#Shes my wife for real sorry

[surpriserose]

Ummmm wife time :)

[hazelcallahan]

I am a decorated officer. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.

[l0uterstella]

BLUE BOUQUET QNA CRUMBS

not the full thing as someone else will be translating the full videos! only putting parts I find interesting/funny (cielowill shippers. good luck)

SUMMARY: age order + birthdays and heights they. dont exactly mention if cielowill are the eldest but its kinda implied i think ??? Cielomort (173cm, Mar 7) + Willmesh (182cm, Sep 21) Stella Twins (190cm, Dec 25) + Kurode (176cm, Nov 1) Myunna (157cm, May 8)

CIELOMORT

KURODE

WILLMESH

KLARKSTELLA

LOUTERSTELLA

(Klark said he broke a remote controller too 😭)

MYUNNA

[ganondoodle]

Kinda in regards to the Empress & BodyGuard 2-

Is Zaphira (sorry if I spelled her name wrong) an elf or do humans have pointed ears in your universe? If no elves, how do the pointed ears happen? Are there different length of ears and if so do they mean somethin?

Love your art & use of colours!

Thank you! and thank you for asking! (this sketch took me way too long .. and the colors still look washed out on my desktop screen but im not editing a third time ..)

Zaphira is human, there are no elves, as such, in this world, though humans tend to live longer than IRL and have differently shaped ears-

the shapes are rather diverse (example above) and culturally (so far) they have no significance, they are merely a trait just like different nose shapes or fantasy hair colors

the worldbuilding reason is that these are extremely diluted demonic influences- in the past demons were frequently in the human world, though largely in secret/disguised, and long time exposure to demonic presences can have varying effects, the most immediate and common being a longer life or wounds healing faster than normal; there might have been other long time effects but the only trait that stayed even after their disappearance is the ear shapes

(there was a mass extinction event of demons that wiped out all above a certain age, since demons generally dont die of natural causes their life neither depends nor revolves around reproduction so there were extremely few left and those were too young to keep most of their knowledge and culture alive, as they rarely wrote anything down; Shargon is of the current oldest generation and witnessed it happen, just like most now adult demons, Thor and Eadrya are both a bit older than him and thus the oldest living demons, which doesnt mean much considering the technically endless lifespans of them)

and to explain me including Shargon in a human appearance- hes the only demon that spends as much time in the human world as at home, largely to escape the others since they are not interested in going there and would otherwise attack him any chance they get (the human world is rather uncomfortable for demons to be in and they have better things to do than to chase him that far), while hes generally very weak compared to them, something he is very good at is shape shifting, mainly the speed of which, being able to shift between full demon and the smaller more humanoid form extremely quickly, or even mid forms that are a mix of both - even in motion! while for the others it takes them quite a bit and forces them to stop which is the main reason he keeps escaping them not able to keep up with his rapid shape shifting (though it does take its toll .. also a reason hes so skinny)

he is the first (only?) one that at some point will learn how to shift into a much more human looking one (depicted in the sketch) too, but its rather dangerous since it involves supressing and compressing his demon heart and system... which is what keeps demons alive (its somewhat like holding your breath for way too long) so the only time he would make use of it is in extreme situations, like avoiding detection by maschines that can pick up demonic energy or escaping shackles made of celestial silver (which drains their energy and can scar/hurt them permanently, like silver to vampires(?werewolfs?) in a way)

....the point is that if he shifts into a human form he has very long ears, meaning that is basically the extreme form that doesnt occur in humans and hints at the origins for those ear shapes being demonic exposure in the past

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT HER

okay i know this is a Foul Legacy blog but listen. if anyone wants to ask me questions about Arlecchino and my OC Marine i will be so happy to answer (they are MARRIED and i WILL answer in character if wanted because i'm that obsessed)

[noturlondonboy]

Hey Florence hey hey uh hey so I um wow haha that’s crazy I *explodes*

[drivelikeiido]

want me

(mohawk) matty can't seem to keep his eyes off of you at the bar

matty healy x f! reader 

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smoking and alcohol and a lil smutty but no actual smut (maybe i’ll write it in a part 2 if y’all are interested in that ?) BUT NO MINORS IDC GET AWAY

notes: sorry this took so so long to write i’ve been in a writing slump but i’m back !! and i apologise for edging you with not actual smut once again but that’s just how it is ! i prefer writing longing over actual smut anyways but if y’all want a part 2 i could be persuaded. also this idea originally came to me while listening to crying lightning by the arctic monkeys so do with that what you will. 

