#mild threats

[puzzled-pegasus]

Jason, in a Mood(TM): God, I hate fucking bees.

Leo, not helping: Then stop fucking bees, Jason!

Jason: Leo, I'm gonna break your arms.

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi Silver! o/ because that fanart made me wonder - would you happen to know when/where Dick's stuffed elephant plush Zitka turns up in the comics?

GREETINGS CAM <3333 THAT ART WAS SO CUTE

Yeah, I think your instincts are right - it's a truly adorable bit of transformative fandom, but I'm 95% percent sure it's not comics canon. Barbara has canon plushies, but I don't think anyone else does.

I got kinda invested in the investigation (it's hard to prove a negative!) and I ended up typing out an entire History of Elinore/Zitka, so, uh, if you're curious, meet me below the cut for:

Where does Elinore / Zitka - the animal - appear in comics?

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

Where does Elinore / Zitka appear in comics?

We're gonna go in chronological order!

Dick's circus elephant friend was first created for practical reasons: in Batman 436, Marv Wolfman does a big expanded flashback to Dick's circus backstory as a way to subtly show us Tim before officially introducing him (so that we can have a technically-solvable mystery-of-Tim's-identity in LPoD). In this comic, there's an elephant named Elinore who loves Dick:

Aww. Such a cute elephant!

Batman 436 comes out in August 1989. New Titans 60 comes out a few months later, in November, and guess what? When Dick visits the circus, he is suddenly surprised by an unexpected blast from the past! It turns out that even though it's been years, Elinore still remembers him!

Here's the part where Elinore remembers Dick:

SUCH a cute elephant. I love her.

(Guess who else still remembers Dick even though it was so long ago. Guess which other character is about to be an unexpected blast from the past. Guess which character Elinore is directly paralleling guess guess guess sorry everything is about Dick and Tim in my mind but I can focus I swear)

Four years later, in 1993, Batman: The Animated Series retells Dick's origin story. They like and keep Wolfman's elephant, but they change her name to Zitka:

Wolfman doesn't return to the elephant beyond those two appearances, and a few years down the line, New Titans gets cancelled and Wolfman's not writing Dick anymore anyway. So the animal gets abandoned for a while, until Devin Grayson, a fan of both Wolfman and B:tAS, revives the Wolfman-era Titans team in JLA/Titans and then the ongoing series Titans 1999.

Grayson then brings back the elephant in a flashback to Dick's past in Titans 16 (Jun 2000), where she imports the B:tAS name. Sometimes I'm skeptical of TV-to-comics imports, but honestly, I endorse this one. You lose the alliteration, which is a shame, but IMO Zitka is a better elephant name than Elinore.

Here's Dick with the newly-christened Zitka in Titans 16:

Grayson also briefly references the elephant in Gotham Knights 20 and - in a final angsty callback - in Nightwing 88 (Feb 2004), where Zitka tries futilely to comfort Dick in the midst of his trauma conga line:

... And... honestly, I think that's it for comic appearances? The two Wolfman comics plus the three Grayson comics.

Both Wolfman and Grayson are writing multiple titles - Batman, New Titans, Titans, Gotham Knights, and Nightwing between the two of them, spanning a big chunk of Dick's post-Crisis canon - and both writers use the elephant for heartwarming moments of nostalgia, which means if you're doing a post-Crisis readthrough for Dick, Elinore/Zitka feels memorable. But I don't think she actually shows up that much.

For post-2011, I am not as well-informed - throwing this out to the dash? anyone know? - but I feel like Zitka the heartwarming symbol of Dick's heartwarming circus past is, uh, thematically very at odds with the Court of Owls evil!circus vibes, so my instinct is that this story element was almost certainly dropped in the reboot.

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

In WFA, yes; in main comics continuity, no. Technically, I have not read every comic ever published, so I could be wrong!! But I don't think so.

Below, find my rambling reasoning on the tonal vibes of pre-Crisis, post-Crisis, and post-2011, and why this particular story element doesn't seem right to me for the first two.

Pre-Crisis (...okay, mostly the Silver Age): stuffed animal, yes or no?

tl;dr no, requires too much background knowledge on the part of the reader, plus the elephant wasn't a thing until later

Elinore doesn't get created until post-Crisis, but also just generally, pre-Crisis callbacks are more along the lines of this reference in Batman 129 (published in 1960), where, wow, Batman and Robin are hunting jewel thieves - and it turns out Robin recognized this strongman! BUT HOW?!

The comic goes on to recap Dick's entire origin story in flashback, on the assumption that you may not know it.

(BTW, if you'd like to know more about Haly's Circus throughout the years, nightwingology has a great post here summarizing a lot of fun plotlines and characters!)

Basically: Silver Age comics are very self-consciously episodic and kid-friendly; they're not generally gonna do overly-elaborate callbacks because they don't know what comics their kid readers may have randomly picked up or remember.

By the time of post-Crisis, comic books were being written for an adult audience buying from the direct market, i.e. readers who are collecting whole runs & don't need or want Dick's origin story to be recapped to us in full every time it's referenced. That's why in post-Crisis, we get stuff like "hey, neat, this particular soda brand is getting mentioned in several different books!!" or "in order to understand this story arc, buy SIXTEEN DIFFERENT COMICS in FIVE DIFFERENT RUNS and read them ALL ACCORDING TO A NUMBERED ORDER and also you better be following the individual plotlines and recognize these five minor characters who we don't bother to introduce!! Good luck!!" But the elaborate post-Crisis plotlines - and subtler worldbuilding like a stuffed animal callback to Dick's backstory - don't make a lot of story sense UNLESS you're imagining your readers as completionist adult fans.

So IMO a stuffed animal wouldn't be a pre-Crisis thing unless it was The Episodic Story Of the Week, and I don't think a stuffed animal is action-adventure-y enough for the fast-paced storytelling of the Silver Age. (Unless it, like, came to life and tried to eat you or something.)

Post-Crisis: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr: no, Dick's a manly tough guy, he's not gonna have a stuffed animal, that'd be lame, like something Tim might do

Part of the edgy grimdark adult vibes in 80s/90s comics is that some characters who used to be kinda silly & goofy & lighthearted - like Batman and Robin - get reimagined as Serious and Angsty and Edgy in a Tough Cool Manly Brooding Way. This massively affects characterization for Bruce, Dick, and Bruce and Dick's relationship.

(I obviously love this change & love the tense Bruce-and-Dick interactions, but plenty of fans of the earlier fluffy comics really disliked the edgy retcons of Miller / Wolfman / Starlin / et al.)

The upshot is that post-Crisis is a period when you could have a recurring reference like a stuffed elephant, but you wouldn't have a stuffed elephant, not for Dick. I think a toy like that would be too cutesy / childish / effeminate to give a male character in post-Crisis, unless you were poking fun at him.

Now, you could probably let Tim have a stuffed animal, because Tim is sometimes cool but also sometimes a tryhard loser who is faking being cool and not entirely pulling it off (see e.g. the Robin comic where he practices tough-guy faces in the mirror, or the Teen Titans comic where Conner discovers his cringy Enya CD, or when he's fanboying over Connor and it's awkward, etc etc.). A stuffed animal would be deeply embarrassing, and you'd have to be careful to compensate by having Tim do something cool afterward - but Tim's character concept allows for "he's kind of a loser sometimes."

But Dick isn't!! In post-Crisis, Dick's a tough / impressive / "cool guy" character, the kind of guy anyone would want to be, even in the flashbacks where he's Robin, and even in the stories where he's more lighthearted than angsty. It'd be kinda lame for Dick to have a stuffed elephant, so he wouldn't. I feel like Dick would be more likely to poke fun at it if someone had one, like when he's making fun of Wally for liking the Hardy Boys. Dick could have a Batman action figure, at most, and if he had one he would have it ironically.

Basically: in post-Crisis, a male character hugging a stuffed elephant feels more likely to be a punchline to me, not something poignant. (Even with Tim, Tim could have an embarrassing stuffed animal, but he couldn't hug it when sad - that's too far. Maybe Booster Gold might do this. Probably he wouldn't, but spiritually, he would. Sorry Booster ilu! <3)

Instead, Dick instinctively deals with his inner turmoil like the TORTURED ACTION HERO he is: by punching things and brooding and yelling and joining the mob and sleeping on rooftops and going on obsessive secret missions and acquiring Angsty Stubble!! Just like Batman!

(Technically I don't know if Bruce ever joined the mob but you know he would.)

Anyway as you know this is my favorite continuity and I am poking fun affectionately, but uh, yeah sdfsfdsfs. No stuffed animals.

Post-2011 / Infinite Frontier / Wayne Family Adventures: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr it's in WFA! Probably not anywhere else, but it could be.

Post-2011 stuff tends to be cutesier overall, most of all in the current Infinite Frontier era. So I don't feel like this would be tonally out-of-line with IF comics. Taylor tends to go for more meme-y references rather than fanfic references, though.

So the obvious best fit is WFA, which is aiming for a rough approximation of Silver Age family-friendly vibes - wholesome, episodic plots, Teaching Good Moral Lessons For The Youth, etc. - plus lots of Easter eggs for fanfic readers and some comic references.

And look, here we are:

Aww.

Whew - that's everything I could find!

Anyway as you can probably tell, I LOVE the elephant, so this was a very entertaining rabbit hole to go down, thank you <3

[lgbtlunaverse]

While rereading mdzs I am once again shocked by how talked about the "you were the only mistake he ever made" line from Lan Xichen to Wei Wuxian is and how heated it gets some people because honestly... I don't think he actually even believes that.

Stay with me. Look at the actual line. (I Included 2 translations for comparison's sake)

Firstly, yes he is mad at Wei Wuxian in this scene. But his biggest moment of anger was actually before this. By this point he's realized that Wei Wuxian forgot what happened after nightless city (and therefore ISN'T stringing along his baby brother on purpose) so he has in fact calmed down a bit.

Secondly, notice that he starts by talking about how his uncle felt. This is not Lan Xichen making a value statement about what he thinks. When he says Lan Wangji was proper and righteous he is talking about him being a model lan, he's talking about their family and clan's perspective of Wangji. Indeed, in their eyes, Wei Wuxian is the only time Lan Wangji was ever not the textbook perfect Lan.

Thirdly, what is Lan Xichen trying to say here? What is he mad at Wei Wuxian for? It's that he doesn't know Lan Wangji is in love with him. His anger is eased by realizing Wei Wuxian doesn't remember the very blatant confessions lwj made in the cave after nightless city, or Lan Wangji fighting his own clan elders for Wei Wuxian, and so had no way of knowing the whipmarks on Lan Wangji's back were related to him. But he is still mad, he still thinks Wei Wuxian should have been able to figure it out. So what does he highlight?

The fact that the only thing Lan Wangji, perfect model-Lan righteous Lan Wangji, ever defies his clan for is Wei Wuxian.

