watching the stars drift on by. Sigonia-IV is nothing like Pier Point. Free from light and industrial pollution, you’d have a stunning view of the cosmos every night. Twinkling stars shine overhead, so close you could practically pluck them out of the sky. Multicolored clouds of gas and stardust bathe the sky in their shifting hues as he tells you stories that have been passed down from generation to generation with the occasional shooting star passing by. You’d stay like that for hours on end, content to just listen and watch, until you were lulled to sleep by his voice. 

It would be cold, as all desert climates are at night, but it was nothing he couldn’t bear with your warmth nestled into his side. 

In the spring, or around now, he’d take you to celebrate the Kakava festival under the stars with a roaring bonfire. The festival itself would be a solemn and silent celebration with people murmuring prayers to the Mother Goddess and tossing sacrificial vessels into the fires, but the celebration of his birthday afterward would be loud and joyful. Bonfire sparks would rise up into the sky, carried by the hot solar winds and the rich sounds of his people’s songs. His mother would drape you in turquoise jewelry and gift you traditional clothes that she would’ve spent hours beforehand making by hand, every stitch a labor of love. He’d teach you to dance to the cheers of his family and the familiar tunes he’d hum under his breath. His movements would be fluid and graceful as he spins and twirls you around, while you stumble and flail along. He’d enjoy every second of it- even if you step on his feet the whole time. 

He would be kinder in this world, he thinks. He’d still be Kakavasha. Aventurine would be an unknown man to him. He’d wear his heart on his sleeve and his eyes would still have life to them. He’d never have to hide his left hand. 

And you’d be happier too. You wouldn’t have to sift through the layers to find the true self underneath the act he puts up. He wouldn’t be so hot and cold- practically love-bombing you one moment and then disappearing without a word for weeks the next. He wouldn’t be a dirty gambler, a two-faced businessman, a disinterested womanizer, cheating scum, an IPC mutt, a corporate bootlicker, a worthless Sigonian slut or who knows what else you’ve heard about him–

In this world, there are no Katicans. The Avigins and his family are still intact. His neck is unmarred and he speaks the Avigin dialect fluently, instead of the halting and choppy cadence that's even worse than that of a child’s. Syrupy, honeyed words spill from his mouth as he teaches you common words and phrases in his mother tongue. Have you eaten yet? How did you sleep? How was your day? I missed you. Mother. Sister. Father. Lover. Goddess. I made you something. I saw this today and thought of you. Be safe. Sweet dreams. Goodnight. I love you. He chuckles when you parrot them back to him haltingly, with your accent mixed in. The notebook you keep with various phrases, their meanings, and their phonetics grows every day. The most worn out page was the one crammed full of declarations of love that sound more akin to poetry as your mastery over the dialect grows. The ink is smeared from how often you’ve run your fingers over them, murmuring them under your breath until you’d committed them to memory. In your arms is the safest I’ll ever be. I’m lucky to call you my lover. I sleep better when I’m with you. I secretly name stars and constellations after you. I’ll kiss the weariness away from your face every night. I pray to Mama Fenge every night for your safety. I imagine her hands and embrace to be as warm as yours, and it reassures me somehow. I’ll miss your warm hands when that day finally comes. Goodnight, I love you.  

We’ll be together even in Kakava’s next aurora. 

Aventurine jolts forward with a start. His eyes search around frantically, instinctively searching for his family and you, only to be greeted with a familiar sight that isn’t his home. Bright flashing lights, the sound of cars honking and speeding by, muffled pop music playing in the distance, and the sugary scent of SoulGlad greet his senses instead of arid hot wind that howls in his ears and endless seas of sand. You and his family are nowhere to be seen either. 

Oh. Right.

The Dreamscape.

His clothes stick to his skin drenched in a cold sweat and his glasses are resting lopsidedly on his face. His whole body is shivering uncontrollably, as if he’s been plunged into ice-cold water without warning. The world is going white before his eyes and all he can hear is the loud thump of his pulse in his ears that suddenly drops. He thinks he’s about to pass out again. This is the end, he thinks. Aventurine leans against the side of a wall again, taking deep, heaving breaths to steady himself and quell the nausea swirling around in his stomach. 

When it subsides and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of death (sadly), he sits back up and forces out a laugh in place of a sob. First forcing a religious consecration onto him, then dangling his family in front of his face? How much crueler could the head of the Oak Family get? 

His heart sinks and an overwhelmingly bitter feeling engulfs him. It was just a dream all along. A dream within a dream, really. Was he really that desperate for something familiar again?

(And just like that, the mask known as Aventurine is back in place.)

(But he couldn’t even say goodbye or apologize to his family one last time, even if it wasn’t them.)

It was a pleasant dream, he’ll admit. How nice it would be to live in that world forever. But he knew it was a dream because it could never happen, as much as it pained him. 

Aventurine hears the voice of Kakavasha drifting along from further up ahead and knows he’s nearing the final leg of his plan. With what little time he has left, he takes pictures with the boy for posterity and buys the child all the treats his eyes rest on for more than a second. Aventurine delights in the way his eyes light up at the first taste before he eagerly digs in for more. 

It’s cathartic, in a way. 

Before stepping on stage, he looks up at the sky. It’s perpetually nighttime in Clock Studios Theme Park, but he knows the sun is shining elsewhere in the Dreamscape. Is the sun shining where you are back at home? He thinks it’s morning for you. You must still be asleep with the cat cakes curled into your sides, blissfully unaware of the news you’ll wake up to. 

Get onstage. Fear not. Never look back. 

One last thing to do.

He sends a final text to you.

Aventurine: I love you.

It stays on delivered when he puts his phone away. It’ll be the first thing you see when you wake up, and that’s more than enough for him. 

It’s time for the curtain call.

The feeling of Kakavasha’s tiny body in his arms won’t be enough to chase away the grief. Nothing ever will be. But this’ll be the closest he can get.

Aventurine hugs the boy close, squeezing as hard as he can without hurting him. He feels how he’s nothing more than skin and bone beneath the oversized rags. No child should have to be this thin, he thinks, and he’s even more glad he treated Kakavasha to his heart’s content earlier. 

This is the end. He gives Kakavasha one last squeeze to imprint this memory into his mind and gets up, waving goodbye over his shoulder all the while. 

He never looks back. 

In a shower of light, Kakavasha dissolves into the Nihility, and with him, Aventurine’s hopes for the ideal future- the one that you deserved. The Horizon of Existence is finally devoid of all color save for himself and the dark sun beckoning him forward toward the event horizon.

He takes a step forward, and then another. The sound of his footsteps against the surface and liquid splashing echo loudly in the empty space. 

The Nihility is beginning to slowly engulf him. He feels it encroaching at the edges of his mind, eating away at his thoughts one by one until nothing remains. A hollow, empty feeling settles into his heart that weighs him down. Aventurine looks down at his hands and realizes the color is beginning to seep from his vision until he, too, would become one with the Nihility. The point of no return beckons to him like a moth to a flame. Nothingness, emptiness, worthlessness. There’s nothing left for him to do. 

“Can you die today without any regrets?”

Aventurine finally has an answer to that question. The past is gone and he’s walking toward no future.

Yes. I finally can.

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[dinarosie]

A plant kept in the dark

In my opinion, one of the most beautiful symbolic descriptions of Snape is found in The Deathly Hallows: “A plant kept in the dark.”

It's fascinating to me how such a small metaphor can add such depth to his story. When I reflect on his fate, I see that his entire life, from childhood to his death, can be encapsulated in this single image: he is always, until the moment of his death, that plant trapped in darkness. Deprived of light, his potential for growth and flourishing is wasted, never to be seen.

His childhood passes with the hope that one day he will find the light. He is a small plant, hungry for sunlight, full of potential, believing that Hogwarts might be the sun he so desperately needs. But he doesn’t realize that he is destined to live his life surrounded by darkness.

As an adult, he bargains with the light but remains hidden in the shadows. He is still deprived of brightness, yet he remains loyal to it. He no longer believes in his own salvation, but over time, he learns that despite the years of solitude and darkness, he can nurture love and sacrifice within himself for the sake of saving others.

His death, too, is steeped in this metaphor. He is killed in a derelict, darkened shack—a place filled with secrets and echoes of his shadowed past—without anyone ever truly understanding his nature or his loyalty to the light.

His death marks the final withering of this neglected plant, and there is a profound sense of wasted potential. A life that, had it been given light and warmth, could have blossomed into something so different.

Severus Snape spent his life surrounded by shadows, his true nature buried beneath years of regret and sacrifice until the moment of his death. He remained forever like a plant kept in the dark, never reaching the light.

[zooophagous]

I do understand where you're coming from when it comes to incompetent people just wanting an excuse to kill wild animals and using their neglect of their own animals as their excuse HOWEVER it did kinda sound like you had smth against hobby farmers near the end there. What is your opinion on hobby farmers?

I actually aspire to own a hobby farm some day. There's nothing intrinsically wrong with having goats and chickens because you think they're cool and fun. They ARE cool and fun.

I just don't think your right to have cool and fun pets also gives you the right to kill wildlife around you with no season, no permit and no bag limit because it's threatening what is only your hobby.