Stereotypical summer weather is a rarity in England so the minute the sun came out Matty invited you to join him and the boys and their girlfriends at the pub, which is how you’ve ended up in a rather seductive battle of wills with your boyfriend. He somehow thinks his staring over the top of his sunglasses while playing a game of pool with the boys is subtle but in reality his feelings towards the short summer dress you’re currently wearing are blatantly obvious, which means you just have to tease him a little - you play your own little game while he plays his.

You sit on a table opposite where the boys are playing, sharing a pitcher of some fruity, more alcohol than mixer, concoction with the girls, chatting and catching up in low content voices while you make the most of the golden sun that warms you and casts a glow onto your skin. You hadn’t seen all the girls in some time so you appreciated the chance to catch up with them in such a relaxed setting, everyone’s mood boosted by the appearance of the sun and the weather it brings. The stuffy British heat gradually makes you feel uncomfortable and you begin to fan yourself with an old cocktail menu sitting on the table, your hair moving with the breeze and exposing your neck and sun soaked chest more, an action that doesn't go missed by Matty’s watchful eyes. He still pretends to be fully absorbed in his game of pool but his glances over your way become more and more frequent, his hands becoming restless as he taps out some unknown staccato beat on the bottle in his hands, the beads of condensation running down his lithe fingers and dropping to the ground. The boys are far too used to Matty’s frequent musings and distracted behaviour when it comes to you so they pay no heed to his distracted state, Hann poking his side when it was his turn to play, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

At one point Matty catches your eye and you wave innocently over, your neutral appearance betraying the playful thoughts running in your head. The girls at the table have also taken notice of your boyfriend’s not so subtle staring, giggling amongst themselves and encouraging whatever mischief you’re thinking of starting with hushed voices, comments being thrown around about how obviously obsessed he is with you. However that wholesome notion is short lived as one of the girl’s nudges you and motions over to Matty, his dark eyes trained on you as he looks you up and down once more, moving his sunglasses further down his nose, his actions far from subtle as he devours you with his eyes. Ross too clocks onto this and kicks Matty’s sneakered foot in a jokey manner, his laughter floating into the air as you hear him jokingly scold your boyfriend to “Behave”, a subtle blush makes its way onto Matty’s cheeks in his embarrassment at being caught by his friend. He raises his hands, pool cue still clutched in his left, in a show of apology, grinning over to you as he mouths “Sorry, love”, however both of you know this apology is nowhere near genuine as he truly has no plans whatsoever to cease his overt appreciation for his girlfriend.

His hands return to his side as he pulls out his cigarettes, offering them to the boys and lighting one up himself, his cheeks hollowing as he inhales the acrid smoke. You have to hold in the sigh threatening to spill from your lips, your fingers finding a sudden interest in the blue striped straw in your glass, anything to take your focus off the hypnotic man in front of you. You try and think of anything else to calm your racing brain but thoughts of your boyfriend’s pretty plush lips circling around the cigarette and how his talented fingers balance it in his hands do nothing to quell the unignorable need you’re already feeling for him. The cigarette rests on his lips that now seem etched into a permanent smirk, your boyfriend taking pleasure in knowing how the sight of him smoking always has this effect on you, his nicotine addiction working in his favour at this moment in time to make you as desperate for him as he is for you.