And Wei Wuxian has seen him do this! Even if he doesn't remember this one instance. Because Lan Wangji has been doing that the whole story through. Wei Wuxian has watched Lan Wangji blatantly stand against the entire cultivation world for him, and here Lan Xichen is highlighting just how unusual that is, how much Wei Wuxian must mean to Lan Wangji that he's willing to do that. The important part of the sentence here is not "mistake" it's "only."

Lan Xichen here isn't trying to say that he disapproves of Wei Wuxian, or telling him to stay away from his brother. Remember, the thing that made him mad in the first place was Wei Wuxian saying that he and Lan Wangji slept in seperate rooms. He thought they were together! He's mad because they're not!

At no point does Lan Xichen say he individually considers Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian a mistake. If he ever did, it's clear he accepted them regardless long ago. Mistake or not, what he wants is for his little brother to be happy.

[imagine-darksiders]

The Lovelorn King - Chapter 2

Books and their Covers.

Bowser x Reader

--------

King Bowser.

King.

You’re standing in the presence of a King.

Old teachings that have been stitched into the very walls of your mind almost surge forth, and all at once, you find yourself resisting the urge to drop immediately into a curtsey as countless years of rigorous training in etiquette come rushing back to you.

You’re caught wildly off guard. Peach had made no mention of another monarch occupying a neighbouring kingdom. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that Junior was being serious when he boasted that his father was a king.

Still poised with his chest pushed out and his chin tipped back, Bowser’s molten gaze is busy studying your face, no doubt waiting for you to react accordingly to his grand declaration.

Technically, as a queen, you and the colossal Koopa are on equal footing, so you’re under no real obligation to bow to him.

But Bowser doesn’t know that.

For all he’s aware, you’re just another woman who boasts no royal heritage, which is a façade you’d quite like to maintain until you absolutely have to reveal your true nature.

Fine.

… You haven’t had to do this since you last addressed your father…

It stings your pride a little to bend low on your knees and drop your head in a graceful curtsey, entirely missing how the King’s jaw pops open and goes slack with shock.

You’re left with an especially bad taste in your mouth for showing deference to the father of your juvenile kidnapper, but you’re not about to start hurling around accusations just yet.

Here you are, all alone in the fortress of a foreign monarch, unarmed and unguarded.

This seems the kind of situation that best calls for tact, not tantrums.

You’ll have to play this cautiously.

“Your majesty,” you gush, straightening up and smoothing out your skirts, “It’s a… it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cordial. Polite. The barest show of common decency you can afford.

And yet… Bowser is peering down at you as if you’ve spontaneously sprouted wings.

His brows sit high on his scaly forehead as he blinks at you owlishly, working his jaw open and shut around silent words before he gives his head an abrupt shake, as if to rouse himself from a stupor.

It’s a little alarming, you’ll admit.

Slowly enough that it borders on cautious, he asks, “It… it is?”

And then, in a sudden burst of motion that makes you flinch, he draws himself up again and plants his hands on each hip, letting out a gruff bark of laughter. “I mean, of course it is!”

Everything about him is prodigious, even the slightest twitch of his hands is frighteningly noticeable, and you’re ashamed to admit that you flinch back at his exclamation, unwittingly allowing a tiny gasp to escape between your clenched teeth.

Clinging to his father’s leg like a limpet, Junior peers up at you with his bushy brows furrowed in thought, scrutinising your reaction. After a second, he shifts, patting a palm firmly against Bowser’s solid calf and tilting his head up to whine, “Papa, I think she’s scared.”

You might have refuted him if Bowser hadn’t so suddenly deflated at that moment, his lordly manner all but evaporating as he scans your face with those wild and terrible eyes.

You must have quite the look about you because just like that, the King’s eyebrows launch up his forehead and he ducks his head, half crouching to bring his muzzle level with your face. “Scared?” he echoes, trailing off and lifting his eyes to the guards at your back, locking onto their weapons like a homing missile. The spear heads are still trained on your vulnerable spine.

In a second of misdirected anger, Bowser’s temper flares up, aimed, not at himself, but at his troops.

“Hey!” he barks at the guards, all of whom flinch and cower backwards as their king sweeps a ferocious scowl across their ranks, “Lower your weapons! The heck’re you trying to do - threatening a lady!?”

They recoil in an instant with a chorus of whimpers that hardly befit their once intimidating bluster.

They all but throw their weapons to the ground as they scramble backwards, away from both you and their King.

Twisting about to stare at them over your shoulder in bewilderment, you’re unprepared to feel a warm, scaly paw sweep your hand up, nor for another paw to land on top of it, trapping your appendage between each of Bowser’s immense palms before you can even begin to think of tugging yourself free.

Letting out a gasp, you whip your head back to the King, the muscles in your arms turning stiff with unease. He, however, doesn’t seem to notice your rigid limbs.

In a flash, Bowser’s wrathful eyes turn soft, and a buoyant smile pushes at his round and ample cheeks. “There you go,” he hums pleasantly, giving the back of your hand an astonishingly gentle pat, “No need to fret, my dear. You’re in no danger within these walls. You have my word.”

You can feel the sweat gathering in the cup of your palm, stuck as it is amongst the cage of scaly fingers.

Down beside Bowser’s leg, Junior pipes up, “See? Told you Papa’d take good care of you!”

The King has yet to turn his attention away from your face, too preoccupied with blinking dreamily down at you, his nostrils fluttering open and shut around every breath he draws into those almighty lungs.

You get the distinct impression you’re being sniffed.

“I see you’ve already met my son.”

Somehow, he manages to lean even closer to you until all you can see is his vast, smiling muzzle, armed to the gunnels with fangs as long as your thumb.

Swallowing audibly, you send a flat look down at Junior, who sees fit to grin shamelessly back at you.

“Oh, yes,” you utter thinly, “He’s a real charmer, your boy.”

Evidently oblivious to sarcasm, Bowser expels a lazy puff of steam from his nostrils, letting it waft over your face where it slithers between your parted lips and settles over your tongue with the taste of charcoal.

“Takes after his old man,” he purrs.

He’s keeping you held close enough that you can feel the ensuing thrum travel through your joined hands and spill across your ribcage.

This is getting wildly inappropriate. Regardless of whether he knows of your royal status, for Bowser to maintain this… this… proximity-! While his guards and a child watch on?

It’s scandalous.

It’s improper.

“…. Yes… I’m… I’m sure he does,” you croak uncertainly, struck by the sudden yearning to clear your throat. Swallowing back the urge, you give your hand a surreptitious tug, and after a few seconds, Bowser’s palms ease apart slightly, allowing you to slide your arm through the gap, concealing a sigh of relief. “But I’m afraid there’s… something I really must discuss with you.”

It takes just a second too long for his arms to fall back against his sides. “Oh?” he says, a curious, fiery brow sliding up his forehead as he finally sheds that dopey smile.

Offering him a nod, you take a calming breath and gesture towards the little Koopaling clinging to the giant’s leg. “It… well, it’s about your son.”

You hope that’ll be enough to get him to dismiss the guards behind you, given that it involves the boy, and would thusly indicate a private matter.

But once again, Bowser seems slow on the uptake.

You’re starting to notice a pattern there.

“Junior?” The king’s great snout tips down to acknowledge the young Koopa, who merely returns his father’s gaze with an innocent tilt of his head.

‘Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,’ you gripe to yourself.

Aloud, you speak up, “Yes, you see, I’m just a bit concerned about his… Well, I hate to be indelicate about this, but I think his behaviour needs to be addressed.”

You’re too adept at reading a room to miss how the Koopas behind you seem to draw a collective breath, the wooden handles of their spears creaking softly under tightening fists.

Undeterred, you forge on. “Now, while I don’t want to believe that Junior did anything with malicious intent, the fact remains, Your Majesty, that your son stole me away from my ship, the Bonhomous.”

“Stole you?”

Nodding sombrely, you shift to cradle your elbows and cast an anxious glance at the ground underfoot, muttering, “I’m afraid so. I have friends who must be looking for me by now… Captain Skip is probably beside herself with worry…”

Perhaps it should have clued you in on his true musings that Bowser doesn’t immediately react in the way any normal parent might upon learning their child has just kidnapped someone.

As it is, you’re too busy clutching your arms and trying not to breathe too loudly to put much stock into his disconcertingly mild reaction.

“S’that so?” Bowser thrums, deep as a fissure. He turns to quirk a single, flaming brow down at his son, “You take this nice lady from her ship?”

All eyes are on Junior now as he cocks his head at the king and nods, uttering a baffled, “Uh huh?” as if that’s the last question he ever expected to hear.

In response, Bowser presses his jaws together into a hard line and exhales a long, resonant hum through his nostrils. “I see…”

You’re surprised when he swivels his massive snout towards you again and his expression shifts, stretched wide by an appeasing grin. “Say, would you mind if I have a word with my son in private?”

Ah. Of course.

The tension in your shoulders eases a little at his acknowledgment of Junior’s misdemeanour. It makes sense not to cause a fuss in the throne room in front of a visitor.

Inclining your head, you offer the King a polite smile – a silent mark of approval and permission.

Returning your smile with a dip of his great, horned skull, he lays a hand on his son’s shell and ushers the koopaling towards the set of heavy, wooden doors they’d previously come through.

You watch on as their tails disappear through it and it swings shut behind them with an almighty thud, and just like that, you’re left to stand alone once again the company of several, scowling guards and their equally fearsome weapons.

And yet, more than accustomed to being the centre of attention during uncomfortable silences, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, standing tall and patient, one ear trained on the doors ahead.

Several long and arduously slow minutes tick by.

There’s no shouting from beyond the wood, no crying or wailing, nor anything that would indicate an unpleasant conversation is taking place on the other side.

The smallest brush of shame makes its presence known on the walls of your chest. Is it fair of you to have expected the brute of a King to possess an equally tempestuous temper? Perhaps you ought to have better remembered the old morals regarding books and their covers.

Unexpectedly soon, the doors are thrust open again with an abrupt ‘slam!’ jolting you from your musings as the heavy wood strikes against stone walls.

Despite his decidedly explosive entrance, one glance at the King’s muzzle reveals a toothy grin as he comes lumbering back over to you with Junior bounding after him, barely keeping up with his father’s extensive stride.

It doesn’t escape your notice that the boy isn’t looking especially chastised.

“Hope we didn’t keep you for too long,” Bowser announces, trundling to a halt in front of you and dipping his head into a shallow gesture of apology, “You know, I’m loathe to keep a lady waiting.”

You can’t tell if the room’s tension dissipates at his return, or if it grows even thicker.

“It’s no trouble,” you reply thinly.

“So,” Bowser grunts, shifting his weight onto one, thick-set leg, “My son and I have had a little chat.”

A swift glance down at the Junior reveals knitted brows and a childish pout that scrunches up his muzzle as if he’s just eaten something especially sour.

Whatever his father said to him mustn’t have been to his taste.

You have to remind yourself to let out an unsteady breath before it can sit stagnant inside your lungs. “I see… A-and?”