If my hobby involved poisoning waterways or felling trees people would rightfully ask me what the fuck I think I'm doing. Especially if there were steps I could take so my hobby wouldn't do that, but I refused to implement those steps because I found them inconvenient.

I'm not even wholly against hunting or trapping in general. I am however of the opinion that wildlife and furbearers such as raccoons and coyotes should be treated like a valuable natural resource and not a pest to be wantonly wasted because it's easier to kill them than to manage your own property better.

If you have a real barn and try your best and an aggressive dog still gets in and mauls your stock and you're forced to shoot it, that's an unfortunate tragedy and the fault of that dogs owner.

However if you decide you want both an unleashed yard dog AND free range unfenced chickens, and your dog, that you are responsible for, is killing your chickens, that you are also responsible for, it's not fair of you to kill the dog when you could easily remedy the situation with a pen or a tie out.

It's the immediate jump to "kill it" as a solution to me. It's never "this isn't working, can I build a better shelter or fence? Can I get creative with what I already have? Is this a good environment for the animal I wanted as a pet?"

And they seem to believe that this approach is just fine because that's how working homesteads did it back in the day. Without realizing they aren't on a working subsistence farm in 1845. They're a yuppie who can order supplies on the internet and have a solution literally dropped off at their front door in a day.

It's sort of like Marie Antoinette play acting at being a shepardess for me. You can take off the costume and go back to normal house life at literally any time, you're doing this because you thought it would be fun, not because you have to; but you refuse to take it seriously enough to prevent death and chaos in any meaningful way.

I might shoot a wolf if I was a poor shepherd on a working farm and my sheep were my entire livelihood. I would not, however, have a cute little herd of pet sheep in a flimsy chicken wire fence with no barn and spend my weekends killing wolves for daring to get too close to them.

I consider it similar to shooting bears over bait barrels full of apples, except it's coyotes over a group of fat poorly bred tractor supply chickens.

[punkitt-is-here]

Read These Frequently Asked Questions Before You Send An Ask!

Patreon | Ko-Fi | Youtube

Heyo! I get a TON of asks each day, so I'm making this post so that folks know what's already been asked so my followers don't have to see the same stuff over and over, haha.

Hi! I'm Punkitt! I'm a game developer, artist, editor, director, and a bunch of other stuff! I'm working on an RPG called Astral Guard, a platformer called Susan Taxpayer, and I have a couple more fun projects in my pocket like Happup and Super Mario Death Row.

Did you know you look like weird al?

YES jesus fucking christ i get told this every day. if u send me a message in my inbox saying i look like weird al im killing you with like wizard spells and shit.

Why do you have so many hats? Do you know you have that many hats?

ye i like hats. :) free tumblr badges for one pea i like one piece and took as many as i could. free.

Where can I find your art/game development/horsecomix?

Great question! Everything I make that's my own and not a reblog is under "my posts", every bit of art I do is under "my art", any game development I do is under "gamedev", you can find all my MLP art under "mlp, my art" or "horsecomix" for the best stuff. I also have an "animations" tag and a "shitposts" tab. I also properly tag all my asks to be asks and write out the asker's name, so if you don't wanna see those just mute the ask tag.

Do you have a Patreon or a Ko-Fi?

I do have a ko-fi here! I also JUST launched a Patreon, which you can find here :)

What do you use for your art?

I use FireAlpaca and Paint.net for misc. effects!

What are you using to make your games?

I use FireAlpaca do make my assets! Astral Guard, Happup, and any other top-down RPG games I make are all made in RPGMaker 2003. Susan Taxpayer is made in SMBX2 Beta 4, a Mario fangame engine with lua support!

Why are you using a 2-decade-plus engine to make games?

It's fun!

Do you have a sideblog or something for your art?

Not right now! What you see is what you get. I do have a sideblog for Astral Guard though, if you want to follow that game specifically! @astral-guard

Can I make an OC based on your work? ABSOLUTELY!!!!!!! THATS THE COOLEST THING EVER!!!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU DO!!!! I WANNA SEE!!!!

Can I do dubs/redraws of your comics? As long as you credit me! I get a ton of notifs each day, so if you wanna show me (and PLEASE i so do wanna see fun dubs and redraws!!!) tag me or DM me!

Can I use your art as a PFP? Sure! Just credit me somewhere. :D

Are you the one who trapped her coworkers in a room and made them listen to TF2 lore?

Yep! Everyone had a blast actually. :]

Did you make that comic where Fluttershy eats the weed brownie/Rainbow Dash has a male living space/someone has a cutie mark that says they'll kill Ronald Reagan?

Yep! That's me.

Where are you in MLP right now?

Currently just finished Season 7! Haven't watched the movie yet.

Have you watched Equestria Girls?

Yep! Thought it was super cute. I watched up to Rainbow Rocks and plan on watching more.

What's your opinion on MLP so far?

I love it! I think it's cute. I really don't agree that there was some sort of huge quality drop after season 2 or whatever.

What do you think of G5?

Not my style! I don't really like either animation types and it just seems like I'm not in the audience anymore. That's totally chill, but it just doesn't grab me!

Have you watched any other MLP stuff from previous generations?

Nope! But I did see a compilation called Minty Being Autistic for Six Minutes Straight that I loved. she's perfect.

Favorite pony?

Don't got one, I love all the Mane Six a LOT, but I'm particularly fond of Fluttershy, Applejack, and Rarity!

Favorite episode/season?

I'm so bad at picking favorites! But any season past Season 1 I have a blast with because I feel like it's just more my style. I don't have a favorite episode, but the most recent one I can remember LOVING is the one where Starlight bottles up her emotions because it was REALLY funny.

Do you like Pony.mov?

Nope! And stop saying my stuff reminds you of it, it's a lil annoying!

Have you watched the Mentally Advanced Series/Friendship is Witchcraft/Other fandom vids?

Probably not! My interaction with the MLP fandom prior to last year was pretty minimal, so I'm making my way through the show first!

What do you think of Fallout: Equestria?

I think it's super weird but really fun because of that. I've never properly read any of it but it's very fascinating to me.

Are you transgender?

Yep! I go by she/her, I'm a trans woman. Have been for many years, but I only recently came out online!

Are you a lesbian?

Nah, I'm bisexual!

Can I commission you?

Yeah! I only have my commissions available on my Ko-Fi at certain times though, so keep an eye out! I usually announce slots being open at least 12 hours beforehand. Slots are usually first come first serve, but we'll see.

Can I use your art as a Discord emote?

Yeah man i'm not scouring every discord on the planet to find stickers of my work. i think it owns if people take my stuff and make it stupid injoke emotes between friends that makes me very happy.

Can I send you an ask inquiring about gender dysphoria?

I feel like this is beyond my capabilities of advice! I'm actually very comfortable with my body and I have been for many years, so I don't know if I can give any good or helpful advice on that front. Apologies, but there are many resources out there where you can ask about those things if you look for them, like Discord channels!

Favorite Color?

I'm a sucker for blue!

Favorite coffee?

Can't drink coffee, my stomach is cringe.

Favorite tea?

I'm lame and can't drink most tea but I love this one orange-flavored tea a lot. I also LOVE ice tea.

Can I say you're horsegender/punkittgender/a little gender goblin void thing?

Well, I can't stop you, but I'm kind of beyond that phase now! I really am a boring ol' plain she/her girl, and I like it that way. It's not much, but it's honest gender.

What's your favorite game series?

Mother, Kingdom Hearts, Mario, and I USED to say Fallout, but I found out I'm really only a big Fallout New Vegas fan.

Favorite game from those?

Mother 3 is one of my fave games of all time! I love KHII, and I'm tied for SMB3 and SMW. Also Fallout New Vegas fucks hard.

Any other favs?

Bug Fables, SLARPG, and TF2!

Favorite Movie?

Everything Everywhere All At Once, no question.

Oh, are you going to college?

Yep! I'm a film/theater major.

Do you have a YouTube channel?

Yeah! Click right here for it, I stream there and upload footage of my games/animations/my film projects + other stuff.

What is that little orange creature I see?

That's bweenop, my little persona that I use when I'm feeling a little scrunkly.

Do you have a ponysona?

Yep! Her name is Star Magnolia, you can search her on the blog to see art of her.

When will Susan Taxpayer/Astral Guard/etc. be out?

No clue! I take things slow, that's just how I am.

How do you work on so many things at once?

I make small, satisfying amounts of progress! I never try to complete one giant thing all at once, I just like doing small bursts of fun stuff. I got ADHD, so I learn to work with it.

Did you know you look like Weird Al?

Im going to run you over with a clown car watch out

WHY do you work on so many things at once?

Fun! I like learning, I like making cool stuff, and I like showing it to people :)

Do you need any help with your projects?

Potentially! I'll probably put out a post asking for help if I need it.

If you could be a horse, would you?

You kidding me? Several ton beasts with the frailty of a sickly Victorian boy; my clumsy ass would never survive.

Are you some sort of...furry?

yeag

Why do you reblog so much?

Brother I LOVE posting. that's just how it is.

Fav music artists?

It changes literally ALL the time but I will recommend ANYTHING by Vylet Pony, its music is incredible and probably the reason I'm a weird niche microcelebrity now.