Matty’s cigarette has since been savoured and finally put out, however the thoughts of your boyfriend's talented fingers and pink lips still occupy the front of your mind and go straight to your core. The suspended smell of smoke in the air is so resemblant of your boyfriend it’s almost intoxicating and results in your mind being only filled with thoughts of him; all social expectations and fears are quelled purely by the overwhelming distraction that is Matty. You nod and hum absentmindedly to the girls’ conversation at the table, their subtle smirks giving away that they know very well where your mind has vanished off to as your fingers begin to drum energetically on the table, your body language practically oozing unrest.

You begin to notice the alcohol’s buzz beginning to wear off, melted ice being all that’s left in the pitcher. One of the girls nods to you, breaking your attention from the realm of smutty daydreaming and gestures her head back inside the pub, “Why don’t you go inside and get some more? Give him something else to look at” her smile wide and entertained, her eyes shining with mischief as you make out a wink from behind the shadowed lenses of her sunglasses. You nod, smiling, appreciating the sudden development of a plan. You stand, brushing off your already rather short dress of imaginary lint, just giving yourself another action to use up your excess energy. As you pick up the empty pitcher and quickly drop a glance towards Matty, who of course is already looking at you with eyes resemblant of an abandoned puppy as he looks over the dark lenses of his sunglasses. You see a quick smile grace his features, (the cause of which a mystery to you) and the stray hairs on the top of his head sticking to his forehead slightly due to the sheen of sweat covering him, the sight shouldn’t have as much of an effect on you as it does, sending another wave of heat through your body as you imagine scraping your fingers through the coarse short hair at the sides and brushing back those loose hairs of his mohawk, tugging slightly as you do so. You drop your head to dispel these thoughts and push your way back through the door into the bar, dropping the pitcher back onto the bartop, ready to order another round for the girls. Your mouth just opened to speak when you feel a gentle hand grab your wrist, turning quickly in alarm you’re immediately relieved to see the dishevelled hair and dark eyes of your boyfriend. An apologetic look graces his features for a second, his hand dropping to yours and squeezing, his voice low and gravelly when he says “Follow me”. This is the first you’ve heard his voice in nearly an hour and it alone has the power to have your knees buckle. He must sense the question ready to spill from your lips, as his voice becomes more demanding “Now, darlin”. His authoritative tone erases any other thoughts you may have as you begin to follow his loudly booted feet into what you recognise to be a stall in the men’s bathrooms.

As thankful as you are that your boyfriend is as needy for your body as you are his, the public nature of this rendezvous does bubble a bit of panic into your chest, a feeling that is immediately forgotten as his toned hands grab your face and he slots his lips onto yours.  The suddenness of the action catching you by surprise but still eliciting a neediness in you as you push your body impossibly close to his, kissing him back with pent up fervour that has been brewing beneath your skin since he put on that leather jacket before leaving the flat hours ago. The residual alcohol and danger of the situation heightens your senses and you swear you could floatl from how euphoric you felt, Matty acting as your own personal drug, the taste of alcohol and smoke on his lips going straight to your head. A breathy laugh escapes your throat as you rest your head in the crook of his neck while he attacks yours with kisses and small bites that you just know will need to be extensively covered tomorrow.

“Matty someone will hear us” your voice hushed and restrained as you try your best to repress the wanton moan that has been threatening to spill from your lips since the moment he touched you at the bar.

He pulls back from your neck to deliver a quick and frenzied “Good. Let them. Once they see my beautiful girlfriend they’ll know why I couldn’t wait any longer” that is more panted than spoken into the side of your neck. His hands are like vices on your waist, forever squeezing and gripping at the skin there, as if no matter how much he touched you it would never be enough to satisfy him. His words elicit a whimper from your throat beyond your control, a knowing smirk into your neck being his response.