Clasping his clawed hands together with a slap of scales, Bowser bobs his head eagerly up and down and declares, “Seems this whole thing’s just been one big misunderstanding.”

Even with years of practice at keeping your expression strictly unaffected, even you can’t stop an eyebrow from sliding up your forehead.

‘Misunderstanding.’ What a quaint way to refer to a kidnapping.

Deaf to your dubious silence and blind to the thin press of your lips, Bowser plops a meaty palm down on Junior’s head and smooths the young koopa’s ponytail back before he lets it spring up into its prior position – just as unruly and fiery as Junior himself.

True to form, the boy immediately curls his lips and lets out a tinny growl as he throws up his arms, attempting – fruitlessly - to shove Bowser’s hand off his head.

The King hardly pays his efforts a trace of attention, apparently far more preoccupied with beaming down at you as if there’s nothing amiss. “Boy here’s just a little enthusiastic about meetin’ new friends, is all. Ain’t’ya buddy?”

Giving a squeak of indignation, Junior finally succeeds in extracting himself from under his father’s encompassing hand. Arms folded tightly across a rotund, little chest, he scoots off to one side and tips his nose down towards his feet with a grumble, his scarlet brows stitched together across his forehead, casting shadows over beady, black eyes.

“Anyway,” the King adds, “Kid’s got something he wants to tell you…”

Sparing Junior an expectant look, you and Bowser wait for him to speak, yet the youngling seems content to remain stubbornly silent.

“C’mon, kiddo.” One of Bowser’s sizeable paws nudges against his son’s shell, coaxing him to take a step towards you.

Heaving out a petulant sigh, the boy eventually concedes and allows himself to be prodded a little closer, though he looks for all the world as if he wants nothing more than to sink down behind his hunching shoulders and disappear.

“Junior,” his father rumbles, less of a warning and more gentle persuasion.

With far more effort than you imagine is strictly necessary, Junior slowly tilts his head up to look at you, sticking out his jaw in defiance. Yet despite the young koopa’s clear disinclination to speak, his voice is surprisingly solemn when he parts his lips to mumble, “M’sorry… For scarin’ you… And for takin’ you without askin’ first…”

Oh. Well, that’s… not quite what you expected.

As apologies go, you’ve definitely heard better. At least he sounds genuine.

Considering the inconvenience he’s cause you alone, you think you deserve a little more than a lacklustre apology. But then again, he’s young and he’s brash. And, true to his word, you haven’t been hurt.

Leaning back on your heel, you appraise the boy thoughtfully.

Examining the situation as a whole reminds you that he and his father haven’t really harboured any done anything to you with malicious intent. In fact, their guards seem more of a threat to you than Bowser and his son. But that’s to be expected. You’re a strange face in the castle of a King. That alone warrants caution.

This whole situation could have been a lot worse.

A hell of a lot worse.

Bowser is eyeing you carefully – you can feel his stare burning a hole into your forehead, but Junior has returned his gaze to the ground, shame curling his stubby tail up around his leg.

Sucking down a quiet breath, you remind yourself why you left the safety of your kingdom in the first place.

You’re here to forge alliances. To make friends. Your kingdom needs allies.

You refuse to rule with the same uncompromising brutality your father had. And if you can forgive him, you can certainly forgive a child.

Besides, it’ll hardly do to fall out with Bowser and his son over a transgression that never even seemed insidious in the first place.

Hiking up the hem of your skirts, you lower yourself down onto a knee in front of Junior, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast eyes. When he only shrinks a little further into his shell, a patient smile springs to your cheeks.

Your father would discipline you for being too soft with the same hand he used to drag your kingdom to wreck and ruin. You imagine he’d be disappointed if he were here now, watching on as you prepare to accept the apology of a creature who’d kidnapped you.

But he isn’t here now. So, you can hardly disappoint him, can you?

“Thank you, Junior,” you tell the young koopa in earnest, “It’s very good of you to apologise.”

You hardly finish your sentence before the boy’s head snaps up, his dark eyes bursting open wide with surprise.

“It is?” he asks.

Why that should come as a shock to him is beyond you, but… “Of course?” you reply, amused, “It’s the mark of a great ruler to know when you’ve done something wrong, and to accept responsibility in the aftermath.”

You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but somehow, the boy’s eyes grow even wider, sparkling in the light of an overhead chandelier as all the embarrassment he’d carried earlier evaporates like water off a lit stove.

Then, quick as a whip, he spins around to beam up at his father and, to your private delight, begins swinging his tail from side to side.

“You hear that, Papa!?” he barks, jamming a thumb into his proud chest, “I’m already a great ruler! I told you she’s cool!”

Flicking your gaze up the length of Bowser’s titanic body, you meet his stare and offer him a sheepish smile, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

The King, for his part, is peering back at you with a strange expression lighting up his rugged features, something akin to both veneration and contentment.

Had he expected a different response?

He holds your gaze for a long moment before sparing his son a fond look. “Well, of course!” he announces, “I could’a told you that!”

“Yeah, but… you’re my pops! You gotta say stuff like that.”

The King’s shoulders quake as he laughs, shaking his head and stepping around his son to stretch an enormous paw down towards you.

You only just refrain from flinching.

Bowser remains stooped over for several long moments while you stare at his hand as if it might spring to life and close around your throat like a bear trap. You nearly kick yourself when it suddenly occurs you that he only means to help you to your feet.

Flashing him a grateful look, you hesitate for one last blink before tentatively reaching up to place your hand atop the pad of a single, plump finger. Again, you’re taken aback to find him warm to the touch, though he seems to grow ever warmer under your palm as he gingerly pulls you to your feet again, his eyes locked on where your hand meets his.

“I-uh…” He falls silent, throat bobbing as he swallows around a smile. “I hope this means Junior’s forgiven?”

Hm. You suppose the King, like you, had been hoping to make a good first impression.

To be perfectly frank, up until your unconventional acquisition, his son had been quite endearing.

Junior is still bouncing on the balls of his feet between you and his father, prompting you to lay an absentminded hand on the koopaling’s shell, stilling him for a moment as you reply, “Children are usually very easy to forgive. I’m sure you and I have made our fair share of mistakes when we were young.”

Bowser lets out an abrupt snort of laughter and raises a hand up to scratch at the underside of his chin. “Ha! Yeah, you got that right… Nothin’ I’d want him to learn about though.”

“Likewise,” you concur with a wink that sends a pleasant shudder rolling over the scales beneath the King’s shell.

Bowser can hardly believe his luck. This is going, dare he say, rather well.

You haven’t yet screamed at the sight of him, though at first you’d looked a little green around the gills… No doubt you were simply overcome with reverence at seeing such a fine, handsome specimen up close!

Junior seems to like you, and you in turn have been kinder to his boy than…

Huh… Than anyone outside the family ever has.

You even willingly touched Bowser’s hand!

And you smiled at him.

Him! Bowser!

Stars… How long… How long has he spent trying to coax a smile from Peach? How much time has he wasted showering her in praise and finery only to receive the venom of her glare and a shoulder as cold as the Ice Lands in return?

For anyone else, a smile might be such a mundane occurrence. Negligible.

But to Bowser?

It’s everything.

He wonders briefly if Junior had pulled you down from Heaven itself.

Of course, as he’s often found regarding matters of the heart, good things rarely last.

It happens all too abruptly.

You draw your hand from Junior’s shell and drop it down to your side, fiddling with a fold in your dress as you cast a tentative glance over your shoulder and eye the enormous doors at the back of the room. The alluring tilt of your lips starts to fade.

Bowser finds he misses the sight.

“Well,” you start, exhaling roughly, “I imagine I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should really be getting back to my friends…”

At first, he’s too busy mourning the smile you’d aimed his way to register the meaning behind your words.

In fact, it’s Junior who calls his father’s attention to them.

Spinning about to gape up at you, the little koopa’s grin vanishes. “You wanna leave!? But you can’t!” he cries out, utterly crestfallen.

Leave?

Bowser’s thundering heart gives a sudden, unexpected lurch.

Leave!?

No… No! It was going so well! What went wrong!?

What did he do wrong?

There’s something unfathomably cruel in the act of giving him such a fleeting sniff of happiness after so long, only to rip it from his claws like his heart is something expendable.

Without warning, the King throws his enormous arms up as if to reach out and grab you, prompting you to release an unintelligible exclamation and retreat several steps backwards, clasping your hands to your chest in alarm.

Bowser’s colossal body jolts to a stop the moment your mouth bursts open, and you gasp, shocked.

“Uh…” The King blinks dumbly, flicking his molten gaze between your startled expression and his arms that are still held outstretched before him. Seconds later, he tries to flash you a lopsided grin and hastily drops his arms, chuckling deep in his chest. “I mean, Junior’s right. You can’t go now! You’ve only just got here! M’not about to turf a lady out into the Dark Lands!”

Dark Lands… Even the name alone sends fingers of ice creeping up the length of your spine.

Still, you reason with yourself, Bowser means well. He’s just concerned. Nothing to be afraid of…

“Whilst I appreciate your concern…” you sigh, raising a hand to rub at your temple to stave of the beginnings of a headache, “Junior frightened the life out of the Captain, and her crew.” Shoulders slumping, you add, “I have to go. I have to let them know I’m okay.”

You have a terrible feeling that if you don’t appease your faithful Captain, there’ll be a diplomatic incident.

Junior however, doesn’t seem to grasp the urgent need for your departure.

Screwing his face up, he cranes his neck back to peer up at the underside of Bowser’s chin. “Papa…” he whines, reminding you, again, that you’re dealing with a young child.

Hoping that the King might help you appease his son, you follow Junior’s gaze up to meet Bowser’s eye.

But what you find is enough to freeze the blood solid in your veins.

Everything about the gigantic koopa has pivoted on its axis.

There’s not a trace of warmth to be found in his blood-red stare anymore. Only a scalding heat that could burn cities to ash in a single blink.

It’s a dangerous stare, filled with great and terrible rage.

You’ve never seen a volcano erupt in real life, but you can imagine that it can’t be unlike seeing the gradual glow of hellfire sparking to life in Bowser’s flaring nostrils and spilling out from between the tiny gaps in his clenched fangs.

It frightens you. Shakes your resolve.

You hate that alongside the bone-numbing fear that suddenly sweeps through your body like ice water comes an awful sense of inevitability. At the back of your mind, you can hear a voice that sounds distinctively like your father. ‘Here,’ he seems to taunt you, ‘Here is the monster you first expected to see. Does it sting you to know you should have judged this book by its cover?’

You’ve been itching to leave from the moment you got here. Perhaps now it’s finally time to beat your hasty retreat, electing to feel guilty about hurting Junior’s feelings later.

Bowser’s fiery man has just begun to bristle in the sudden influx of heat wafting off his neck when you at last find the gumption to spin around on your heel and march purposefully at the koopa guards, all of whom have thus far remained perfectly silent behind you.