Why are you like this?

theater kid + having a lot of fun on the internet makes you a bit silly hehe hoo

SUSAN TAXPAYER QUESTIONS

Is it out? Not yet! But hopefully sometime in the next year. I dunno! I take things at my own pace and keep stuff fun. :)

What are you using to make it? SMBX2! It's a free fangame engine for Mario episodes, but it's incredibly versatile and has a wonderful community, so I decided to make Susan Taxpayer in it.

Is there a demo? You betcha! You can find it right here. I'll also probably put it up on my itch.io.

How do I install it? I made a post here about how to run the SAGE '23 demo!

[oatlystrawberryicecream]

the way that some people talk about jason and batman and the joker is so jarring to me because it relies on some unspoken assumptions that i will never buy into

1. the assumption that taking a life inevitably always makes the person who did it worse. killing someone isn’t always this earth shattering thing that harms the person who does it and fundamentally changes their outlook on things. i guess if you have never met a veteran or someone who survived an armed robbery or any number of other things you might make that mistake, but like some of the people who fought in wwii came home and were normal members of the community and the times that their bullets hit the mark were not necessarily the parts of the war that kept them up at night. these assumptions that once you kill you are wicked and have to feel bad and do this whole show of repentance are insidious. if you are gonna look at all this through the lens of christian morality you should at least be aware that that is what you are doing but you cant have just one character be wicked and unclean because of his actions when the bible says that everyone is wicked and unclean by our nature and all sins are equal. a lot of people object to that view but if thats how you see it batman and jason and the joker are all sinners and are all as bad as each other so at least be consistant about how you apply that moral framework.

2. the assumption that being robin or being taken in and trained by bruce means full agreement with and acceptance of every part of bruce’s personal philosophy on justice and morality. jason was a homeless child and even if all this was explicitly laid out for him he could not have agreed since he needed bruce as a matter of survival. bruce’s ideology is extremely important to him and he can teach it to his children all he wants but they are not beholden to it above all else the way he thinks they should be. jason has to live according to his own beliefs regardless of how unacceptable bruce finds it and it is unfair and hypocritical of bruce to get bent out of shape about it.

3. the assumption that killing is always bad. maybe i have listened to too many episodes of behind the bastards but some people will do significant and appalling damage to others no matter what unless they are dead. those people can’t be allowed to keep causing harm. it isn’t glorious and there is no honor about it but it is right and just that they be stopped. there is no reason to strive for purity or ideological high ground when you can provide a measure of safety and justice to victims and prevent future harm instead.

4. the assumption that bruce didn’t have to answer to jason. parents have a duty to their children and it is my opinion that that duty does not end when the child dies. bruce adopted jason and made himself responsible and accountable for everything that happened to jason under his care. that responsibility was ignored over many instances. i am not going to detail the things that led to jason’s death here but it was not good or effective parenting. after jason’s death the disrespect starts pretty immediately with bruce compromising evidence of his murder in order to preserve his ability to continue as batman and continues with bruce getting rid of pretty much all traces of jason’s presence in his life. he is only spoken of as a mistake, a lost cause, or a cautionary tale and is assigned blame for his own death, a death that batman never bothered to fully investigate since he was buried next to the woman who led him into the trap. a new kid is endangered and the joker and batman both continue doing whatever they want as if jason’s life only matters for the way it affects them. bruce needs to answer for all of this, as his son jason has a right to expect more from his father. now the extent to which that extends can be debated but it is clear to me that jason deserved better from bruce.

conclusion: killing is accepted in society in certain circumstances, you may or may not agree with this but self defense laws and even things like jury nullification exist because people knew there should be some wiggle room since no one could have the full context of every situation that would ever arise. ending a life is not normal or ideal but it is not an unfathomably rare experience and it does not always weigh on the person who does it. bruce has never to my knowledge killed someone so he has no idea how he would actually respond but that still isn’t even what jason was asking him to do. all he had to do was be present and not move and he would have been the only parental figure who didn’t let jason down.

[qiu-yan]

one topic i've been interested in lately is the idea of moral luck.

let's start somewhere else. i was surprised to learn that the question of "do moral dilemmas exist" is actually debated upon in moral philosophy. broadly speaking, a "moral dilemma" is a situation in which the agent can only choose one of several mutually exclusive options, and yet the agent has moral reasons compelling them towards each option. some philosophers have argued that, given a sufficiently robust moral philosophy, a "genuine" moral dilemma cannot exist: the moral philosophy will organize the differing moral reasons for each course of action into a hierarchy, in which more important moral reasons override the others; thus, the moral philosophy will always be able to identify one or more correct courses of action.

based on my own analysis - if one takes a more moral-pluralistic point of view, though, this is no longer true. moral pluralism indicates the view that multiple different values can all be equally valuable and morally significant, even when they are contradictory. in this case, a moral reason may not be able to override another moral reason. in my opinion (which i am not sure if lines up with official ideas of moral pluralism), this entails the return of the moral dilemma. after all, if the agent can only choose one of several mutually-exclusive courses of action, and the agent has genuine moral reasons for each course of action, and these moral reasons also cannot override each other - then it seems the agent is doomed. no matter what the agent chooses to do, they will be violating some moral reason. they will be committing some moral wrongdoing.

the idea that someone is doomed to commit some moral wrongdoing is referred to as moral tragedy.

this is all kind of abstract, so let us consider a more concrete example. first, let's consider the trolley problem. from a deontological perspective, the perfect duty of not violating the categorical imperative by killing the 1 person comes before the imperfect duty of taking action to save 5 people from death; hence, the correct choice is to not pull the lever. from a utilitarian perspective, the outcome in which 5 people live and 1 person dies involves less harm than the outcome in which 1 person lives and 5 people die, so pulling the lever is the correct choice. however, from a more morally pluralistic point of view, both the choice of pulling the lever and not pulling the lever involve violating some moral duty. people have a moral duty to not kill people, and people also have a moral duty to not allow people to die through inaction. you can only either kill the 1 person to save the 5 people or allow the 5 people to die through inaction. no other choice exists. thus, no matter what choice you make, you will be violating one of those two moral duties; you are trapped in a moral tragedy.

now let's consider another example. suppose you are jiang cheng, and wei wuxian has just busted wen ning's wen remnants out of the jin labor camp at qiongqi pass. from a more morally pluralistic point of view, you are also caught in a moral tragedy: no matter what choice you make, you will be violating some moral duty.

if you choose not to stand by wei wuxian, then you are violating some of your moral duties. wei wuxian is your martial brother; you have a duty towards him. wen ning and wen qing helped you greatly in the past; by the virtue of reciprocity, you owe it to them to help them too. furthermore, as a human being, you have a moral duty to stand against the mistreatment of innocent people. choosing not to stand by wei wuxian entails violating all three of these moral duties.

however, if you choose to stand by wei wuxian, then you are also violating some of your moral duties. you are the leader of the yunmeng jiang sect, which is currently recovering from near-absolute annihilation and thus lacks the resources the other great sects have. as the leader of yunmeng jiang, you are its representative: thus, you standing by wei wuxian when he has alienated lanling jin means that you are making yunmeng jiang stand against lanling jin. and since the jin sect is tied to the other two great sects via the venerated triad, if yunmeng jiang stands against lanling jin, then the situation will become all three of the other great sects against your one weak recovering sect.

you are the leader of the people in yunmeng jiang. those people just fought a war for you. as their leader - or even simply as someone for whom these people bled and suffered - you owe it to them to put them first. as a leader you exist for your people. if you act in violation of what is best for your people's safety and happiness, if you actively choose to put them in danger, then you have broken the social contract by which they gave you authority. then you have failed your duty. and since choosing to stand by wei wuxian puts everyone under your protection in danger, choosing to stand by wei wuxian entails violating your moral duty as a leader.

so. no matter what choice you as jiang cheng make, you will be violating some moral duty. you will be committing some moral transgression. you are caught in a moral tragedy.

from a morally pluralistic point of view, any choice in a moral tragedy entails some moral wrongdoing. so what determines whether you end up in a moral tragedy or not?

luck.

it's commonly said that a person's moral character can be determined from the choices they've made in their life - judge a man by his actions and all that. in other words, we look at what moral violations he has committed, as well as what morally upstanding acts. and yet! if he's ended up in a moral tragedy before - then he had no choice but to commit a moral violation, because all of the available choices were moral violations! does that mean that a person's moral character is subject not just to his own choices, but to luck as well? whether or not you can be called a good person or a bad person is affected also by merely how lucky or unlucky you were?

i do not personally use the framework of "good person" vs "bad person" very often; the utilitarianism i favor cannot be used to judge entire moral characters. however, it certainly is the case that other people will judge an individual's entire moral character by the choices they've made. and yet, it seems that - again and again - the concept of moral luck is not considered.

who did not have moral luck? who ended up in a moral tragedy?

wei wuxian. jiang cheng. lan xichen. jin guangyao. nie mingjue. and many others.

who did have moral luck? who avoided all the moral tragedies?

lan wangji.

