#never going to write it though

[justjed8]

Remember when I wrote this post on plot bunnies?

I found the notes where I had started writing dialog. Use if you want because, again, I'm never going to write it.

This is for the 3rd plotbunny I believe.

Link: "Fairytales don't exist, only a world where we're all just pawns to those in power."

King Rhoam: "You bring this blasphemy to me?"

Zelda: "Should I not? Shouldn't I trust my father to have my best interest in mind? Link has been nothing but loyal to his duty and this country. Should he be punished for only being human?"

Rhoam: Tell me, what are your feelings towards my daughter?

Link: "She is a member of the royal family, one I have sworn my fidelity to, Your Majesty."

Rhoam: "A safe choice of words, my boy, but I'm not looking for false words."

Link: "I would have laid down my life for her easily, even before she found her inner power."

Rhoam: "And now?"

Link: "When the time comes for her to take over the crown I will continue to fight for Hyrule. Not just for my loyalty to this land and its people, but because Hyrule will prosper greatly under her leadership."

Rhoam: "You believe in my daughter so strongly?"

Link: "Undeniably, Your Majesty."

[justsalpals]

And in this moment I became obsessed with G13

what if I was a shitty little oily hacker guy, looking out only for myself. what if I had a small ring of like minded cyber criminals, maybe my friends, maybe willing to stab me in the back at a moments notice, maybe that's what friendship means to us. what if I worked for the feds and the criminals and above all for myself.

what if a world of explosions fell flat with static. what if chosen family spat the same predictable lines. what if I was a hacker, and the world was code. what if.

what if a little old woman fell right into my brain, sweet and useless and real. real real real.

and if I reached out -let the code of my mind fill in her blank spaces- and tasted what it meant to be real.

[bunnieswithknives]

OH MY GOD??? HAS IT SERIOUSLY BEEN A MONTH????? I am so sorry guys

Prev | Next

[omelaslost]

Bedding Ceremony Pt. 1

•───────•°•❀•°•❀•°•❀•°•───────• Prompt: How they act during their bedding ceremony and the events leading up to it. Characters: Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Gwayne Hightower

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

•───────•°•❀•°•❀•°•❀•°•───────•

Aegon II Targaryen

✿ Aegon would be looking forward to the bedding ceremony, eagerly anticipating it as he drinks throughout the feast. It’s a wonderful tradition in his mind, and he can’t wait to be undressed and lead to the bridal chambers with you. ✿ If you expressed discomfort or anxiety about the bedding ceremony leading up to it, while I don’t see him forgoing it, he would at least try to alleviate your nervousness. I don’t think he would truly understand why you were nervous or uncomfortable, because in his mind, it is custom for a wedding, but he would still try to make you feel better regardless. ✿ Keyword: Try. I don’t think Aegon is the best at comforting others in general, but he would genuinely try his best. Surely that must count for something. ✿ “It’s tradition,” He would start, his tone light but gentle as a smile lit up his face, “Thousands of brides before you have been undressed for their husbands, and thousands more will after you.” His smile would become tense if he noticed that his words did not have the soothing effect he had intended. “It’s not so bad. I promise.” He would pat your hand, grasping it to give it a small, comforting squeeze before releasing it. ✿ He would, of course, encourage you to drink during the feast leading up to the ceremony in an attempt to calm your nerves and loosen you up. If he noticed you fidgeting or looking nervous, he would hold his cup up to your lips until you took a sip.

✿ Granted, for every sip you took, he would probably take about three. He would likely be a bit tipsy by the time the bedding ceremony is announced. If you didn’t seem as nervous as you did before and he started getting impatient, he would stand up and announce it was time for the bedding himself. ✿ He would laugh at every single ribald joke, even more so at the ones directed at you. The women in attendance might would be struggling to move him forward and undress him because he would be in a fit of giggles over what his “dragon” would do to your “uncharted cave”. He’d probably throw in a few jokes of his own in response. ✿ He’d feel a surge of pride in his chest every time someone would pay a compliment to your body as if he’d been complimented himself. His smile would grow with each comment and he’d be nodding along like yes, that’s my wife and she does have great breasts and pretty lips and wonderful thighs thank you for noticing; I, too, have noticed. ✿ “She does, doesn’t she?” He would giggle out with the proudest, almost reverent smile plastered on his face. ✿ If he was being led ahead of you to your bedchambers, he would constantly be looking back at you and smiling as the men led and undressed you. The ladies would have to be leading him like a child by the arm because he is not paying attention to where he’s going. ✿ “Hurry and bring my beautiful bride to me,” he would call out once he was tucked into the bed in your bridal chambers. The moment you’re presented to him by the men, his arms are around you and he’s pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders while the guests make their exit, some hooting and whistling as they close the door behind them. ✿ “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He would ask once the two of you were alone, though the suggestions were already pouring in through the door. (It definitely was that bad). ✿ If you agree that is was not so bad, he would grin and pull you into a kiss, his hand immediately snaking down to your breast. ✿ If you disagreed, he would be a little shocked, his expression turning slightly pouty, but he would resume his kisses, promising that he would make it up to you.

✿ Aegon would be eager to consummate the marriage, and he wouldn’t be put off by the fact that there were people outside the door listening in and calling out suggestions. If anything, it would egg him on, though he would probably snort at some of the suggestions. ✿ He would definitely want to make you moan loud enough for them all to hear. ✿ “Aw, come on now, don’t be shy. I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel,” he would murmur in your ear, giving your nipple a teasing pinch and changing his angle as he thrust into you with the intention of making you cry out louder.