A growl rolls across the room, low enough that it could have been a grumble of thunder chasing at your heels. But you know better.

Maintaining your composure is difficult, but you aim what you hope is an authoritative glare at the guards, knowing full-well that you’ve never been able to master an effective scowl.

Besides, for as scary as you can try to look, your efforts fall woefully short of the abject horror their monstrous King can strike into their hearts.

At the briefest flicker of Bowser’s lips, they swiftly snap to attention, falling into a line and crossing their spears over the next soldier’s to form a solid wall of scaly flesh between you and the far door to what you assume must be an escape.

The clack of your court shoes on the stone floor scrape to a halt in front of them. You cast each koopa a wide-eyed glance, and they match the look with defiance, silently challenging you to try and break through their ranks.

Your gorge rises, your heart starts to pound, not unlike a wild animal set loose behind your ribcage.

To your back, Bowser’s cumbersome footfalls tromp closer, and when he speaks, there’s a dangerous edge to his voice, barely held back behind rows of crushing teeth.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” comes the low, throaty drone that thumps in your chest with every syllable, “When I tell you, you can’t go, I expect you to obey my wishes.”

“O…Obey?!” you bark before you can stop yourself, grabbing your skirts so you don’t trip over them when you whirl about to face the King, “I beg your pardon!?”

You forget, just for a moment, that he’s almost twice your height, and much, much more formidable.

Gone is the cordial rapport. Gone is the slowly easing atmosphere.

Trepidation has been replaced by terror, coupled with a healthy burst of indignation.

Towering above you only feet away, Bowser’s jaws twist up into a toothy smile-come-snarl, utterly devoid of any pretence at friendliness. “You don’t have to beg, you only have to stay.”

Bridling, you ball your hands into fists and retort, “With all due respect, Lord Bowser, you can’t rightly keep me here!”

“And with all due respect, Princess,” he purrs back, “You’re in my kingdom. I can do whatever I like.”

The situation is quickly turning from dire to deadly.

But then again, you’ve faced down a bully king once before and come out of it alive. For the sake of your people, you’re going to have to do it again. Though you despise how leaden your tongue has grown, you try to stand tall and keep your voice from wavering. “Lord Bowser,” you state firmly, tipping your chin back, jaw tight with apprehension, “Please, be reasonable-“

“Reasonable! I’m very reasonable,” he snaps, thrusting a clawed finger at you. You’re beginning to see where Junior gets it from…. “You’re the one being unreasonable!”

Aghast, you sputter, “I have been nothing but cordial about this whole affair! If I want to go back to my ship, the very least you could do it let me leave without a fuss!”

At that Bowser leans his snout down towards you, his eyes flashing like rings of burning embers. “You’re not going anywhere,” he all but seethes.

From the corners of your vision, you see his colossal arms slowly rise up to either side of your hips, fingers splayed out, poised to snatch.

Standing almost nose to snout with the King, you narrow your eyes at him. “If you dare…” you hiss waspishly, “…lay a single claw on me, so help me, I’ll-!”

Perhaps predictably, you nearly choke on your next words when Bowser grabs you around the waist and hoists you unceremoniously up off your feet.

For a dizzying moment, you’re rendered utterly disoriented, leaving your guts behind as you’re swung up through the air. A painful jolt brings you crashing back down to stability. Your stomach lands across a warm, solid surface hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs and something heavy falls over the back of your thighs, pinning you on your belly.

Dazed, you blink several times before the world around you stabilizes once more, only to find yourself squinting down at Junior’s upturned face. “What…?” You push a hand out to try and reorient yourself but at that moment, your world begins to move.

“Gah! What the-!?” Blurting out a strangled yelp, you slap your palms down on a rough-hewn surface and gape past an array of ivory spikes at the ground as it passes by in a blur underneath you.

He wouldn’t….

“Sorry about this, princess,” a gruff voice thrums just behind your head.

Why, of all the rotten, audacious-!

“Bowser!” you shriek, squirming beneath the weight of his scaly palm, “Put me down! You brute!”

Flopped helplessly over the koopa’s shoulder, you kick out with your legs and pound your fists against the lip of his shell as you’re carried off through the doors that he and Junior had come in by, leaving the throne room, Bowser's son, and the guards far behind you.

Vast hallways pass by, as do the unfamiliar faces of gawking koopas, all snapping to attention as their King passes only for their salutes to falter when they catch sight of you, their beaks dropping open in shock.

You make sure to aim a murderous scowl at every single one of them.

"Where are you taking me!?" you demand as Bowser begins to ascend a winding, stone staircase.

His step never falters, not even bearing the weight of a fully-grown woman across his shoulder. "Somewhere you can cool off until you're ready to join me for dinner," he replies shortly.

"I don't understand," you cry, curling your hands into fists and pressing them desperately against his immoveable shell as it finally dawns on you just how much peril you're really in, "Why are you doing this!?"

Squeezing his claws just a little too tightly into the fabric of your dress, Bowser wrinkles his nose and roars, "Because I'm sick n' tired of you people leaving me before you even give me a chance!"

"A chance? A chance at what?!" you squawk, incredulous, "What’re you talking about!? I was just trying to get back to my friends!"

Apparently having decided he's been too forthcoming, the King stuffs his lips together and steps off the staircase, dragging his tail noisily over the ground as he goes.

More of the same, dark corridors flit by as you continue to struggle, walls of basalt illuminated by fiery sconces that cause Bowser’s shadow to flicker and bulge eerily across the floor underfoot until, all too soon, he comes to a standstill at the end of a hallway and turns to face an enormous, wooden door set into the wall.

Without much preamble, the koopa raises a single foot into the air and thrusts it forwards, kicking the door open with such a force that your teeth rattle in your skull and the echo of wood slamming against stone ricochets off down the corridor, eventually fading to silence.

Exhaling a breath from his immense lungs, Bowser carries you, still kicking and squirming, across a well-lit chamber towards the four-poster bed that takes up a prominent position against the western wall.

“Here we are,” he grumbles, fastening both of his hands around your hips and drawing you up off his shoulder with an undeniable care and lowering you onto the silken bedsheets in front of him, ignoring the tiny fists that start to beat furiously against his forearms, “You should be comfortable in here.”

Thick, formidable claws rake gently over your dress as he withdraws his hands.

The very second you realise you’re free, you shoot backwards across the bed like a bullet fired from a gun, scrambling to the other side and almost tumbling over backwards onto the carpet below before pausing long enough to slide your legs down to the floor first, shoving yourself off the sheets and staggering away from the King, all the while keeping the bed firmly between the two of you.

Bowser’s jaw is set, his eyes adhered to you as your spine hits the stone wall behind you.

With nowhere left to retreat to, you plant your hands against the solid surface at your back and stare, wide-eyed at the koopa, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

He, in turn, appears lost for words, working his jaw in circles whilst he peers back at you with his brows tilted up at the centre of his forehead.

The standoff continues for an indiscernible amount of time.

Koopa King and hidden Queen lock eyes from across the chamber, neither of you seeing fit to break the overbearing silence that has draped itself like a lead weight over your shoulders.

When at last, Bowser parts his jaws and draws in a breath, you flinch, knocking your head against the wall behind you, all pretence of poise and dignity abandoning you here, where you need them most.

You’re not so proud that you can’t admit you’re afraid.

The sudden change in Bowser’s temperament had been so immediate, so jarring, and that’s what scares you more than his size, his fangs or his claws.

He isn’t just powerful, he’s unpredictable.

The King eyes you for a moment longer before he gives a sudden soft snort and, to both your surprise and relief, he begins to trundle back towards the door.

Grasping the wooden frame in one, gargantuan hand, Bowser hesitates, turning his snout over a shoulder to fix you in his sights once again and pinning you to the wall with nothing more than a look.

“Y’know,” he begins, his voice uncharacteristically soft and almost lost to the high ceilings and the distance between you, “I’m not a bad guy, really.”

You know that he's undoubtably waiting for you to say something, but all you can muster up is a scornful huff, delving deep into the very last reserves of your courage to pull out a reply. “You’ll forgive me if I find that claim absurd.”

Bowser’s only response is a gentle hum accompanied by the slightest nod of his head.

Then, without another word, he drags his eyes away from you and slinks from the room, pulling the door shut behind his tail with a damning thud.

[rowiewritesstuff]

TFP Yandere Ratchet - The Protective Yandere

At first, Ratchet didn’t really want anything to do with you. You were just another human, taking up space in the base. He was certain you’d be just as annoying as the children- hopefully not as bad as Miko. He’s not sure he could take that. 

When he met you, he was rather rude to you. He brushed you off when you asked anything, and eventually you stopped talking to him. You had noticed his want to be alone, and you respected it. 

Instead, you kept to yourself. You were training to be a doctor- a surgeon, more precisely. Most of the time you were at base, you had your nose in a book. Your focus was hard to break- even Miko’s loud guitar playing didn’t stop you from studying the material for an upcoming test. 

Ratchet is actually fairly observant for a bot who pretends he doesn’t care. He sometimes watches you from the corner of his eye when you’re not looking. You never seem to stop studying. Everyday the bags under your eyes get worse, and he definitely notices it. 

One day (a few months after your first day at the base) he approaches you and asks you what you’re reading - despite already knowing. You’re surprised he talked to you at all, considering how he was before. You’re honestly a little timid responding to the normally grouchy medic, telling him you’re reading a book on surgical techniques and that you’re trying to become a surgeon. 

He begins asking you about them, trying to see the similarities between Cybertronian medicine and Human medicine. He is a little shocked to see that some techniques are similar- though not too many. 

Ratchet slowly begins warming up to you. He lets you ask questions about Cybertronian biology and sometimes even lets you get some hands-on practice for more minor injuries on the other Autobots. You have a skillful hand- careful, steady, and reliable. You soon become the Autobot’s second medic. 

You begin to fall behind in your studies. While you’re excelling at Cybertronian medicine, you begin to mix up some of the procedures. That makes you do poorly on an important test, making your grade go from an A+ to a C-. You quickly realize that you can’t both be a human doctor and a Cybertronian doctor. 

It’s a weekend day that Ratchet came to pick you up that you decided to tell him. During the ride to the base, you picked at your fingers in anxiety. Ratchet, knowing you from all the times he’s watched you, asked what was wrong.

“Ratch… I don’t know if I can keep learning from you. I’m falling behind in my studies- a-and I’ve worked super hard to get them as high as they were. They’re letting me take a make up test, though. I need to study for it.”

Ratchet quickly pulled off to the side of the road. He didn't say a word as he began driving to a large rock formation, going behind it. You got the message and quickly hopped out of his cab as he transformed. 

Ratchet looked down at you with a light glare. “What are you talking about? I’m teaching you valuable information! Where else could you get some hands on experience like this? In this city? That’s absurd. You should be more grateful.” Ratchet took a slight step forward as he huffed at you. 