[paraphwrites]

dead boy detectives is a show about forgiveness and goodness and change. but also, not.

marren isn't a bad person. she's a scared teenager and she accidentally kills her shitty boyfriend and she feels bad about it and she decides to turn herself into the police even though, honestly, she kind of did not have to in my opinion (sorry i know being pro murder is a wild take but this is fiction hush). she chooses to be good and she chooses to take accountability for her actions. but she doesn't forgive brad or hunter because what they did is not worthy of forgiveness

crystal is a dick! crystal's an absolute dick before she's possessed. but once she's taken out of a toxic environment she chooses to become better because she knows she can and she knows she should. crystal isn't a bad person before because she wants to be she is a bad person because she doesn't know how else to be. she doesn't forgive her parents but she does want to fix their relationship

charles is not a bad person, ever, but he thinks he is. he thinks he's a bad person because he was taught that he was and because all the other boy's around him were, so why would he be the exception? charles is not a bad person but he has to learn that. he does not forgive his dad, nor should he, but he also does not forgive himself or process the situation whatsoever. because his arc is incomplete

esther is a bad person because she is made into a bad person. i think we overlook how irresponsible it is of lilith to make an angry, vengeful person immortal - yes, esther was wronged, and lilith didn't think through the potential harm esther could do. after all, i think it is far easier to loose your humanity when you are immortal. esther wasn't a bad person initially but she chose revenge instead of forgiveness and then she still chose to harm other people instead of moving on

simon is not a bad person, he is sixteen. but, he still does horrible, horrible things, and he feels horrible about it. he's complicated. he's in hell. he's sixteen. he's a murderer. he's sixteen. and it all kind of coalesces in this violent swath of guilt and grief which consumes everything, including the people around him, including edwin. edwin forgives simon but simon cannot forgive himself so simon is lost forever. edwin moves on and simon does not and that is that

monty is selfish, not evil. i think he got caught up in the fantasy of liking edwin and chose to ignore the real facts that he was trying to facilitate his death. he played pretend that he and edwin could sit on swings and kiss forever, as if that would stop esther's plan. and when edwin did not reciprocate his feelings, monty decided he should die for that. but, he still did feel a lot of remorse about it and tried to change his mind. the damage was still done, though

dbda is not a show which preaches forgiveness but it is a show which demands you try your best to be kind.

monty was nice but he was not kind. esther was mean but she was honest. crystal was mean because she was angry, and once you took away that anger, she was kind. they're all immortal or sixteen and more often than not both. they're all fucking traumatized. they aren't all trying to be good. some of them are better people than they deserve to be. some are worse people than the rest deserve.

we aren't all trying to be good but dead boy detectives says we should. it also says it's not too late to start trying today. yes crystal was a bad person before. and now she is trying not to be. yes monty was selfish and dangerous before. and now he is trying not to be. yes simon was a bad person before, and now he is so trapped in his own guilt that he is unable to make amends and instead just rots.

we can all be better. and, we can all be worse. change is not inevitable but it is possible and that is important

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. IX

tags- @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang

cw- mention of death

finally a longer one!

Eight full days passed without trouble. Daenys and Cregan slept close together each night, pointedly avoiding talking about it each morning. Though, it was clear to be a great comfort for both of them. Daenys found herself having seven more dreamless nights, grateful for each one, though slightly wishing she could be blessed with the type of dreams that others had every night. Even Cregan, who smiled sometimes in his sleep, seemed to have pleasant dreams.

They were only one more night away from The Wall. Then, they would reach it by the morrow's noon.

Daenys had taken well to hunting, setting near-expert traps and even making it something of a competition. Without needing words, they would both hold up their catches of the day, either laughing gleefully or scowling when they won or lost. All in good fun, they agreed.

Dusk had even taken to sleeping with Morningstar each night, instead of at the human's feet. The dragon had not made her displeasure known, so her tolerance said everything for her. The wolf was comically tiny against the massive wing, quite like a mother and her pup. Though, perhaps Dusk didn't get that idea. His infatuation with the dragon appeared to be some sort of puppy love.

Cregan had pointed that out days prior, snorting at his companion's simpering behavior. "He follows that dragon like a green boy follows a pretty whor-" He paused, stopping himself. "follows a courtesan." He coughed into his hand, cheeks pink at his own borish vocabulary.

Daenys rolled her eyes, snickering at his expression. "I am not so green myself, my Lord. I can handle a few less-than-kind words."

His eyes widened, turning to her on Red. "Do you mean...?"

She understood immediately, flushing pink herself now. "Heavens, no! I only mean I grew up with my vulgar uncles. They have never bothered to filter their words or bring their 'lady-friends' into the Red Keep. I can not do such things until I am wed, I understand by duties." Daenys informed him, slightly embarrassed that she called herself experienced when she was not.

"I would not fault you if you did. After all, a lord could sire a thousand bastard babes, before or after marriage, and not be reprimanded." He said.

That was true. Rhaenyra was forced into marriage immediately after her 'nightly activities' with Daemon were discovered. Aegon was actively still participating in such activities after his marriage but received turned heads and blind eyes.

"That is a truth I have come to resent." She huffed. "There are many of us—silver-haired—out on the streets of King's Landing. It is a great shame that mine own kin is suffering on the streets instead of in the Keep where they belong."

Many times, she thought of how unfair their circumstances were compared to hers. They shared their bastard blood, but only she and her brothers got the privilege of being legitimized and defended whilst the others starved and suffered.

He smiled sweetly at her, perhaps in understanding of her underlying words. "I can sympathize with that sentiment. My father was an honorable man until his death. His one sin was fathering my half-sister, though I do not resent Sara for it. It is a shame how only the children suffer for the parents' actions. I watched how she was treated her whole life compared to me, simply for having a different mother."

She hummed her agreement. For a moment, she slightly wished that her mother shared his opinion.

"I loved my father dearly. But, I would never repeat his actions. My wife's honor is as sacred as mine, to father a child that was not hers would be unforgivable."

"Your wife will be a lucky woman."

He eyed her, amused. "If you call that lucky, then I suppose so. I would call it being a husband."

"Most men do not take that so seriously. A wife is seen as the one who simply provides heirs and a dowry, and whores and paramours are the true lovers." She shrugged.

"Is that how Prince Daemon sees Queen Rhaenyra?" He asked, catching her off guard.

"No...he is perhaps the only one of her husbands to have no lover after they married. Their marriage is a special case, I believe. He has only wanted her for many years, even through his previous two marriages. Loyal, yes, but no less a greedy man."

Daenys didn't care for her mother's and Daemon's strange history. She would not personally wish to marry a man twice her age, but her mother loved him, so she tolerated it. She did grow to like Daemon, too, after a few years of living with him.

Cregan nodded beside her, taking in her words. "Ser Laenor was different?"

"I'm sure you've heard of my father's preferences from the gossip surrounding the court."

"I've told you before, my Lady, that those in the North do not care for menial gossip." He reminded her.

Daenys nodded, exhaling deeply. "He loved my mother, though not as Daemon does." Or Harwin did, she left out. "But he could not change his affinity for his...squire." She finished, glancing at his facial expression only to see it unchanged.

"What of Ser Harwin?" The question made her nervous, though she refused to show it. His question was merely curious, not accusing or backhanded. "Your mother's sworn protector must have been around quite a lot, in your young years. What was he like?"

"Ser Harwin was a kind man. Kinder than any other knights at the Keep. He was Lord Commander of the kingsguard, though he never acted untoward or mean, not even once. He watched over me, in a time when many of the young kids in the keep had started to act as my scourages." She smiled in reminisce. "You remind me of him, slightly."

"How so?"

"A protector. A pillar of strength against harsh winds."

Cregan chuckled, though not unkindly. "I am glad you are able to see me that way, Princess. Perhaps you are a poet, not a sailor."

She laughed, loud and clearly. "If only you could see me at my septa's lessons, you would change your mind in a heartbeat. I jumbled the words so badly that two—two!—septas gave up trying to teach me to sing and recite poetry and music."

Cregan grinned at the sound, pleased to hear her laugh. "That can't be so, I've heard you humming little songs in High Valyrion when you are with Morningstar."

Bashful, she asked. "You heard that?"

"Most times, yes." He said. "Though I enjoyed it. I can't understand the words, but I can piece together that no words were stumbled over."

"Mm. Perhaps it is my audience, then. In front of my septas, their stares were so intense that I nearly cried when practicing in front of them. My dragon does not judge as they do, she sings along."

"I hope to be a well-mannered audience for you." He said, tone raillery and light.

Daenys didn't mind if he heard.

Night came fast, as it seemed to for the past days. Their routine came automatically: setting the tent, cooking kills over the fire, eating, conversing, and then finally heading to bed. They found their routine with changing into night shifts, as well. Simply turning as they changed at the same time instead of waiting their turns outside of the tent. Cregan and Daenys settled closely, breaths steady and visible in the night air.

It had grown jarringly cold. Daenys believed it was cold in Winterfell, but near The Wall was another story. She pitied those who lived at The Wall and the wildlings who were trapped beyond it.

Her streak of dreamless sleep was broken that night. She could barely see, but she could hear. She wished desperately that she couldn't, that she could forget the sounds that tormented her.

Sawing.

Slow, squelching, sawing.

She was in the Red Keep. The torches in the nursery were dim. So dim, that faces were impossible to clearly make out. But she could recognize Helena anywhere. Her sweet, sisterly Aunt Helena, who had never hurt a soul in her life, was pleading for two men to take her jewlery, take her, instead of her babe.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, if she remembered correctly. She had met them once, at the family dinner the night before Viserys died. Helena showed them proudly to her niece, though her youthful face reminded Daenys of just how young she was when she was forced to have the twins. The thought made her feel ill, but she smiled and greeted the shy children anyway.