You move to return the favour, sucking dark bruises into his neck, his grunts and deep breaths from above you your own personal melody as your hands run through the long mop of hair on the top of his head, tugging on the strands then lightly scratching through the buzzed hairs on the sides, making sure to kiss the exposed skin behind his ear, knowing how it makes him crumble, this clear in the small restrained whimper that is only audible due to your extreme proximity; you two are practically one entity as you’re pressed up so closely together in this stall. Matty’s hands make quick work of sliding under your dress and ghosting over your ass, his fingers surprising you in their sudden desperation as they grope and squeeze at the skin there. His hips grind instinctively into yours, both of you sharing the same air as you gasp in synchronicity, normally you’d find something poetic in that action but your brain was so hazy with thoughts of Matty that nothing else would compute. Your skin burned with need for him and the more you kissed and licked at his skin the more your world began to centre around the delicious smokey smell that clung to his hands and his clothes, and you grow a little jealous at its ability to be in constant proximity to him, the smell lingering on him like it was inherent to his being, a factor you adored about him.

Your hands instinctively move to unbuckle his belt, however his lithe fingers move to shadow over your wrists, dropping a gentle kiss to your head “As much as I am desperate for you to do that darlin’, I will not be able to control myself if we go that far right now”. He kisses away the small pout that has formed on your lips, his nose momentarily nudging yours as he rests his forehead on yours “I promise I’ll make it up to us both when we get home but right now I’d rather not have both of us walk back to our friends and the rest of the pub smelling of sex, we’d never hear the end of it”. 

Your voice whispers in a poor attempt to hide your desperation and surprise at his audacity “That’s not fair Matty you’ve literally been eyefucking me all night and now you wanna be all responsible? You’re such a cockblock”. He barks out a laugh at this and threads his hands into your hair, pulling and stroking at the strands, “I’m being responsible. I’m trying out something new” he jests, dropping a quick kiss to your nose.

You drop your head to his chest, kissing the exposed ink that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know if I like it” you mumble with a smile, hands grabbing at any piece of him you can salvage. 

“You're so evil Matty, you’re such a tease”. He almost coos at your flustered state “Trust me I know the feeling sweetheart, it is taking every single ounce of self control I have to not flip up this excuse for a dress and have you against this wall until the only word you can say is my name”. 

You give an exasperated moan at this into his chest and hold onto him even tighter as warmth surges through you again. “You’re really not helping”, he huffs out another low laugh and lifts his finger to your chin, guiding you to look into his sparkling, lust-filled eyes, his voice earnest and seductive when he says “I promise, promise, I will make it up to you when we get home, trust me I need you too darlin’. It’s just if I didn’t touch you now I think I would have lost my mind at that pool table”. His hands now cradle your face like a precious piece of china, his slender thumb rubbing slowly across your cheek, the soothing action working to calm you both down from your shared frenzy. You lean into him again as your lips fit together, it’s a kiss filled with want and the hanging desire of what’s promised and you have to force yourself to pull away from him. You truly think he could steal all the air from your lungs and you’d let him, as long as you were kissing him you could die happy.

He gives you one last quick peck and fixes any of your smudged lipstick and smooths out any wrinkles on your dress, his hands ghosting over your skin a little longer than one would deem innocent. You too try to get him presentable, giggling as you wipe away the lipstick on his lips with your thumb and run your hands through his mohawk a few more times than necessary, loving the feeling of his dark locks passing through your fingers. 

Together you exit the bathroom, your skin already turning red with the fear that people will know what you’ve been up to. Matty tells you to wait by him while he orders another pitcher for the girls and drinks for himself and the boys, his hand absentmindedly grabbing yours while you wait at the bar, empathising with how embarrassed you must be feeling but also not so secretly revelling in it, his dominant streak momentarily taking over.

You pass through the door to outside once again, squinting at the sun that threatens your vision as you emerge. The girls whistle at your reappearance, giggles floating through the air at your flushed appearance and nervous smile. You avoid all the staring eyes, the boys too grinning knowingly in yours and Matty’s direction. You separate from him as you set the pitcher down at your shared table, your blush definitely giving away the answer to any question as to what you were up to.