You took a slight step back. Ratchet hadn’t really talked this aggressively to you before- even before when he was brushing you off. His attitude was making you incredibly nervous. 

“I do appreciate all that you’ve done for me. Really, I do. I’ll still help out with everything when we have medical emergencies at base. But until I get my grades up? I need to focus on my human studies. I can’t just give up my dream like that. I’ve wanted this since I was a little kid.” You looked up nervously at him. Surely he would be reasonable?

He was silent for a moment. Ratchet looked at you, his thoughts going a mile a minute. “I can… help you study, perhaps. It’s for your teacher Mr. Morrison, right?”

A sigh of relief left you. For some reason you couldn’t pinpoint, you were scared of Ratchet for a moment.

You gently nodded. “Yeah, I just need to work on biochemistry for his class. He can be really strict about it, and last time I didn’t do so well.”

A dangerous gleam flashed in his eyes that went unnoticed to you. Ratchet transformed and took you to base where he helped you study for the make-up test. 

After you went home, Ratchet did some research of his own. After all, he had access to government computers. Mr. Robert Morrison was his name. Age 45, living on Monroe Lane. No wife, no kids, or friends. No one.

Ratchet, with that knowledge, waited until all of the bots had gone to recharge to leave the base. He drove out of the town, traveling several miles. Soon, he came to a stop outside of a large home. It was a farmhouse, with a few horses outside of it. A man sat on the porch, cigarette in his mouth. He looked in confusion at the ambulance that parked a few feet from his porch. 

“Hello? Why are you here?” Morrison demanded. Ratchet refused to say a word, sitting in silence as he sized up the lanky man who was making his way to the driver’s window. 

Quickly, he transformed. Morrison screamed in fear as Ratchet snatched the unsuspecting man up by his leg. The now-upside down man struggled to escape the giant robot. 

“You’re Robert Morrison?” Ratchet questioned.

“H-how do you know my n-name?” The man stopped struggling, but remained shaking in fear. 

“Good. You’re him. You’re going to do something for me, okay Robert?” Ratchet glared down at him.

“Y-yes! Anything, anything you want!” Snot and tears fell from the man’s face as Ratchet scoffed at him in disgust.

“You have a student. Their name is (Y/N). I want you to give them top marks for the rest of the time they’re in your class. Do you understand?”

“Th-this is about… a grade?” Morrison looked on in confusion. 

“Are you going to change it, or will I have to use this?” Ratchet transformed one of his hands into a sharp surgical blade. 

“N-no! Please! I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Please, let me go!” 

Ratchet dropped the man to the ground. Morrison yelped in pain as he fell to the ground. He quickly turned to Ratchet in fear. “What are you?”

Ratchet said nothing as he transformed into his alt-mode. He drove right in front of the man, inches away from his face. Morrison shivered in fear as the bot spoke in a low tone. 

“If you tell anyone about what happened here, you’ll find out just what I am. Not that anyone would ever believe you.”

With that, Ratchet left the man on the ground in the dust.

You were surprised the next day to get an apology from your teacher, claiming he had graded your test wrong. He changed your grade the same day. When did he get a cast on his arm?

 When you got back to base, you apologized to Ratchet and let him know the good news. A small smile graced his face as he patted your head. Now you can learn Cybertronian medicine again, and stay with him.

[voltstone]

if anyone enjoys slapping sarah, i will say this:

i want to soak a rag in gasoline, stuff it up your butt, and light a match.

[vapidsims]

Been a bit since I whored out this robot 🫣

[mihai-florescu]

Not sure if this happens on other socmeds but a feature of tumblr thats frustrating but almost endearing is when a post says "i hate when ppl do x thing" and there will be some reblogging it with tags in the vein of "i do this" like why are you reblogging the post then. You are who it is making fun of.

[oops-it-happened-again]

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 2

It bears repeating, I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Also, I love Alicent, but - for the purpose of this fic - she's a villain :D

<- Chapter 1

Tags: @mamawiggers1980

Ellyn sets her plan into motion. It does not go as expected or desired, and she soon finds herself in hot water.

Words: 3,5k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy, mild violence, threats, sexual subtext & tension

Despite Hala’s protests, Ellyn proceeded to corner a poor woman leaving a nearby pillow house and convinced her to sell her the worn, translucent shift on her very body.

“This is a terrible idea,” her maid insisted again. “This city’s crawling with vermin—you don’t want to stay here. Let’s go home.”

Hala bit her lip guiltily. “If you’re lucky, none of you has to marry him. He might well die in the war he’s started.”

She knew that it was treason to say such a thing out loud, but she’d served Ellyn for too long and too faithfully to want to see her mistress bound to an amoral monster.

Having been all but born into service to the family, Hala had never known a life without Ellyn—they had been childhood companions and mutual adolescent confidantes, and, on many an ill-advised adventure, they’d only relied on each other before.

“My father gave his word, and I intend to keep it,” Ellyn replied in a steely tone. “I shall find out what I need to know, and then we can turn back.”

Sighing in exasperation, Hala thus dutifully followed her into the meandering labyrinth of King’s Landing’s smaller, less reputable streets.

They took a room in a small inn, and Hala would have much preferred if they’d asked the serving wench to bring up a plate of cold meat and dark bread, but Ellyn insisted on eating in the common room instead.

“Your grandsire has loved you too much,” the maid muttered disobligingly. “He’s spoiled you and given you strange notions about danger.”

“That may be so,” Ellyn agreed, “but I want to listen to what the people say.”

Unfortunately, they learned little and less. The smallfolk’s worries were centred around mundane considerations like the tightening blockade and the imminent end of summer rather than the intrigues of the crown.

From what she could gather from eavesdropping discreetly, those who did take an interest were rarely of one mind when it came to the “rightful” heir. One thing seemed clear, though, few were those who liked Aemond.

He was deemed useful, and the sheer size of his dragon was a source of reassurance and dread alike, but the man himself seemed to be but a bitter-tasting afterthought.

“Let’s retreat,” Hala pleaded again once their dinner had been consumed and their tankards emptied. “There’s nought more to be learned tonight.”

And, as much as Ellyn yearned to stay in the crowded, smoky room and listen to strangers talk about things she didn’t understand, she finally gave in.

She didn’t want to be found out too early by lingering overlong, so she let her faithful maid lead her away to where none would find her.

It felt as if she’d only just settled on the lumpy mattress when Ellyn awoke once more to the sound of distant wailing.

Being no stranger to ominous commotions in the middle of the night, she leapt up and padded to the window—the flimsy curtain felt greasy and grimy beneath her clammy fingers, and when she pulled it aside, she found that the street was alight with torches.

“What is it?” Hala joined her by the small cut-out in the rough wall.

“If only I knew,” Ellyn whispered, wishing desperately that her grandfather Boremund was alive still. He would have known what to do and how to act—he’d have instructed her on how to deal with his son’s potential overreaching and the prospect of wedlock.

As the two women looked on, spellbound, people hurried to and fro frantically, banging on doors and spreading their seemingly monumental tidings.

It took another hour at least for Ellyn and Hala to overhear a conversation outside the door to the small lodging house.

“They say the heir has been murdered—it was surely that one-eyed degenerate they were looking for. The King…”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed hastily as a tall, dark-clad, eerily familiar figure pushed its way through the throng of gossipmongers ruthlessly without even taking the time to inquire what had happened.

“It cannot be,” Hala whispered. “By the Seven—it mustn’t be. This is not a safe place, Milady, let’s leave now.”

Every fibre in Ellyn’s being knew that her maid was right, but she couldn’t overcome her instinctive reluctance.

“Someone is trying to murder one who might soon be my brother-in-law,” she murmured pensively.

“And a good thing too,” Hala hissed vehemently. “Cassandra can’t have him, he won’t have Maris, and you wouldn’t let him have Floris. So he might well be destined to become your Lord.”

“If that is so,” Ellyn whispered. “Is it not my duty to stand by him in his time of need?”

“Certainly not,” Hala exclaimed, clutching at her shoulders. “Come away, Milady, I beg you!”

“If he comes back tomorrow, Hala,” Ellyn said without taking her eyes off the milling street below. “I shall go down and enact my plan. I must know what kind of man he is.”

Clenching her teeth, Hala resolved that—if Aemond turned out to be even half the beast people thought him to be—she’d kill him with her own two hands.

“Where were you?” Alicent hissed, her eyes wide and frantic.

She reminded Aemond of a horse about to bolt through solid wood and cutting cables in its sheer panic.

“I was out,” he replied calmly. “Where’s my sister?”

When his mother’s eyes grew cold and hard, Aemond realised that he’d disappointed her once again. He’d failed to ask about his brother, his king, and she was eager to take this omission as an offence.

“Father has informed me that you were happy enough to plot behind our backs,” she hissed. “But when we needed you, you were nowhere to be found.”

Pressing his lips together so tightly it hurt to keep from asking where she had been when her grandson and the future of a tottering realm had been murdered in his bed, Aemond weathered her helpless disdain as he always had.

She didn’t even bother to dismiss him—the dowager queen simply drifted out of the room without another word, leaving him to his private thoughts and regrets.

All eyes were now on the royal family—the people wanted to see the bereaved mother and Viserys’s dignified, mournful widow while Aegon raged, and Otto connived coldly.

In this game of appearances, there was no place for one for whom nobody—not even his own kin—felt any sympathy.

Thus, Aemond stayed in the background, musing about Daemon’s daring plot obsessively; he was flattered to be considered so awful a threat, but he also felt unbearably guilty.

This was the second boy who’d been wrenched from his mother because of him. Of course, Aemond knew that he was but one part in the ponderous, terrible machine of war and succession, but he resented the fact that, rather than being an innocent cog, he was the teeth of the very monstrosity grinding his family to dust.

As the night wore on, he had to wonder whether his mother or grandsire would have taken such drastic measures if it had been Alicent’s second-born who’d been killed in an unfortunate accident. Probably not.

The next day, he was in a constant state of readiness. Nobody called on him to represent—Aemond should not have been surprised by that, but it hurt nevertheless to realise how little he was valued beyond his martial prowess.

The bitterness ebbing and surging within his tight throat was profoundly undignified, and—when at last he could take the silent rooms and empty halls no more—he fled the Keep to find solace in the arms of one who’d never denied him.

Of course, Madame Silvi was paid handsomely for her services, but he liked to imagine that she cared for him at least a little.

Here, in this pit of squalor and sin, he could shed the mask of cold indifference and haughty self-aggrandization to admit that he regretted the whole incident that had triggered such an avalanche of misery.

She listened—she understood.

“I’ll be right back,” the ageing prostitute whispered tenderly—she’d heard one of the younger girls squeal and wanted to make sure none of their patrons was taking more than he’d paid for.

Sitting up slowly, Aemond focused on the ribald jokes and raucous laughter just outside the small alcove.

“You’re not one of mine,” he heard Silvi hiss threateningly a short time later.

Helpless anger for which he’d yet to find an outlet coursed through his blood as Aemond slipped back into his breeches and strode out forcefully.