The men refused to take Helena, insisted they needed a boy to die. They forced the sweet mother to point out her son, to which she did with a pained and stunned look on her face. Daenys wanted to reach out, comfort her aunt, and protect her babes with her. But her feet remained glued to the floor, unable to be seen or heard by anyone in the room. It was not happening at that moment. Would it truly happen soon? It was war. Dirty tactics were used all the time without remourse. Surely they were not sent by Rhaenyra...right? She would never seek babes to be harmed, especially after Visenya was lost days ago. This must be a false dream. Daenys only needed to wait it out.

Sawing.

Sawing, squelching, thrashing. It felt like it went on forever.

Until it stopped. Daenys blinked her eyes open, glancing at the bed. Jaehaerys' head was gone from his body. Jaehaera was missing from her bed. Helena was gone. Daenys found herself running, finally able to move now from her planted spot. She ran out of the nursery as if the two men would chase her, too. She followed after Helena, who abruptly stopped at the bottom of the steps. She turned around, revealing her purple tear-filled eyes and Jaehaera clutched protectively in her arms. Helena looked Daenys right in her eyes.

"Stop him." She whispered as if she could see Daenys standing in the middle of the steps plain as day. She continued running, perhaps to guards, leaving Daenys stunned at her spot.

Daenys was awoken after that. No one had ever seen her during her dreams. Not Laena, not Luke, nor Harwin or Laenor. Helena had similar dreams, she knew. Waking dreams, mumbling to herself while she was wide awake. Helena and her always shared that, though never spoke on it. Daenys was torn. Would that become true? Would Helena's son truly be murdered in his bed?

She could not think on it alone anymore. She needed a distraction. Her first thought was to seek out Morningstar, to curl up under her warmth, and stay there until the visions stopped plaguing her mind ruthlessly. She didn't have her books to draw in or her journals to write in. She couldn't let out her thoughts any way but speaking.

"Cregan..." She whispered, leaning up on her elbow and facing the man. He looked to be having a happy dream, smiling slightly in his sleep.

"Cregan, please. I need you." She whimpered, cold tears falling onto his face as she leaned over him. She could feel guilty later, but for now, she needed him desperately.

He flinched unconsciously at the wetness falling onto his face, wiping it and blinking himself awake. His eyes finally met her tear-filled lilac ones, sitting up instantly. He held her shoulders gingerly, "what's the matter, sweet girl? Are you hurt?" He scanned her, wide awake now at the chance of a threat around. He found no blood, only her own crescented nail prints in her palms from them behind clenched so harshly in her sleep. He took her hands in his own, soothing over them while he waited for her response.

Daenys' chest heaved raggedly, trying to catch her own breath from her panic. He reached out, pulling her by her head to his chest, allowing her to clutch his shirt instead of her own palms and hair to ground herself.

He calmed slightly, figuring the distress was caused by her dreams instead of a physical threat. Recalling her Valyrion lullabies that she hummed to her dragon, Cregan mindlessly hummed into her ear, chest vibrating with the use of his vocals. He never hummed or sang, didn't care for it, and was never taught it. But, he would try anything to pacify Daenys' storming mind.

Eventually, after many sobs and mumbles that Cregan couldn't make out, Daenys stilled in his arms.

"He will die. I don't know who I have to stop, Cregan."

He looked down at her head, face still buried and half-mumbled by his neck. "Who will die?"

"My cousin. Helena's babe, Jaehaerys." She whispered, mind reeling still.

Cregan bit his cheek harshly. It would happen, at an unknown time to the both of them. Sometime in the future, or perhaps as they spoke now. He didn't doubt her vision for a moment.

"What do you mean by stop him, sweeting? He asked, rubbing small shapes onto her back.

"Helena told me so. She saw me. Actually saw me. No one ever has before. She held Jaehaera as she told me to 'stop him'." Daenys insisted almost hysterically.

He nodded, allowing her to mumble some more incoherently into his skin.

Stop who? How could she prevent a murder in King's Landing all the way in the North? Even on Dragonstone, she was too far away to help Helena. She could not fly her dragon to Helena to warn her, lest she be shot down by a scorpion's lance. She could not send a raven, either, knowing it would be intercepted, and Daenys would be accused of plotting to murder the heir.

Who was it? Who could she access? Helena knew, she would not ask it of her if she knew Daenys couldn't do it. Luke and Jace would be back at Dragonstone by now, and had no ill intent towards anyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon would be too focused on their council meetings. What grievance did any of them have to go after Jaehaerys? She could not think of any.

"Who is it?" She asked Cregan, then. "Who could order a babe to die in his bed?"

"I do not know, Princess. I'm sorry." He said painfully, wishing to help her more than anything at that moment.

They stayed like that until sunrise. Cregan and Daenys held each other. The only sound in the air was her mumblings and his comforting shushing and hums. He knew they could not waste time, The Lord Commander at Castle Black had long been expecting them.

He guided an exhausted Daenys to his own horse, not trusting her to be able to stay on Mylo. She sat behind him, head slumped to his shoulders as they rode on for the final few hours towards the castle. Mylo loyally walked behind, knowing his faithful food source could only come from the Lord in front of him.

As they reached the gates of Castle Black, Daenys found herself waking up in awe. The Wall, rumored to reach the skies, truly was taller than anything she had ever seen before. Seven hundred feet of pure ice lay in front of her, an impenetrable fortress that protected all that lie South of it.

Cregan chuckled at her gaping reaction. "I felt the same way when I saw The Wall for the first time, too. It is an even better view on top, my Lady." He assured her, glad to see her distracted from her perturbed mood.

She nodded, shifting in the saddle impaitiently. She hands were wrapped around his waist, though didn't quite meet in the middle. He patted her hand as they waited for the gate to open, reminding her to be patient.

As Cregan hopped off, he helped Daenys from Red, staying close to her as a stable boy led both horses to be fed and watered. "My Lord Stark." Bowed a young man, who seemed familiar with Cregan. "We are glad to see you here. Would you like for yourself and the Princess to be shown to the dining hall for a hot meal?" He nodded politely towards Daenys, bowing swiftly once more at her.

Cregan took her hand in his arm, eyeing the men who had gathered around, leaning to each other and grinning wolfishly at the sight of a pretty young woman at Castle Black. The only women they ever saw were the ones in the small town near The Wall, which only had a few women who sold their services to the many men of the Night's Watch, and none were as pretty as noblewomen were bred to be. Cregan knew this all too well, hungry eyes watching the Princess like she were prey. Daenys shifted uncomfortably, aware of the intense gazes, though in a different way than Cregan.

"Is Lord Commander Trant not here?" Cregan asked.

The young man shook his head. "He's been conducting business at Queen's Gate for the past few days. He'll be back shortly, he promised to return before the afternoon."

Cregan nodded, a tick in his jaw. "The Princess and I will be on top of The Wall, while we wait. Do not disturb us." He commanded, striding towards the crickity little iron cage that was embedding into the ice. Daenys paused, reluctant to step into the death trap.

"This will take us all the way up to the top?"

He smiled, guiding her gently by the small of her back to step inside. "Don't worry, it is used every day and hasn't failed the Watch yet." Daenys flinched as it whirred to life, bringing them up foot by foot. She watched the ground grow distance below her, usually an exciting sight on her dragon, but now a terrifying one. She held tight to his arm as if he could save them both if the contraption failed.

It took a few minutes to reach the top. Cregan stepped out first, allowing her to jump out swiftly. She sighed, glad to be on solid ground. If it could be counted as such. Though The Wall was pure ice, Daenys was pleasantly surprised at it not being slippery. Perhaps due to the soft layer of snoe on top of it for her boots to grip.

Cregan brought her to the edge of The Wall, many in the Watch bowing and gawking at the sight of the pair. All knew of the Princess' expected visit, but had not prepared for the sight of a Targaryen in their lifetime.

The sight on the edge was truly otherworldly. Miles of expansive snowy forests and deserts, all unclaimed by man or beast.

"It is more beautiful than you said, Cregan." She said, eyes glued to the view.

"It is." He smiled, though seemed to tense slightly when she turned to him. "Daenys. I promised you that we would speak of the number of bannermen I would send for the Queen. I have had plenty time to think it through on our journey over here. As of now, I have 2,000 greybeards ready to die for their Queen's war."

Daenys nodded, listening to him intently. "Greybeards, like old men?" She asked half-humorously.

He nodded. "Winter is coming, and I can not freely give a large portion of my young men without something in return."

"Return?" She asked, growing nervous. He had not mentioned such a thing in their entire time together.

"Do you like Winterfell, your highness?" Cregan asked, brows furrowed as he looked down at her.

"Of course–I have grown to love the North."

"Would you..." he trailed off, hesitating slightly. "Would you be willing to live in the North?"

"As in...a marriage offer?" Daenys asked.

"Indeed. If I could have your hand, Daenys, in marriage, the North would have a dragon and a Princess. They would be more willing to fight in a Southern war if their own Wardeness was who they fought for."

Daenys stood there, stunned. Had he brought her all the way to The Wall just to ask for her? Is that why he had been so warm to her, so friendly? Her face hardened, though that did not go unnoticed by Cregan.