 “Sorry for the wait guys, there was a queue” you hurry out, still refusing to make eye contact, knowing you’ll crack and start laughing as soon as you do. Charli laughs and nods unconvinced, her voice mockingly slow “Yeah, sure there was”. This sets the girls off laughing, you soon join in, your head falling to your hands in embarrassment. The boys too now looking over your direction and laughing, George patting Matty on the back, his cheeks now matching yours in their cherry pink state, the blush creeping all over your chest adding to pigment you’ve already gained from the sun’s heat. What you don’t see in your all-consuming fit of embarrassment is Hann reaching over to Matty’s neck to wipe off some remaining lipstick that stains there, his smile is infectious amongst the boys as they poke fun over Matty’s flustered state. Once you all recover from your fit of giggles you look up from your hands over to Matty who is, of course, already looking at you. He mouths the words "I’m so in love with you", his bright smile is back and so contagious that the blush on your cheeks immediately becomes immovable, a smile in your words too as you mouth back back, "I’m so in love with you too, Matty". His perfect smile graces your eyes as he returns to his game with the boys, his attention more focused on the game than before, his hands only ever leaving the cue to push the dark strands of hair that fall in front of his vision back into their assigned place. He only ever looks up to you every now and again to wink, an action filled with so much desire and expectation for when you get home, the subtlety making your whole body flush with excitement and the impatience to get back to the flat to see what awaits you grows even stronger.

[theygotlost]

um so. here it is 👉👈 I've never written a fanfic before let alone posted one so I'm shy please be nice to me 😭

Son of Sam

After little Sammy has a disciplinary incident at school, Vimes finds a more enriching environment for his son.

G rated, 2,011 words, just vimes bein a dad :)

A rather nervous-looking young messenger was waiting at the door when Vimes got home.

“Er… Can I help you?”

The messenger startled into a stiff salute. “Your grace!” he said smartly. “I bring a message from the Primary Academy of Ankh! It has been requested that… erm…” he fumbled open the roll of parchment he had been holding. “The parents-slash-guardians of the student, er, Samuel Ramkin Vimes II, come to the office of the headmistress at once. We have a coach ready outside for you already, your grace,” he added as he rolled the parchment back up.

Vimes scoffed. ‘The Second’… Please. A title like that nearly made you forget the boy’s only eight years old. “Alright, what’s happened this time?”

“I don’t know, your grace. I’m only here to deliver the message.”

“Fine. And you really want both of us?” said Vimes, already making his way around the side of the house. “Sybillllll?” he called, in that sing-song voice used by all husbands everywhere looking for their wives.

He heard the explosion before he had even turned the corner. The backyard filled with a sharp, acrid, chemical smell that nearly would have made him retch if he wasn’t so accustomed to it already. He sighed at the charred black rosette that now decorated the lawn. Beyond it, in a wider blast radius, were… other bits of things.

A bulky figure nearly six and a half feet tall emerged from the dragon pen, decked head to toe in leather armor. “Oh dear, and he had nearly recovered from his case of slab throat…” she mumbled from behind her welding mask. She ducked back into the dragon pen for the shovel, too distracted to notice her husband on the periphery of the yard.

Vimes strode directly toward the carriage out front. “She’s busy. I’ll go by myself,” he said decisively to the messenger as he brushed past. The messenger considered protesting, but thought the better of it.

—

Vimes was ushered into a room half the size but almost as austere as the Oblong Office. Little Sam pouted in an adult-sized chair, grumpily swinging his legs back and forth. Vimes knew that look: the boy was in trouble for something. Sulking in the other chair with a bandaged nose was a boy who appeared the same age, though bigger-boned. Both of his parents were doting over him like a pair of storks brooding a rather large, and rather spoiled, egg. Vimes had been forced to socialize with these people at many a banquet or some such event, or at least this type of people, if not this particular couple. They all blended together in his mind anyway. He had yet to have a conversation with one of them that ended satisfactorily for both parties. 

The headmistress greeted him primly from behind her desk and motioned for him to sit in the chair beside his son. “Thank you for coming, your grace. Her ladyship…”

“Couldn’t make it,” Vimes responded curtly. He swore he heard the other boy’s mother exhale derisively through her nose.