Following the familiar voice, he found Silvi clasping the slender wrist of a young girl whose dark, flashing eyes darted around the brothel nervously.

At a glance, he could tell that the shrewd lady of the night was right—not only was that pale girl not employed in this establishment, Aemond was even sure that she was no whore at all.

The teeth she bared in a rictus of panic were well-kept, and her even features were devoid of any trace of paint or other artifice.

“I’ll take care of this,” he grunted. “Say nothing to anyone—I’ll pay you well.”

Half-turning, Silvi gazed upon his face for a long moment, pondering, before she nodded curtly. “Very well. Do you require anything?”

“Wine,” Aemond said with a dangerously sharp smile. If this girl was one of the conspirators sent by Daemon, he’d find out soon enough.

“Take the last booth,” Silvi instructed. “I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed.”

As soon as her beringed hand was withdrawn, Aemond’s closed like a vice around the slim wrist.

“Come!”

Thus, he dragged the feebly struggling stranger through a dirty curtain into a secluded half-room. “So, you’ve infiltrated a brothel, pretending to be a whore,” he drawled.

Ellyn’s stomach was in knots—she’d imagined this to go quite differently and cursed herself now for not having listened to Hala’s wise counsel.

“I am,” she said as firmly and assertively as she could.

“Prove it,” the Prince demanded, sitting down on the edge of the overly perfumed couch taking up most of the small alcove. “Go ahead!”

The object of her dangerous curiosity had evidently come to the aid of the madam in a haste for he wore neither tunic nor shoes.

Even more curious than this comparable state of nudity was the fact that he’d not bothered to don the eyepatch he was known to wear whenever he was seen in public.

As her mouth grew dry and her tongue heavy, Ellyn had to admit to herself that this sordid establishment could probably not fully be counted as “public”.

Aemond, oblivious to how flustered his bare chest and firm stomach made her, sucked his teeth impatiently.

His evident disbelief irked her, so Ellyn stepped forward brazenly but then stopped again, unsure of what to do next.

She’d never had a lover, and it showed.

Moreover, she was still overwhelmed by how quickly and inexorably she’d found herself enmeshed in an undeniable catastrophe.

How had she been to foresee that the eagle-eyed bawd would catch on almost instantly?

She’d wanted to learn more about Prince Aemond, but she’d never expected to be faced with the man himself—especially in such a shocking state of undress.

“Gods,” she sighed, lifting a hand as if to touch his cheek as the flickering light from the tapers flashed across the precious stone wedged into his shapely skull. “That must have hurt!”

An expression of genuine surprise, at once chased by something hardened and hurt, rippled across his face.

“You’re not convincing, girl,” he said in a cold tone.

Ellyn realised that she had to move lest she make a bad situation worse by regrettable indecision, so she went to him, straddling his thighs and pressing a coy kiss upon the corner of his mouth.

Before she could so much as congratulate herself for this brave act, he’d thrown himself around, pinning her wrists above her head and pressing her into the dirty mattress with his full weight.

“I knew it,” he snarled. “Of all the things a whore does willingly for the right sum, kisses are the one they are notoriously avaricious about. Who are you?”

Rearing up frantically against him, Ellyn—bereft of her hands to claw herself out—tried to kick and bite in her desperate attempt to break free from his painfully firm hold.

“Dirty spy! Murderess!” he spat, his one eye wide with boundless ire.

Ellyn turned her head in a vain attempt to shield her face from the blows she anticipated—she didn’t understand the terrible accusations he laid at her feet, and her mind was too befuddled with existential fear to even try to make sense of it.

“I came for you,” she whimpered.

“That’s what I thought. Go on then, here I am,” he said, his voice tired and hollow now as he lifted himself halfway off her and extended his arms. “Do your worst.”

Aemond flinched when those soft lips brushed against his own once more so hesitantly that it could hardly be called a proper kiss.

“Did it hurt very much? Did they have to reopen the wound to…put this in?” the woman asked, tracing the scar marring half of his face reverently.

He was about to ask her once more who she was when the shifting light unburied a confused memory in his mind.

“I’ve seen you before,” he whispered thoughtfully.

The hand espousing the sharp line of his cheek now was soft and free of calluses, and the youthful face blurring in and out of focus before his solitary eye was fresh and smooth.

Furthermore, he could make out a hint of violets and rain in the discreet scent emanating from her skin—she was high-born, and probably very far from home.

“Stand!” he rasped, peeling himself off her soft, yielding flesh.

His unrestrained violence had left dark bruises on her creamy skin, and he shivered in disgust at this renewed reminder of his poor self-control.

She did as she was told without protest, though, and—as he drank in the voluptuous curves beneath the all-but-transparent shift—he felt his body react with visceral hunger while his mind was still entangled in the puzzle of her identity.

He was convinced that she was not a base-born prostitute, yet she was undeniably bare underneath the borrowed or stolen garment, and he was tempted to take her at her word. If only for one night of blissful oblivion which he needed so desperately.

The strange maiden with the sensuous mouth had the face of a girl, but the swell of her chest and the roundness of her hips told him that she was indeed a woman fully grown.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unwavering inspection, and the soft light dancing across her sweet features finally made the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“You’re one of Baratheon’s daughters,” he gasped, struggling to comprehend how that could be true.

“Ellyn,” she confirmed softly and curtsied. “We’ve not yet had the pleasure to have a conversation—your visit was…cut short.”

“What have you done? Does your father know that you’re here?” Aemond inquired tensely. They needed Storm’s End as an ally, and his blood ran cold as he realised that he’d almost destroyed yet another vital advantage by taking the girl’s maidenhead or life.

She scoffed, throwing back her long, unbound hair with a practised flick. “I’d hardly be the first young girl to lose her mind and follow a handsome knight,” she declared in the tone of one who usually had a cocky answer to even the most pertinent of questions.

Aemond willed the floor to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

“Handsome…what are you talking about, woman? Your father will have my head for this! And yours as well!”

“No, he won’t. He’ll agree with whatever lie I devise—I’m the least important of his daughters, and, if nobody knows I’ve been here, he won’t even ask where I’ve gone.”

The candid, humble way in which she presented so gruesome a truth gave Aemond pause—he’d struggled with similar thoughts earlier, but, unlike him, Lady Ellyn seemed to have made her peace with her position within her family.

“You’ve made yourself out to be a whore,” he thundered, hiding his confusion behind effervescent anger. “What for?”

“Nobody knows but you,” she smiled. “I’ve come to find out whether you’re a monster. I’m looking out for my sisters.”

At that, his face froze into a moue of disbelief.

“I am,” he then said challengingly. “What now? Are those sisters, sitting comfortably at your father’s table, worth the terrible sacrifice you were willing to make?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Always. Also, I don’t believe you.”

“You find me…in a whorehouse, in a state of disarray and undress…and yet, you don’t flee. Are you completely mad, woman?” he spat, torn between his expectation that she’d turn away in horror and his desperate hope that she wouldn’t.

“I don’t believe so, no,” she gave back conversationally and shrugged. “You’re a Prince of the Realm, and thus, it’s well within your rights to spend your nights as you see fit.”

“Have you forgotten what has transpired in the skies above your familial sanctuary?” he pressed on, determined to push her away before her candid gentility seduced him into revealing more of his pain than anybody could ever see.

“Orys Baratheon took Walter Wyl’s hands and feet as repayment for the one hand he’d lost to his father,” Ellyn shrugged. “It would be disingenuous of me to fault you for your claim, gruesome as it might have been.”

Speechless, he got up and took the carafe off the sideboard to pour the overpriced dark, heavy wine into the cheap goblets a discreet servant had put at their disposal.

“You’re one of the first people to ask me whether it hurt,” he then said without turning around. “It did. It’s a long time ago, though, and it was worth the sacrifice.”

“For the good of the realm, yes,” she replied. He could hear the creaking of the bed as she sat down again, waiting for him to hand her the drink he was holding so tightly he was afraid the stem would break off the flimsy chalice. “Nevertheless, it must have been frightening and agonising for one so young. I’m sorry.”

At last, he managed to reassert control over his limbs and turn around—he felt oddly vulnerable as he stood, bare-chested, before one so precious and noble.

Lady Ellyn’s smile was soft and dreamy as she took the glass and sipped daintily. “I thank you for your hospitality,” she said courteously. “Mayhap, I should indeed return to my father’s keep.”

Intertwining strains of greed—carnal, mental, emotional—flared to life in Aemond’s very soul.

He knew that he deserved no ruth, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of the crumbs of kindness she’d granted him even after he’d detained and hurt her in a fit of blind rage.

“You cannot,” he barked. “The roads are no longer safe, and nobody is allowed to leave the city. Haven’t you heard what has transpired?”

Her face fell, but her eyes remained dry as she met his gaze steadily. “Then, my fate is sealed. If I fail to slip back before long, my name shall be ruined, and I shall have to throw myself at the mercy of the Faith. Not the worst fate for one as me…”

“No,” he hummed. “The Red Keep has been plunged into chaos and mayhem. Everyone is much distracted by the demise of the boy. I can smuggle you in—we can claim that you’ve come to keep my sister company in her hour of grief. Surely, your father would not refute so noble an endeavour?”

“He would not,” she agreed. “Nonetheless, I’ve arrived too early for that subterfuge to be credible, I’m afraid. Where would you hide me in the meantime? As we’ve established, I’m less talented an actress than I thought I was.”

“My rooms,” he croaked. “Nobody ever seeks me out there—you’d be safe.”

“That suits me perfectly,” she grinned impishly. “As I’ve said, I find you quite delightful to look at, and I would learn as much about you as I may.”

That fragile moment of nascent understanding was rudely interrupted by the madam shoving the curtain aside roughly.

“My Prince,” she declared. “Your brother just arrived. Shall I inform you once he’s left?”

Sighing deeply, Aemond handed her the empty carafe. “Yes. We shall need more wine. I shall need my belongings as well before anyone recognises them and seeks me out.”

Turning to Ellyn, he informed her tersely that they’d have to abide a little longer.

“Very well, my Prince,” she smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, though. I’m not offended by the absence of your usual trappings and masks.”

So, this was the second chapter.

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know! It's super sad and frustrating to write and post something without getting any kind of feedback.

[shiresome]

I understand him like no one's ever understood anything before

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"The totalitarian concept of the afterlife: The hideous idea doesn’t even occur in the violent, rape and genocide filled books of the Jewish bible. There’s no punishment of the dead. When god has destroyed your tribe and had your virgins and your children murdered in front of you, and had your flocks and herds scattered and so on, and you also fall down to a bronze sword, he’s done with you. The earth can close over you. That’s it. You tangled with the wrong tribe, the one he favored. Not until gentle Jesus, meek and mild, are you told: – If you don’t make the right propitiations you can depart into everlasting fire – One of the most wicked ideas ever preached, and one that’s ruined the lives and peace of mind of many, many children preached to them by vicious, child hating old men and women, in the name of this ghastly cult, which we’re met here to discuss tonight." -- Christopher Hitchens

Threatening violence if you don't get what you want is literally extortion

extortion | ikˈstôrSH(ə)n, ekˈstôrSH(ə)n | noun the practice of obtaining something, especially money, through force or threats.