"Daenys, please hear me out." The man pleaded, clutching both of her hands in his own and bringing them up to her chest.

"I would not ask something of you that would displease you. I wish to keep you safe. And if, after the war, you wish to never see me again, I will allow you to live at Dragonstone or the Red Keep with your family. I will never force anything on you, never ask for sons. All I want is you. I have wanted for you for a while now. Please do not mistake my genuine feelings for using you. Know that the last thing in this world that I want to see is your unhappiness." He spoke breathlessly.

"I love you, my sweet dreamer. It would truly kill me to see you at the mercy of some old and cruel Lord, who would keep you from happiness. If that makes me a selfish man, then so be it. But at least I am an honest one."

Daenys felt her chest swell with an unknown emotion, throat tight, and eyes glossing with tears. "Love me? How could you love me after all that you have seen from me, Cregan?" She whispered, voice taut with emotion.

He took her face into his hands, wiping away at her eyeline to ensure no tears fell from them. He kissed the spot between her brows with the utmost reverence, pulling away but not moving his hands. "How could I not? All I have seen, I adore. Do not simplify your entire being to your dreams–that is merely one part of you." He interrupted her, knowing exactly what she could argue against.

"Cregan..." she felt the warmth in his mismatching eyes fill her body with a soft heat, though they were surrounded by the winds so high up she barely even felt it.

Before she could finish, an older man came marching towards them.

"Lord Commander," the Stark greeted, though his irritation wasn't hidden. "I asked to be left alone until we returned."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, Princess." The man bowed his head twice in turn. "There has been a letter awaiting the Princess since you left Winterfell. It is dire."

Daenys' eyes widened, it must be from Rhaenyra. Was there an update on the war? Cregan took the scroll in his hands, unrolling it slowly. She watched as his face dropped before looking to Daenys with a sympathetic gleam in his eyes.

"What?" Her voice wavered. "What has happened?" She didn't want to know. She wanted to stay oblivious in the North forever, keeping time paused back at home.

The Lord Commander shifted his gaze down sadly, respectfully taking his leave to the rickity lift so the two could talk.

Cregan placed a hand on her bicep in a comforting way, but she shook her head, urging him on. "Tell me."

"Its about your brother, Lucerys." He said softly.

"Luke? What of him?" She already had her suspicion. She saw him that night, the night she stayed at Winterfell. Daenys was forced to watch the boy and his young dragon being chased through stormy skies by a much bigger, looming beast.

She saw him, and continued treating with Lord Stark. Daenys left her brother to the wolves—or more accurately the dragon. All for a few thousand men to fight in a useless, stupid war. For what? What is the use of sitting atop of the Iron Throne if all of your children will be dead. Is that mot Rhaenyra's legacy? Is Jacaerys next? Little, sweet Joff and the babes Viserys and Aegon? Is she next?

"He is dead. Aemond Targaryen killed him with Vhagar."

No.

He was not dead. Lucerys was playing a prank on her. This time, he just took it too far. He loved his pranks, especially on his eldest sister, who was so easy to fool.

Lucerys was alive and waiting for her shocked face to burst through Dragonstone's doors.

"He's not dead." She shook her head, stepping back from Cregan. "Luke is fine. That letter must be his idea of a jest, 'tis all." She nodded to herself, solidifying her own words.

"Daenys—"

"I will marry you upon my return to Winterfell, whenever the Queen allows me time. You can send a raven to Dragonstone with how many extra men my hand will bring her. Farewell, Lord Stark." She bid him, focusing on making her way to the lift. She entered it, being sent up just in time for her to be allowed down.

"Daenys!" He yelled, tugging her arm roughly to his chest. Cregan loosened his grip apologetically, but did not allow her out of his reach.

She faced him, face scrunched up in a furious glare. "Let go of me. It is treasonous to lay a hand on your Princess." She bit harshly.

Cregan pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her back and head, resting her head on his shoulder gently. "Don't go like this, Princess. It is dangerous to fly in such a state." He murmured into her hair, feeling her tense form shiver.

"What do you know of flying? Morningstar will get me to Dragonstone swiftly, she is the fastest of our dragons—" Daenys was cut off by her own sobs wracking her body violently.

If it were Morningstar sent to Storm's End, she could've outflown Vhagar. Little Arrax, with all his youthful pride, was the smallest yet of the three eldest children's dragons. He just barely started to be able to fly with Luke on his back. It had barely been a year since he'd grown big enough. They were both but mere babes in comparison to Vhagar and Aemond.

"It's not fair!" She yelled into his pelts. She could barely breathe, knees weak and unable to hold herself up. Cregan lowered them both to the floor, keeping her securely in his lap. "My boy, he's only a child. He should've stayed home, I should've kept him safe." She nearly screamed at herself. Her stupidity and foolishness.

How dare the Gods show her Luke's death but not Laenor's. How could they hate her so much? Hate her family? Did the gods hate bastards as much as their creations?

"It's not fair, I know. But you couldn't have done anything, my Lady." He cooed softly in her ear.

"I could, I have known for weeks and done nothing! Lived in obliviousness while my brother has been lost to the sea."

Living like a common whore, allowing herself to sleep next to a man that she was not married to. Allowing him to see her bare, and not being nearly as modest as a Lady should be. Alicent was right, she was always right. She was just like her mother. If she had stayed with Cregan in the wilderness for any longer, would she have allowed him to bed her, too? Would she father his bastard and be forced to cover it with a false marriage?

Daenys needed to leave.

But her legs did not obey her still.

Cregan gave her a pitying glance, one that she could not see in her own wallowing. Nothing he could say could truly get through to her. No one could comfort him for weeks after his own little brother passed. The guilt never leaves.

"Come, Princess. I will not send you off without first making sure you have food in your belly and warmer pelts around you." Cregan told her, but did not make her walk. Instead, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the dining hall, which he demanded be cleared for her privacy. She was despondent the whole time, silent and unmoving. It was only the Lord and Lady in the room, besides a young serving boy.

Daenys glanced up at him, finding kind brown eyes staring at her as the boy dropped stew in front of her. "M'sorry for your loss, M'Lady." He bowed his head low, brown curls shifting at the movement. Why was a boy jis age serving The Wall? Orphaned, most likely, or sold by his parents. She didn't know which fate was worse.

What she did know was that the boy was nearly a spitting image of Lucerys. She hung her head again, unable to look at the young boy. Cregan thanked him quietly, sending him on his way. Their stews began to grow cold in the silence, the both of them still as statues.

"You must eat, Daenys." Cregan urged.

"I will only throw it back up, I cannot stomach anything right now."

"Try, my Lady. Just a few bites. Half."

Sluggishly, she picked up the spoon and took slow bites. Chewing felt like it took ages, and swallowing was nearly painful. Her head spun, feelng nausea rising in her. Once she got through half, Cregan looked satisfied. Daenys stood, and he mirrored her action.

She led him to the iron gate, waiting for it to open. Outside of it, Morningstar was already crouched to allow her to leave. Cregan took off his brown pelts that she had been using as blankets for the past nights, pulling them snug over her shoulders.

"I already have a cloak on." She said tiredly, though did not fight his action.

"For my assurance, 'tis all." He said, fastening the direwolf clip around it. "Your flight home will be much colder than the one you took to Winterfell."

He paused a moment, clutching her hand in his. He placed a gentle kiss on her cold knuckles, lingering a moment longer. "I will send four thousand of my young soldiers to your mother's cause. That will be six thousand Northerners to fight for the Blacks. Return to me safely, Princess. That's all I ask of you."

They were officially bethrothed. Daenys wished it was under better circumstances, but this is the card she was dealt. Daenys nodded, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then she left.

Daenys stopped after a few minutes of flying, throwing up what little she ate into a thorned bush. One snagged on her cheek as she stood up straight, coughing slightly. How very like her to enjoy a meal while her family was waiting anxiously for her return. Daenys mounted Morningstar again, not looking back at The Wall before taking flight again. This time, she would not stop until she was home.

🗡

She could see King's Landing in the distance and had half a mind to burn it all down. Morningstar could easily do so. Even the small folk, along with all the peasant bastards that shared blood with her, would burn. She wouldn't care. As long as Aemond Targaryen would be dead at her feet, she would do it. Perhaps they all deserved it. Sin was the only thing able to survive and breed in King's Landing.

Morningstar was exhausted by the time they landed on the dragonpit's perch. Meleys and Caraxes were already in the pit, roaring to greet their kin excitedly. They, too, were being fed after clearly long flights. Patrols, she guessed. "Feed her." She demanded the Dragonkeepers as she passed them, who were too stunned at her sudden appearance to even bow or greet their Princess.

Daenys charged into the Painted Table room, seeing it lit with a bright orange glow as multiple men surrounded it. Rhaenyra wasn't there. Why where they holding a Queen's council without the Queen? Daemon was at the head, just as he had been when Rhaenyra was screaming in her chambers whilst giving birth to his daughter.

There was no one to announce Daenys. No one had expected her that evening, especially with no warning. There was no time for it, either, as Rhaenyra was announced by a guard. Daenys quickly moved aside when he spoke, shifting next to Jace, who squeezed her hand at the sight of her puffy face. She could not look him in the eye, nor Daemon, who kept his keen eye on her until Rhaenyra entered.