“I have called you here,” the headmistress continued, “because your Samuel has gotten into an… altercation with his classmate.” She spoke as though she were handling her words like a very fragile, very expensive heirloom vase.

Vimes turned to little Sam. “You got into a fight?” he asked, more conversationally than disapprovingly.

“I should hardly call that a fair fight!” the other boy’s father interjected. “It took two teachers to pull your little devil off our Thomas! He nearly bit his nose off!” Thomas began to whimper, and his mother cradled him in her arms while staring daggers at Vimes.

Vimes raised his eyebrows as he sized up the victim. He was taller and stockier than his attacker, but apparently that hadn’t helped him much. He turned back to his son, still without any trace of anger. “Why’d you do that, Sammy?”

“It doesn’t matter why he—” Thomas’s father began, but the headmistress held up a hand. “Let him answer,” she commanded.

“He took my spelling sheets from my homework daddy, ‘n he said that my daddy’s nuthin’ but a dirty scoundrel, said I’m ruinin’ the school ‘cause I’m dirty ‘n dumb like him, ‘n then he ripped all my papers up,” little Sam explained sullenly. Thomas whimpered again.

Vimes looked up to meet the father’s eyes with hawklike focus. “He really said that, did he? I wonder where he could have possibly gotten that idea from.”

The father’s features bubbled with the kind of indignation reserved for those who have just been accused of something they actually did. “Slander!” he blurted. “Not only is your son an aggressor, but a liar as well!”

The duke of Ankh stood up. “You’re calling my son a liar, is that it?” he nearly snarled the words.

“You grace—” the headmistress began.

“No, go on,” Vimes continued. “You think Sammy made up that little story, just to make you look bad? Your precious little Thomas would never have done something like that, oh no, because you’ve raised him properly, haven’t you?” He was practically toe to toe with the boy’s father now. He squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, which unfortunately was still shorter than his opponent. He cracked a few menacing knuckles.

“Daddy, mama said you’re not s’posed to fight the other grownups at school anymore,” Sammy whined from his seat.

“I won’t be threatened by the likes of you,” the man spat. He leveled a self-important finger at VImes’s nose. “I won’t tolerate it. You and your son both owe us an apology for the injuries you have caused.”

“Oh, I’ll give you some injuries to apologize for, all right.”

The bureaucratic voice of the headmistress pierced through his haze of bloodlust like a letter opener. “Your grace, that is enough. To prevent another incident like this, you need to set a good example for your son. Children learn by imitating their parents.”

“Yes, I’m sure they do,” Vimes said pointedly without breaking eye contact with the nobleman. He took his son’s hand and led him out the door. “Come on, Sammy. We’re going home.”

“This isn’t over, Sir Samuel!” he heard the father call after him. “Her ladyship will be hearing of this, and she will not be pleased!”

Don’t I know it, Vimes thought.

—

Lady Sybil was, as predicted, not very pleased. “First I have to lay poor Lord Sharptalon Brightspark Blazeworthy VI to rest this afternoon, and now I hear both of you have gotten into a scuffle,” she sighed, and idly stirred her tea.

“News travels fast,” Vimes grumbled, not looking up from his own teacup.

“The headmistress was right, you know. He takes after you. He sees his father throw a punch or kick a shin, and figures that violence will solve all his problems.”

“It usually does.”

“Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“I spoke to the boy’s mother. She swears up and down that she has no idea why young Thomas would say those things about you.”

“‘Course she did. It’s all about appearances with these people. They’ll say whatever they want behind their expensive closed doors, but none of ‘em have got the spine to say it to your face.”

“As much as I agree with you, Sam, ‘these people’ are our people, even if you hate to think of them that way.”

“Still, good to know Sammy can hold his own in a fight.”

“Dear, I don’t think you’re taking the right lesson from this.”

Vimes grunted noncommittally.

“He just needs a different outlet for his aggression,” Sybil continued. “Something more…productive. Like an organized sport. The academy offers some rather robust athletic programs he could get into.”