At least the mob boss leaves once he has your kneecaps broken.

[crimeronan]

Nova aita... My (30s[?] F but I look 20) soulmate (30s[?] they're questioning their gender and I don't want to be insensitive) says I'm too dramatic about their boundaries, and I don't want to say they're being sexist, but I don't really think they get what it's like for women [Read more]

FJSJDJEJFJDJJDJDSN. PLEASEEEE

nova's like 43 but would absolutely say she's in her 30s. (and looks 20.) nova being like "okay you can trans your gender but you still don't know how hard it is to be cis :/" is taking me OUT. baby your violence is so ungendered!!! i wrote you doing so many things men can also do!!! believe in yourself!!!

[grapecaseschoices]

the way fenris wont even consider turning in mages in the team bc it would upset hawke.

the way sebastian DOES considerate but struggles because there is no middle ground.

[tyrantwombat]

No, but seriously, can you imagine how utterly surreal it is to be Song Taewon and have two of the most unhinged people on the planet both decide to become intensely invested in your life and health after knowing you for like five seconds? One of them uses aggressive mob tactics to try and get you to let them chauffeur you around, the other is a little guy you could crush with your pinky on accident who hunts you down in the middle of a pit of monsters with a packed lunch convinced you will starve if he doesn’t personally feed you. You have to play an intense game of de-escalation at literally all times to keep this same random guy from calling and yelling at your boss about your sleep schedule, and this is still an improvement on that time you barely convinced him it wasn’t necessary to utterly annihilate your place of work to get you more vacation time. The other one has probably historically attempted to set your closet and/or you yourself on fire so he can buy you clothes.

You just want to live your corporate slave life and resist the dark yearnings of your soul in PEACE but instead you’re having to dodge two very powerful men who both desperately want to take care of you.

[painsandconfusion]

MORE SHRINK PLEASE

Ask and you shall receive, lovelies!

This scene didn't end up including a failed escape since Whumpee was insisting they'd never try that (evidently they made this deal very knowingly and are accepting the sacrifice), but I still really like ittttttttt.

Lmk if you want a part three!

.

You're Going to Regret That~

Part One Here

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tw: forced marriage, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, noncon touch, noncon kiss, alcohol consumption, mild mouth gore, blood, arranged marriage, threats, implied future noncon (not gonna happen, but it can easily be read as such))

“You’re going to regret that~”

The phrase hummed in Whumpee’s ears through the entirety of the reception.

Through the smiles. Through the hugs. Through the congratulations. 

They’d hidden the trembling of their hand under Whumper’s as the two of them guided the serrated blade down through the soft, sweet flesh of the decadent cake. 

Whumper’s mouth nuzzling a kiss under their ear before pulling back.

“What a beautiful couple!”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“I’m so glad this worked out.”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“Congratulations!!”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“Excited for the after-after party, eh~?”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“You’re gorgeous- Whumper’s a lucky guy.”

“You’re going to regret that~”

Echoing and pounding in their ears. Each round a cacophony of regret and trepidation and swallowed-back tears hidden behind a sparkling smile. 

Whumper seemed relaxed through the night, dancing and chatting and toasting. Dragging Whumpee into greedy but playful kisses when the crowd’s silverware began clinking against their cups in half-drunken cheers and whoops and hollers, cheering at them for another kiss. 

Another. And another. 

And another.

On and on for hours. Dancing and spinning and never getting far before Whumper’s hand snuggled around their waist or the small of their back or their elbow or wound into their hair. Possessive in a gentle, socially-appropriate way that not one single person thought strange.

Drowning in a sea of blind spectators who cheered and clapped and threw birdseed as Whumpee’s life was stolen away and locked into Whumper’s possession. 

They shouldn’t have done it.

Not the wedding - they’d had no way to avoid that.

The kiss.

The bite.

“You’re going to regret that~”

Whumpee’s eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed into Whumper’s shoulder during a slow, lovely dance. Trying not to think about what would happen that night. Trying not to worry. Trying not to cry. Not to let anyone see.

Whumper covered for them smoothly, arms tucking them into place there through the slow sway of the dance, murmuring kisses against their hair as if this were just the heartmelting joy and exhaustion of true love come to fruition.

But with every kiss the crowd or Whumper demanded, Whumpee could still taste the blood on their tongue.

They shouldn’t have done it. 

Their night was already going to be bad enough, they didn’t need to spend the entirety of their wedding reception staring at Whumper’s teeth - wondering when or how they’d make Whumpee pay for that moment. 

They’d almost ruined it. 

Almost ruined everything.

But the fear and the anxiety and the defiance had bubbled up at exactly the wrong time. Moments too late. 

When those warm, bold words rang rich through the hall - “I now pronounce you legally wed-!” - Whumpee’s stomach had twisted and churned far too much. Ice had dripped through their veins.

They’d kissed back. They’d been good for a for brief moments as Whumper reeled them in and moulded their mouth to Whumpee’s.

But when Whumper’s tongue slipped past their lips, their body snapped into action.

Their jaw clamped down, teeth dragging into the soft muscle until blood smeared between their lips.

It had taken a moment for Whumpee to realize what they’d done. Whumper’s fingers curled tighter against the back of their neck, nails biting in and burning through the skin until they, too, were dappled in red.

Still, Whumper pulled back with a soft, fond smile, arms wrapping around Whumpee instead in a gentle but desperate lover’s embrace.

The blood on their lips had brushed against Whumpee’s ear as the crowd cheered and the bells rang in triumphant celebration. As Whumpee’s blood turned to ice and they locked into place in Whumper’s arms. 

“You’re going to regret that~”

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35 @scribbelle)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[brandstifter-sys]

Webs We Weave

@dukexietyweek 2024 Day 6 - Rockstars + Stuffed Animals

Word Count: 3016 (Ao3)

Rating: T

Characters: Virgil, Remus, Patton, Remy, Andy, Dragon Witch (Millie)

Pairings: Dukexiety, Remdy (Shorts Sleepxiety)

Warnings: ftm!remus, hitch hiking, anxiety, mild threats, sex mention

Remus is an avid fan of Webs We Weave, and his internet crush just so happened to give him to tickets to every show on their latest tour. Naturally, this disaster fanboy is going to make it to all those shows without questioning his friend's connections, even if he has to hitchhike to get there! But hitchhiking can have unexpected consequences!

---

Remus was not just an average fanboy. He was obsessed with his favorite band, their music and seeing them perform. Every show was amazing and he craved the rush of the crowd. So what if he was following the band on tour by any means necessary? He wasn't stalking them, just chasing the sound and the thrill. 

His own brother couldn't stop him when he got tickets to every show, not even asking how he afforded them. They were gifts from a friend from Tumblr, and crush if he were being honest. And they were legit! He swore he would bend over any way xxelectric-spider-rainxx wanted him to!

After three nights of musical ecstasy, Remus was perched in a big rig truck, headed for the next city on his list. The driver, a bespectacled man with a heart of gold, was kind enough to offer him a meal on the drive. 

“So, kiddo, you said you were going to meet your friend and go to a concert, what group is worth the risk?” the driver, Patton asked, keeping his eyes on the road. 

“Have you heard of Webs We Weave?” Remus asked and took a sip of his slushie. He could go on about them if he wanted, from Millie Drake's fire vocals, to Remy Traum’s bass riffs. But he didn't have to. 

“Have I ever!” Patton laughed, “My son is in that band!” 

“He is?!” Remus gawked. He wasn't digging into their personal lives, but he knew a lot about their back stories, except for Virgil Hawthorne. That beefcake drummer was so mysterious.

“Yuppers!” Patton giggled, “I can't tell you how proud I am of him for making it so far with his friends! He would spend all his free time playing those drums until my ex got a headache!”

“You’re Virgil's dad?” Remus gasped. Now that he thought about it, Patton had a similar smile and build to the drummer, only he was a little bigger in the middle. He could believe it. 

“That’s my boy! He's such a sweet kid, sent me a backstage pass good for every show on this tour! I feel bad I won't be able to make any of them, but he knows how much I support him!” Patton said with a sly grin, “If you want it, it's in the glovebox, right next to his old bunny.” 

“Really?” Remus gasped and set his drink in the cupholder before he made a mess. He opened the glovebox and saw the pass and an old black bunny toy that was well loved, obviously stitched together with white floss. Its eyes were white X's and its left ear was missing fuzz on the tip. 

“Yeah! I'd hate for it to go to waste, and I think he'd like you,” Patton responded, “And if you do take it, can you give him Mr. Fuzzy? He loves that bunny!” 

“You trust me not to keep it?” Remus gawked. 

“Yeah, you don't seem like the crazed type of fan who would. Plus you need to have faith in people.” 

“That’s really idealistic,” Remus said and carefully tucked the pass and bunny into his bag, “But you don't have to worry, I'll get it to him. It's the least I can do for the ride and food!” 

“Thanks Remus,” Patton said and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, “Mind if I put on some dad tunes?” 

“Classic rock?” Remus grinned, “Only if you let me sing along!” 

Patton beamed and turned on the radio. He was happy he decided to pick up this hitchhiker, and happier that he might've found Virgil's newest friend. 

---

“Ugh, you have to stop pacing, Virge!” a young man with shaggy brunette hair groaned from where he lounged on the couch. 

“I can't help it!” Virgil, a large man with even shaggier black and purple hair, snapped. He was chewing his thumbnail and walking the length of the dressing room. The other two band members were getting coffee, leaving the two most anxious messes to wait. 

“You'll run out of energy before we go on. Isn't there something else you can do?” Andy groaned and adjusted his jeans. 

“I left Mr. Fuzzy with my dad and running a lap around the building will drain me faster. What else can I do, Andy?” 

“I don't know—why are you freaking out?” Andy huffed and crossed his arms, hugging his chest for some security. 

“I haven't heard anything from them in days, and their blog is all queued. What if they hate me? What if they're in trouble? What if they're just busy or too excited to go online? What if they show up at this show? I won't be able to recognize them. What if they're a creep? What if I put us all in danger?” Virgil rambled. Andy rolled his eyes. 

“You gave them a ticket to every show. They're bound to show up at some point.” 

“My dad got tickets to every show and he's never shown up,” Virgil argued and ran a hand through his hair. 

“You didn't notice, did you?”

“Notice what?” 

“There's been one person at all of the shows so far in the front row. Your Tumblr buddy is probably taking advantage of those tickets.” 

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?! I've been shirtless on stage every time!” Virgil yelped and lunged at Andy, grabbing him by the shoulders, eyes bugging out of his skull. 

“Dude. We only had three shows, all in the same area. I'm not jumping to conclusions yet,” Andy yelped. Virgil was too strong for his own good. 