The Queen strided in, meeting Daemon in the middle. He whispered something to her, earning a solemn nod. Rhaenyra continued past him to the head of her table.

"Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace." Daemon bellowed for all to hear him clearly. Daenys only paid mind to her mother's dreadful state. Unkempt hair, ash covered face, hands sandy and clutching at some piece of cloth that Daenys could not figure out. "I will fly to Harrenhall at your command. Set our toehold in the Riverlands."

"Your Grace, my Lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's landing will soon be cut off."

The Queen did not respond to her aunt or husband. A great silence held the room until, "I want Aemond Targaryen." Was her command. She waited a mere moment, glancing at Daenys before leaving to her chambers to fix her state.

Daenys was led to her room by Jacerys, who insisted she get out of her heavy Northern attire now that she was in better temperatures. She cared little for the heat that the clothes engulfed her with now that they were quite useless on Dragonstone, but allowed her maids to change her anyway. She bathed, too, and had her hair done up more traditionally. She kept Cregan's personal furs on the wooden edge of her bed, carefully ensuring they were untouched.

Jacaerys waited outside the whole time, escorting her with an outstretched arm to their mother's chambers. "Are you okay, Dae?" He asked gently, as if she might crumble if he spoke in a normal tone.

She sniffed slightly, nodding. "I am fine. I will be well when Aemond is dead and burned."

The tone of her voice and her violent words shocked him, pausing his steps abruptly.

"Was...did something happen in the North? Besides the news?" He asked, dark brows knitting together.

"Nothing happened. Why do you ask?" She turned to him suspiciously, not wishing to share every detail of what happened. She did not wish to enlighten her family of her brutal killing. That would be between Daenys and Cregan until the day she died. And perhaps Rhaenyra, who might have the answers to her burning questions.

"I am merely concerned. Was he a borish man? I wish I could've gone to the North in your stead, sister. Lady Jeyne was kind enough, she would've liked you." Jace said, slowly meeting her steps once again.

"Lord Stark is not like the typical depiction of a northman. I handled him just fine." Was her vague answer. Truly, Daenys was happy to see her brother again. To be with her family again. But her joy was dulled by the missing presence in the halls. The one who was meant to greet her in the dragonpit. Jacaerys gave her a pitying look, opening Rhaenyra's chambers.

Their mother sat on a couch, meeting her children's eyes as they walked in and bowed. She looked more put together now that she received the same treatment as Daenys.

Rhaenyra stood, awaiting Daenys and Jacaerys to give their messages. Her chest heaved slightly, something that would have gone unnoticed by anyone but her children, who knew her too well. Jace started. "Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support. In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale." His voice shook. He had been home for two weeks, yet in Daemon's firm presence, he forced himself to be strong and hard. He had not seen his mother except for her quick visits to eat and feed Syrax.

Rhaenyra nodded encouragingly, eyes brimming red.

"Lord Cregan stark has pledged 2,000 greybeards to you. In exchange for my hand, he promises another 4,000 young men." Daenys stated firmly. She refused to waver even slightly. Even when she wished to be held in her mother's arms. She couldn't let herself be comforted by the woman who had lost her own child. Daenys was the one who must comfort her when her own husband was so useless at it. His biggest flaw.

Rhaenyra and Jace looked shocked at the news. "You gave him your hand?" Jacaerys asked, a worried look on his face. "But–"

"I gave Cregan Stark my hand in exchange for 4,000 men. It is a fair trade, Jacaerys." She told him, holding no grudge or sorrow for it. She didn't wish for her family to, either. "He is an honest man. He will send every last one to fight for you, my Queen."

"That is not his concern. The Starks keep their oaths, yes. But are you happy with the arrangement, my sweet girl?" Rhaenyra asked, cupping Daenys' cheeks in the way that always made Daenys melt. She didn't trust her voice, so she simply nodded. Rhaenyra took Jace and Daenys into her arms. She could feel the quiet sobs deep in their chest, both seeking comfort in the reunion. Daenys held them tightly, afraid to let go. She had her time to cry, in Cregan's arms, now it was her time to finally make herself useful.

The Targaryens and Velayrons stood outside on a tall hill of Dragonstone's rocky beaches. Rhaenyra placed Lucerys' red tunic, the one she had found with Arrax's wing, onto the pyre's stand, reluctantly stepping back once she did. Jacaerys, holding little Joff, placed one of Luke's blankets onto the pyre. Joffrey, who didn't quite understand the funeral and its meaning, tossed a wooden horse that Luke handed down to him into the pyre.

Daenys stepped up, glancing at Rhaena across the fire's glow, seeing her struggle to keep her composure. She mourned for their broken betrothal along with her cousin, knowing they would have made a very happy couple. She clutched onto Luke's favorite tunic. The one she gave him for his three and tenth name day. Even when it grew tighter on him each month during his growthspurt, he still insisted he wore it. It had an embroidered three-headed dragon on it, in the colors of House Velayron. A testament to his future station as Lord of the Tides and a Targaryen. She stitched it for days, ensuring it was perfect for him. Daenys tossed it into the pyre, stepping beside Jace and watching the fire burn out. Most left after a respectable amount of time. Rhaenyra and Daenys stayed until the fire stopped entirely.

Her mother rubbed her back soothingly, allowing Daenys to rest her head on her shoulder. "Mother, I have so many things to ask you. A lot has happened in the North..." She muttered.

"Let us go inside. After you rest, I will dedicate my morning only to you." Rhaenyra promised, kissing the crown of Daenys' head affectionately. Daenys nodded, watching her mother walk back inside to retire for the evening.

A boat's movement caught her eye. Her squinted, lifting her skirts to walk slightly further down the hill. An intruder? No, they were leaving the beach. Daenys thought for a moment, there were very few on the island, and even less who had a reason to leave in secret. Unless...was it true? Were Daemon and Rhaenyra plotting to take Aemond's life in the dead of night?

No. Daenys gasped, sprinting towards the entrance doors of the castle. She needed her own way of transportation to King's Landing.

She was able to find a man who reluctantly took her on his small fishingboat. She doned a dark cloak that she was able to scrounge up in her hurry. Daenys tossed a bag of coins into his awaiting palm, not caring to count what was in it. The boat ride felt excruciatingly long, anticipation rising in her every minute. The thought of being caught made her scared, but the thought of Daemon getting to Jaehaerys before she did scared her worse.

Finally, the man stopped at a discreet sandy part of King's Landings' side wall. There was an extrance nearby, as well as another anchored fishing boat. Daenys scowled. How long had Daemon been there ahead of her? "Stay here." She called behind her, sprinting towards the open entrance in the wall while holding her hood over her silver hair.

There were no guards at it, unsurprisingly. They had all grown lazy under Aegon's leniency. She wandered the dark and damp streets unti she found an iron gate with a hooded figure waiting at it. A guard was walking away from the gate, small purse of coins clutched in his meaty fist.

"Daemon!" Daenys whisper-yelled, grabbing her step-father by his cloak and yanking him back. He barely stumbled but still had the audacity to look shocked and angry at her.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"You fool! You didn't kill Aemond. Do you think that lazy, drunken, craven could kill him?"

"I ordered him to kill Aemond, of course he will. If not, I'll find a way in myself." Daemon scoffed. Daenys grabbed his arms tightly, shaking her head. "You killed Jaehaerys. You killed a babe!" She yelled, uncaring of who would hear now. Perhaps it was both of their karma to die in King's Landing for attempting to kill Helena's son. Maybe if they were caught, they would catch the two men before they cold. Rhaenyra could find two more riders for their dragons, somewhere.

Daemon covered her mouth, pulling her to a less lit corner of the street before anyone could recognize them. "Are you mad, girl? You will get us both killed—" She punched him in the face, not staying to watch him clutch his nose before running back to her boat in a flurry of black and silver.

Daenys rode back to Dragonstone in a silent mourning. Jaehaerys would die. She knew it this time. She followed her dreams, finally. But still lost to fate. Or lost to Daemon. That coward, sending a guard to kill the kinslayer. He should be challenging Vhagar and the One-eyed Prince himself.

They could take him together. If only he trusted her to fight. Morningstar was large and battle-ready. Her and Caraxes would surely dominate the fight, a son for a son.

Not a child for a child.

Daenys slipped into her chambers, waiting for the news to wake the castle up. It wouldn't be long.

🗡

dont mind me using morningstar and dusk as parallels for cregan and daenys 😋

changing the times between Jace and Rhaenyra arriving. Let's say Rhaenyra was coming and going for two weeks, only coming back when she had to eat and let syrax eat. Jace came back the day the raven came to bring the news, and has been ruling with Daemon in her place. Just to say Rhaenyra and Daenys came back officially at the same time to continue the plot forward with no gaps.

[zorrasucia]

can we get your take on the trapped inside the fridge trope? enemies to lovers vibes between reader and carmy? pls and congrats on 300 followers

Hello, Anon! Thank you ☺️💜

And yes definitely! I went for a version where they get trapped a week or so before opening night - I love Carmy with all my heart but he would be absolutely unfuckable that day lol

Send a request for my 300 followers celebration! 🥂

Michelin star chef Carmen Berzatto had already gone through two of the stages of grief after finding out that you two were trapped inside the walk in fridge. He had loudly declared 'this can't be happening' about twenty times, trying the handle over and over: denial. Then, he slammed the door with his fists and palms, cursing at the top of his lungs, screaming his throat raw for no one to hear: anger.