Yes, organized sports… Sammy could wipe the floor with all those spoiled little brats, that was for sure. He needed a sport, but perhaps one that was less, well, organized. 

—

“Daddy, you still won’t say where we’re going,” young Sam lamented.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more streets.”

After a few moments, Vimes heard the little voice from about twenty or thirty feet behind him. “Daddy, wait up! You’re going too fast!”

Vimes stopped. Damn. Without thinking, he had fallen into his normal Proceeding step.

“I’m tired of walking,” Sammy panted as he caught up.

Vimes almost laughed. Tired of walking? Then he realized. “You know, I ought to teach you how to walk properly. You swing your foot forward, like this. Get it right and you can keep going all day.”

Together they Proceeded, hand in hand this time to prevent another separation, to their destination. There it was…

Cockbill Street.

Gods, when was the last time I was here? thought Vimes. An investigation had led him back here some nine or ten years ago, but before that it must have been decades. The same peeling paint, the same worn cobbles, even the hopscotch game was still there…

“Where are we?” little Sam asked impatiently. “Looks like justa buncha ol’ houses.”

…And this was the first time the boy had ever seen it.

“Son, your old dad grew up in one of these old houses.”

“You used to live here?” Sammy looked doubtful. “They’re not as nice as our house.”

His father sighed. “Right you are. You’re awful lucky that your mother’s got a big fancy house and money to send you to a big fancy school. But you and I both know a big fancy school ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

The boy’s face looked blank. A chorus of shouts and hollers turned his attention to a particularly rough-and-tumble football match taking place down the street, mostly boys a few years older than him.

Vimes nodded toward the game. “They don’t let you play like that at the Academy of Ankh,” he explained.

Sammy considered this as more shrieks and curses echoed off the decaying edifices. “But I dunno any of ‘em,” he pointed out. 

“Doesn’t matter. Cockbill Street boys’ll toss a ball around with any little bugger who can force his way into a match. Just get in there and start running around, you’ll pick it up.”

He still looked unsure, but he ambled up to the pack as they were taking a time-out, as there looked to be some sort of hot dispute between the teams. He addressed a boy who was currently wrestling another into a headlock. “Lemme play,” he said simply. The boy in the headlock used the momentary distraction to wrench free and scamper off, sending a few other players to break off in pursuit. 

“Who’re you?”

“My name’s Sammy, ‘n I wanna join. I can kick a ball real far.”

The older boy looked incredulous. He turned around to give a consulting glance to the others, who shrugged. “I s’pose we could use another player, since STUPID JOEY’S A THIEVIN’ BASTARD!” He addressed this last comment to the direction that Joey had run. “Jus’ try to keep up, since you look pretty small,” he added. And that was that.

Vimes leaned back against a crumbling wall and, more out of habit than anything else, lit a cigar. He watched the game intently. Indeed, young Sam had ingratiated himself seamlessly, dashing and darting and hollering to keep up with the fierce competition. Once he took a nasty spill, tumbling face first onto the cobblestones, and Vimes sucked his teeth sharply. But before he could move in to help his son, the boy jumped up with an alarming fierceness, completely unbothered by his bleeding nose and scraped knees, and made a mad dash to get back into the action.

Tonight he would be brought home covered in scrapes and bruises and a tear or two in his clothes, Vimes knew. Sybil wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed, but he figured he could convince her it’s no more dangerous than herding spontaneously explosive dragons as a hobby. 

Vimes couldn’t help but smile. Whenever little Sammy got knocked down, a vengeful little gleam sparkled in his eyes, and just like a certain someone, he got right back up.