Virgil immediately let go of him and shrank back. He knew he was overreacting but he couldn't calm down. He flopped on the couch and groaned. 

“Why do you care so much? Especially about the shirt thing? You don't know what they look like or their pronouns,” Andy huffed, “Don't tell me—you have a crush.” 

Virgil curled into himself and grumbled. He couldn't stop himself from feeling. He was freaking out over a crush like some teenager and he was making a mess of his band. 

It was so stupid. He only knew their username, krakendickenpuss, and that they could handle his bluntness and his rants. They actually liked talking to him about monsters, movies, and music. They were the first person in a long time he could connect with, without his mild game getting in the way. They were lewd and flirty but they never crossed any lines, and they were just so adorable! 

“Oh god, you do,” Andy gasped and got up. He needed some water and a snack and the vending machine was outside. 

“I'll grab a gatorade for you,” Andy said and opened the door. 

“Hi!” 

Andy yelped and jumped back. He was not expecting a little man to be at the door with his fist raised, especially not one he swore he saw at the last couple of shows. Virgil jumped to his feet and got between Andy and the intruder, ready to fight. 

“Oh! Perfect!” the man cheered, “Millie and Remy said you were here!” 

“Who are you and how did you get back here?” Virgil snarled, ready to fight. A good scuffle might have been just the thing he needed to calm his nerves. 

“I'm Remus,” the man said with a shiver. Virgil assumed it was just evidence this guy was intimidated. Remus was enthralled—what could be hotter than a big strong guy getting protective of his friends? A big strong shirtless guy getting protective of his friends! 

“Virge—” Andy muttered, his heart still racing.

“I can handle this,” Virgil said curtly and nudged him towards the couch before his knees gave out. 

“I was looking for you since Venomousse got off the stage! I need to give you something! I promise it's not dangerous!” Remus beamed. He was damn cute, and Virgil hated that. 

“How did you get backstage?” Virgil pressed and loomed over him menacingly. They didn't sell backstage passes, not even for the press. 

“I have a pass!” Remus chirped and held up his lanyard with the pass. 

“Where did you get that?” Virgil snapped and grabbed him by the shirt, lifting poor, aroused Remus off the ground. 

“Your dad gave it to me! He's a really nice guy! He gave me a ride and I didn't even have to offer any suckies!” Remus said without an inkling of fear. He would have killed to get socked in the jaw by his favorite drummer! He would kill for this man to do so much more than that!

“What?!” 

“I know! He's a good guy! He asked me to give you something!” Remus said, “So can you put me down? You're stretching my binder.” 

“If you hurt him, I swear I'll—” 

“Call him. He should be fine,” Remus cut him off, “My binder won't be if you keep holding me like this. I don't have another one with me! Unless you want to see these lumps—all you have to do is say so!” 

Virgil immediately dragged him into the dressing room and dropped him on the couch by Andy. Remus landed with a thud and scrambled to get his gym bag off his back. 

Andy watched him dig through his bag when Virgil called his dad. He was pacing again and biting his thumb. 

“Heya kiddo!” Andy could hear Patton greeting his son, “Sorry I couldn't make it tonight! I just crossed into the next state!” 

“Dad, are you okay?” Virgil gasped. 

“I'm not in Oklahoma!” Patton giggled, “But I'm alright. Are you okay? You sound stressed.” 

“Did you pick up a hitchhiker?” Virgil asked and bit his lip. He didn't even notice Remus pulling something out of his bag. 

“I did, but don't worry, I dropped him off and I'm safe. Actually, he was headed to your concert, so I sent him with something to give you since you probably need it,” Patton said brightly, “His name is Remus, he's short and stocky, has a little mustache. I think he was wearing green shorts and a black tank top.” 

“What did you give him?” Virgil demanded, getting even more tense by the second. 

“This!” Remus butted in loudly and held up the stuffed bunny for Virgil to see. 

Virgil’s jaw dropped. There was no way this Remus guy was holding Mr. Fuzzy. 

“Oh it sounds like you found him!” Patton said over the phone. It was hard to miss Remus' voice! 

“I gotta go, Kiddo, break a leg tonight!” Patton said after a beat of silence. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Virgil choked out and hung up the phone. Virgil hung up and stowed his phone almost robotically. 

He stared at Remus for a long moment, trying to make sense of the situation. Andy was uncomfortable with the silence, but Remus seemed to be at ease. 

The tension snapped when Virgil snatched the toy from Remus and held it to his chest.

“Tell anyone about this and you're dead,” Virgil growled and rubbed the bunny’s ear between his fingers. 

“About what? How you're taller and beefier than the photos let on? That you got aggressive enough to make me cream my pants?” Remus jeered and wiggled his shoulders, “Because only one other person will know what happened when I met you! And they won't believe me anyway!” 

“He's having a really anxious moment,” Andy cut in, “He really isn't aggressive. Whoever you plan on telling, mention that part.” 

“Who are you telling?” Virgil asked warily as he finally started calming down. 

“A friend on Tumblr. They gave me the tickets so I want to tell them all about it when I don't have to watch my phone battery!” Remus beamed. 

Virgil's face blanched. 

“Your friend gave you tickets, plural?” Andy asked with a smirk, “So we'll see you at other shows?” 

“Hell yeah! I'll be at every show! I can't believe they could give me so many tickets!” Remus beamed, “So don't get any ideas about calling me a stalker!” 

“Oh god, you plan on hitchhiking to all of them?” Andy gawked and got up. He still needed a snack, and he had to find Remy and Millie. 

“Yup! But I'm a tough puppy! I can handle anyone!” Remus beamed. Virgil stared at him like he was insane. 

“Geez,” Andy sighed, “I'm hitting the vending machine. Do you want anything?” 

“Gatorade or iced tea if they have it,” Remus said and dug into his bag. He could pay for his own drink! 

“It's on me,” Andy cut him off and headed for the door. Once Andy was gone, Virgil’s anxiety started creeping over him again. Virgil was going to kill Andy. 

“So, uh, your friend on Tumblr gave you tickets?” Virgil muttered, not daring to look at Remus. 

“Yeah!! Electric Spider Rain has some crazy connections! When I finally get to meet them I'm totally smooching their breath away! I would've done that even without the tickets,” Remus giggled. 

“Krakendickenpuss?” Virgil asked, praying that he didn't just threaten his crush. 

Remus squealed and pounced, intending to hug him on the floor. He wrapped his arms and legs around the drummer and rubbed his cheek on Virgil's shoulder. 

“I can't believe it's really you!” Remus squealed, “Who would've thought that the person I've been talking to online is actually the sickest drummer in the world!” 

“I can't believe you decided to hitchhike around to get to every show without telling me,” Virgil scoffed incredulously. 

“You would have tried to stop me!” Remus giggled, “And then I would have never gotten to meet you!” 

Virgil set Remus on his feet, only for Remus to hug his waist and nuzzle his chest. Virgil was beet red but gingerly hugged back with one arm. Mr. Fuzzy didn't need to be crushed any further.

“You know I can't let you hitchhike to get to the rest of the shows without worrying,” Virgil said softly. 

“But I don't want to miss the rest of the shows! You guys are my favorite band and you gave me all those tickets!” Remus whined, “And I want to spend time with you in person!” 

“Then join us on the bus,” a woman said as she entered the room. She had a knowing smirk on her ruby lips and long dark hair. She had two guys trailing her, a twink in sunglasses and Andy. 

“Millie, you can't be serious,” Virgil huffed, “What if we get in trouble for kidnapping or worse?” 

“My brother knows I'm hitchhiking so you don't have to worry about that!” Remus pipped up, refusing to let go of Virgil. 

“I'm serious, we talked about it. I would rather have some mild trouble with the law than him getting hurt,” Millie shrugged, “You would've suggested it too.” 

Virgil couldn't blush any harder. Not only was Milie suggesting bringing Remus along, but she and Remy could see Mr. Fuzzy in his arm. There was no way out of this. 

“As long as he doesn't knock you up, it's fine,” Remy added and sipped on his iced coffee. 

“So it's fine,” Virgil muttered, “Since that's impossible.” 

“It's not impossible the other way around!” Remus jeered, “But I'll behave! Even if you're shirtless and sweaty!” To make things worse, he rubbed his face against Virgil's chest. 

“Since that's settled, introductions?” Millie hummed and sat down. Andy dragged Remy away from the dressing room, probably to tell him to keep his mouth shut about the stuffed animal. 

“I'm Remus! Remus Reyes Cuesta!” the little imp beamed and finally let go of Virgil, “And his internet friend!” 

Millie narrowed her eyes at him and studied his face. 

“Is your brother Roman?” 

“Yup! How did you know?” 

“Do you remember Millicent Wieczorek?” she hummed. Remus' face lit up. 

“No way! Is that you? You kicked his ass in middle school! He totally deserved it, so I'm not mad! I was so sad when you had to move away! What are the odds we meet again here?” 

“Yeah, he can ride with us. He's safe. Just like Mr. Fuzzy,” Millie said to Virgil. 

“Uh,” Virgil hesitated. Millie shrugged and grinned at him. 

“I still sleep with Barfolomew the cat dragon. I'm not judging you. Remy might, but his boytoy is grilling him. Actually I should make sure they aren't making out in a closet. You two have fun.” 

With that she got up and left Remus and Virgil alone. Virgil was absolutely mortified. 

“Sit! Sit!” Remus chirped and patted the seat next to him. Virgil reluctantly sat down and let Remus lean on him. 

“Thanks for the tickets and the ride. And for showing me your dark side! It's hot!” 

“Sorry about that, I was out of line,” Virgil wilted and hugged Mr. Fuzzy. Remus pouted and scooted closer. 

“It's okay, Virgil. I'm not hurt, just turned on. Who knew my celebrity crush would be my Internet crush, and who knew he was feral and a sweetheart?” 

“Crush?” 

“Yup! I won't deny it!” Remus giggled, “But don't think that means I'm coming on to you. I can behave! Even if I'm jealous of that bunny!” 

“Why would you be jealous of a toy?” Virgil huffed. He was practically squeezing the life out of it. 

“Because you love it, and more importantly, you're hugging it to those bara tiddies!” Remus jeered. He was pleasantly surprised when Virgil wrapped an arm around him. 

“I-I like you too,” he said shyly, “But let's not rush into anything.” 

“I can work with that!” Remus beamed, “I'm gonna go back out to the pit, and I'll come back here after your set.” 

“You can leave the bag, no one will steal anything,” Virgil said and loosened his hold on his bunny. 

“Really? Thanks Virgil! You're the best!” Remus beamed and kissed his cheek. 

He bopped to his feet and giggled at how Virgil's blush traveled to his shoulders. He waved cheekily and skipped out of the dressing room, letting Virgil follow him with his eyes. 

Virgil touched his cheek where Remus kissed him and smiled like an idiot. 

That night he performed better than ever before.