"Fucking manchild," you mumbled under your breath while he screamed through the phone, trying to get "the fridge guy" to get you two out.

You had been training at the kitchen of The Bear for the past couple of weeks, preparing for their opening, and your opinion of Carmy was less than stellar already.

"The fuck were you still doing here anyway?" he barked, like he had suddenly remembered you were there too.

You sighed.

"You asked me to stay, Chef," you emphasized. Was it mature and productive to play the blame game? No. But you were exhausted and cold and tired of Carmy's bullshit. "You asked me to re-label the produce because the tape was torn, not cut."

Carmy looked at the containers right in front of him, his gaze vacant as one tattooed finger traced the edges of torn out tape, one of the last few you had left to replace.

"Right," he exhaled. He seemed to have tired himself out. "What time is it?"

You checked your phone. "Quarter past midnight."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, fuck," you agreed, crossing your arms to stay warm.

Carmy looked at you, his blue eyes fixed on your face as a shiver went down your spine.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just fine. Freezing myself to death is all," you snarked.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then quickly removed his chef whites, and offered them to you.

"I'm fine," you repeated but then a second shiver went through you. "Thanks, Chef," you accepted reluctantly. The fabric was warm from his body, smelling of aftershave and sweat - manly. You wished you didn't enjoy the scent as much as you did.

He put hands in his pockets, keeping warm now that he was only wearing his t-shirt. Your eyes studied the tattoos on his arms and hands trying to guess the meaning or beauty behind them, stubbornly refusing to break the heavy silence between you.

His phone chimed.

"It's, uh, Tony, the fridge guy," Carmy said. "Says he can be here in an hour."

"Plus however long he takes to get us out," you guessed. Carmy nodded. Then, he shivered.

Fuck.

You couldn't believe you were going to suggest this.

"Want a hug?" you offered, looking down.

"Mmm?" Carmy cocked his head, genuinely confused.

"I said, do you want a hug?" you repeated, arms uncrossing. "You're freezing and I'm freezing and we've got at least an hour and a half more of this bullshit."

He stood in silence for a whole minute.

"Alright."

He moved closer to you, hands by his sides, completely still, waiting for you to make the move. There was something endearing about it, you thought as you laced your arms around his wide shoulders, solid muscle under your palms. You were practically the same height, his curls tickled your cheek.

"This okay?" you asked.

"Yes, better," he agreed reluctantly, his voice vibrating through your chest.

You felt like you were holding a statue. Maybe it was a good thing - it would be a little fucked up if the Carmy Berzatto was eager to hold you tight and touch your body. However, a part of you, the part that loved his smell and liked the look of his arms, kind of hoped he would hug you back.

"You can hold me, if you want," you whispered.

He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around your waist, his exhale caressing your neck.

You stood there, in silence, for a while, unnaturally still. You rubbed your thumb over his shoulder for a bit, it made it feel more like a real hug and less awkward.

All of a sudden, Carmy cleared his throat and moved away.

"You okay?" you asked.

He turned his back to you, hands on his hips.

"I, uh, yes, I'm fine," he replied, voice choked up.

"I'm not going to report you to HR or anything, if that's what you're worried about," you mumbled, suddenly feeling very guilty. "Or if I made you uncomfortable-"

He shook his head. "No, no. It's not your-" he stopped himself.

"My f-fault?" you finished, shivering again. The cold seemed to double down now that his body wasn't shielding you and you wanted him back where he was.

"It isn't. It's just been a while," he ended cryptically, glancing over his shoulder towards you, face flushed even with the cold, rearranging his apron to better cover his crotch. And suddenly you understood. You didn't make him uncomfortable, if anything he was too comfortable in your embrace.

"Oh."

"Yeah," he looked up at the ceiling.

"Chef, it's fine," you tried to reassure him. He huffed incredulously. "It is."

Carmy ran his hands through his hair. You followed the lines of muscle you could guess under his t-shirt - it was a distracting sight. You were flushed down to the neck, warmth invading your belly, and it was way past midnight...

"Chef?" he only gave you a tense hum in response. "Can I help?"

"With what?" he replied brusquely. He was angry, again. He was hard for you and angry - why couldn't he just pick one?

"Never fucking mind," you rolled your eyes. "I was going to offer you a quick fuck but if you're going to be insufferable about that too then I guess you can will your boner away and die mad about it," you spat.

Carmy turned towards you with dark eyes.

"You weren't," he denied roughly. "Why would you? You weren't."

"Because I think you're hot and it feels nice being desired," you shrugged.

This wasn't about being in love or some bullshit, you had known each other for two weeks and you were pretty sure he hadn't really noticed you for most of that time. He was horny, you were willing, and you were both cold as fuck.

He took two steps and suddenly he was in your space, forehead almost touching yours.

"Would you still?" he asked simply, his breath tickling your lips.

"Yeah," you exhaled.

"Even with me being insufferable about it?" he insisted.

"Well, then I guess you better make me come," you dared him.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Carmy grabbed you in his arms and kissed you hard, cornering you against the shelves, his body warm and eager against yours. You ran your fingers through his hair, a little greasy from the day, but still soft and addicting to pull on. He groaned into your mouth. His nimble fingers untied his apron and yours, breaking a bruising kiss to throw them on the floor. He didn't attempt to remove any other piece of clothing.

"Not sure you've got your priorities straight," you sassed when he started kissing your neck and touching your breasts over your shirt.

He angled his hips so that you could feel his cock hard against your center. You moaned.

"Don't I?" he teased right back, smiling into your skin.

"Fuck you," you said without bite, panting as he ground his hips against yours. "Shouldn't feel this good," you mumbled hazily.

"Hmm?"

He seemed lost in it, breathing hard into the skin of your neck, the tips of his fingers tracing cold lines on the small of your back, his palms squeezing your ass greedily.

"It shouldn't feel this good to dry hump in a fucking walk-in," you finished your sentence with a breathy laugh.

Behind you, the shelves were shaking with the steady rhythm of Carmy grinding against you.

His blue eyes searched for yours. "I said I'd make you come. And I will," he panted. "But it's been a fucking long while and I need you to be good for me, okay?" His hands held your hips even tighter.

"Yes, Chef," you exhaled, holding on to his shoulders, opening your legs, and letting him use you.

His movements turned desperate, messy thrusts and low grunts as he stared into your eyes and chased his pleasure. He was breathing into your open mouth, drunk on lust, pupils blown.

"Let go. It's okay, let go," you said, one hand caressing his face.

Carmy let out a sharp groan and closed his eyes, holding you tighter as he came down from his high.

"Fuck," he exhaled on the side of your face, spent. You liked that he sounded soft and needy.

"Not so angry now," you teased, fingers carding through his hair.

He laughed and kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck... His fingers unbuttoned your trousers with ease, and his right hand went inside your underwear unceremoniously.

You hissed at the cold.

"Kind of glad you didn't get me naked, actually," you admitted with a smile.

"Seems like we both enjoyed it just fine," Carmy goaded when his index traced your folds and found you soaking wet.

You couldn't come up with another biting remark, not with his finger inside you and his lips crushing yours. His thumb caressed your clit, doing lazy circles while his index curled inside you.

"Fuck!"

"Good?" he asked.

"More," you pleaded, becoming needy and monosyllabic, arching your back when his middle finger went inside you too.

Carmy swallowed your moans, humming encouragingly as you rode his hand.

"That's it, that's it," he whispered when your pussy started squeezing his fingers.

"Fuck, like that," you whined, rolling your eyes, fluttering around his knuckles, squeezing his shoulders, feeling a wave of pleasure leave you breathless.

You held him tight as you felt the aftershocks, a little confused that he hadn't removed his hand yet but enjoying the feeling of fullness.

His thumb pressed on your clit again, sensitive after your release but still electrified. You let out a low moan.

"I can stop," Carmy offered just as his fingers arched inside you again, making you roll your eyes and shake in his embrace.

"Don't stop," you begged.

It was quicker this time. He had you figured out and ready, pliant under his touch, one leg hoisted over his hip as you unraveled for him.

"Yes, like that," he mumbled as your hips started moving with a will of their own, your pussy tight around his fingers, everything turning white and hot for a moment. He kissed you through it - messy and open mouthed, enjoying your undoing almost as much as you did.

There was a couple of minutes of beautiful silence between you, just your heavy breathing interrupting it.

He kissed the side of your face as he took his hand out of your underwear, wet to the palm. He cleaned it thoroughly with one of the dish towels he kept at the sides of his apron. You blushed at the sight.

"I can wash that for you," you offered.

"No, need," he said, tucking it inside his pocket. His blue eyes took you in completely. "Thank you, Chef."

You nodded, biting your lip.

The fridge guy arrived shortly after that. You two spent the small hours of the morning sat on the floor, not talking, not arguing. Carmy's hand shielded your face from the bright sparks of metal cutting metal.

Things would go back to normal. He would be insufferable in the morning, no doubt, screaming and demanding, losing his mind over torn out tape. But you could enjoy this, having him soft and tired, his arm around your shoulders, knowing well what his fingers felt like three knuckles deep inside you.