[lululeighsworld]

Lorah: Lilac Knight's Love

Artist: @littledashdraws

Wanted to share this commission by Dash, who so lovingly illustrated my vision for Gunter's first wife!! Although Lorah's lived in my head since 2017, this is the first time I've had her drawn. Because I'm so thrilled over this art, I put together a little introduction for her!! you can read more about her below~

Residence: Duet Mountains Occupation: Farmer •❀• Bedside Nurse •❀• Homemaker Birthday: July 11 Gender: Female Relatives: Gunter (Husband) Katerina (Daughter)* Personality: Shy •❀• Bubbly •❀• Optimistic Hobbies: Crafting •❀• Gardening •❀• Baking Age: 21 (when she first meets Gunter) •❀• 36 (at death)

A Nohrian commoner whose known the kingdom's southern mountain range and neighbouring valleys her entire life, Lorah was a recognizable resident of her town even though she kept to herself. Learning the basics of herbal remedies from a young age, she would split her time between tending to the fields and easing the woes of the sick. In adulthood, she would chance upon meeting a Nohrian Great Knight during her town's annual spring festival. The couple's engagement, after seven years of courting, had become one of the most highly anticipated moments amongst the townsfolk.

*NOT the Nohrian Queen. I named their kid before I realized what Xander's mom's name was and by that point I was already ATTACHED (tell me Caterpillar is not the cutest nickname). So now the reason they share a name is lore relevant (which is a part of this fic!).

divider by saradika

[rimunagenius]

yeah she’s just so gorgeous i have no words.

[throwdownyourheart]

…

[theshadowrealmitself]

I am,, so upset, there’s one aspect I’m obsessed with from Rick and Morty that the fandom doesn’t even explore and I don’t know where else to get that specific thing

The thing I’m obsessed with is this idea that in this citadel area, there’s always a Rick and Morty, maybe some other family members, but never ever a Diane, like she’s cursed to die young in most of them or something, she just never makes it to the citadel

Until one day, they find a Rickless Diane and bring her to the citadel (there could be a lot of different reasons why this one is here, but the reason I’ve been defaulting to is that she’s from outside the curve, is the smartest of her universe, and broke into the curve to see if there was anything fun in it, she doesn’t tell anyone she has her own portal tech or where she came from, they’re just like “oh my god this poor Diane with no Rick we have to interfere)

And I just wanna know how that would go, would the Ricks like her? would they hate seeing her because of the memories it brings up about their Dianes? she’d definitely have to worry about some Ricks trying to use her to replace their dead wives, and then what of the Mortys? I feel like organic Mortys might not take to her as easily, but cloned Mortys and the like who don’t actually have a grandma Diane would be excited to meet her

I just keep rotating it around in my mind, currently thinking about her working with a Rick who’s developed a crush on her, but she can’t be certain that he’s not just mentally using her as a replacement for a Diane he used to be with so she ignores it

The closest thing I can think of would be Gwen in atsv, but it doesn’t really fit the bill, because the Citadel has a specific type of alternate Ricks and Mortys, whereas Gwen runs into waaaay more varieties of Spiderpeople and they’re not even all versions of Peter Parker so she can easily surround herself with people who have never dated a version of her, and she doesn’t have to see a version of a child/grandchild that happened in so many universes except hers

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[lowcallyfruity]

Why are we shipping Robin with Boothill when she should be shipped with ME ?!?!??!

[pilgrimposting]

don't you guys just love it when i remove a character so much from its media that you can't tell what they're originally from

anyway. i am so bisexual it hurts

[b00m-b0mb]

Something really funny that's occurred to me is the way Joe talks about Maccie is like she's some catastrophic event that happened to their family "I can't believe she's been here that long." / "Everything's been different since she was born" / "Everything changed." / "She changed everything."

And it's just rlly funny to me. I want to up the dramaticness of his words at some point. And anyway, he's talking to the Samurai/Ronin for the first time and I'm wondering the impression he's getting lmao

Joe is certainly expressive to me, but only when he's given the chance. And I think w Ronin, he just started letting a lot of stuff out bc thus guy is gonna go on his way anyways.. but then he's like wait!!! Actually let me go?? For a little? (Platonic yearning so bad)

Ronin like 》^. "I suppose.. Alright, curious karate man, I'll accompany you a little longer."

Or something I'm messing around UGH