Aemond Targaryen

✿ Aemond is a bit more complicated. He wouldn’t be looking forward to the bedding ceremony; in fact, he would likely be dreading it during the entirety of the feast, not that you would be able to tell by looking at him. He knows that it is tradition and he knows what is expected of him, and as a dutiful prince and husband, he would swallow whatever negative feelings he would have and do what needs to be done. ✿ While Aemond would not bring it up himself, if you mentioned that you were nervous about the ceremony, he would listen to you quietly and give a little hum to let you know he’d heard you. While initially, he might remind you what’s expected of the two of you, he would at least make note of your worries. ✿ When the time came, if you still seemed nervous, he would tactfully say that his new wife was not comfortable with the ceremony or was not feeling well, so the two of you would forgo the ceremony and attend to each other privately. ✿ And attend you he would. The moment the two of you were alone in your bridal chambers, a majority of the tension from the day would seem to melt off him. He’d be relieved that he could at least have you in peace. He’d likely be gentler with you as a result.

✿ Make no mistake, though the ceremony itself was skipped, the bedding would still occur. You’re his wife, and he would want an heir, and he'd want one as soon as possible at that. So while he might go easy on you he wouldn’t exactly be letting you rest much on your wedding night. ✿ If the marriage was arranged with a short betrothal period, it would be a rather impersonal night. He would make sure you were cared for and satisfied as much as he was, but that night (and the next that followed) would be duty-driven more than anything else. However, that is not to say the two of you would not find pleasure in each other. ✿ Now, if your betrothal was a longer one and Aemond had a fondness for you before the wedding (and bedding) it would be a much more tender experience, though no less demanding. ✿ However, if you did not outwardly mention any nervousness or reluctance to go through with the ceremony, Aemond would simply bear it. ✿ It would likely be Aegon to announce it was time for the bedding once he grew tired of the feast. Aegon would be the first to move to unlace your gown and would be the loudest in his jokes. ✿ There’s a lot of potential for jokes, after all. Aemond does have the largest dragon in the world, after all… how lucky his wife must be. ✿ I don’t think Aemond would enjoy most of the humor of the night, unfortunately, but he would bear them as he bears all else. ✿ Aemond would not allow any of the women undressing him to touch his eyepatch. If it had to be removed before he entered the bridal chambers, he would do so himself. He wouldn’t want it just ripped off of him like the rest of his clothes. Despite his stoic exterior, the loss of his eye is a very sensitive spot for him still. If it must be exposed, it should be by him. ✿ Unlike Aegon, instead of feeling pride when one of the men complimented your body, he would feel mostly possessive. He’d be feeling a lot of emotions all at once. There would be a small bit of pride that you were beautiful and you were his, that people were bearing witness to his claim over you, but it would also be overshadowed by the fact that others were touching you, that they were undressing you. But it is tradition, so there isn’t much to be done about it.

✿ Aegon’s presence might be the most difficult thing for Aemond to swallow during the ceremony, regardless of his other feelings. Aemond’s feelings about his older brother are complicated and that tends to bleed into everything. Even if it’s a political marriage, even if it is tradition, he wouldn’t be fond of others touching his wife, but especially Aegon. A whore is one thing, but you were to be his. And if it’s more than just politics? More than one guest in attendance would be able to attest to the fact that your husband looked like he wanted to kill someone on the way to the bedchamber. But he would swallow his emotions on it. ✿ If it is more than just an arranged marriage and Aemond managed to retain his eyepatch up until the two of you alone, he would allow you to take it off of him. ✿ That being said, Aemond would definitely end up taking his pent-up frustrations from the feast out on you during the actual bedding. He would at least make sure you were prepared to take him, but he would be rough that night. ✿ He would try to tune out the shouts of suggestions pouring in from the other side of the door, and he would want you to do the same. He doesn’t want you focusing on outside sources the first time he’s inside you. ✿ “Ignore them. I’m the one in front of you. Focus on me,” He would murmur in your ear as he thrust into you. That would be his goal, to make you feel so good that you forgot all about your wedding guests. ✿ He would want to make you moan loud enough to drown them all out. There would be a tiny part of him that wanted those lingering outside the room to know that he could please his new wife. Ultimately, I think he’d just want it to be over so the guests would leave. ✿ He would definitely make it up to you on the second or third round once they’re all gone and it’s just the two of you.

Gwayne Hightower

✿ Gwayne would be a healthy mix of Aegon and Aemond, but I think he would be leaning slightly more on the Aegon side of things in terms that he’d be more comfortable in the tradition and lighthearted in the proceedings. ✿ He’s totally for and looking forward to the bedding ceremony, and similar to Aegon, he wouldn’t initially stop to think that his wife might be uncomfortable with it and why. He couldn’t wait to be undressed and watch you be undressed in turn, knowing that at the end of it, he would be able to claim you in the eyes of gods and men. ✿ If you brought up any concerns, he might even think you were joking at first, smiling and letting out a chuckle. His first instinct would be to brush it off as nerves on your part. You were his bride and brides were almost always bashful on their wedding night. He would consider your timidness to be endearing. ✿ “You’re beautiful. You’ve nothing to feel shy about,” He would try to assure you, offering you a charming smile and perhaps even a small, tender kiss on your knuckles. ✿ He’d keep an eye on you throughout the feast (you were eating from the same plate and drinking from the same cup after all), and when he noticed how genuinely anxious you seemed, he would feel a bit more protective of you. ✿ He would still be disappointed if his wife really didn’t want to proceed with the ceremony, but ultimately, he would be more likely to choose to forgo it if she was truly uncomfortable. Once he considers things from her perspective and realizes that it wasn’t just nerves but genuine discomfort, he would be much more understanding. He would relent easier if he knew his wife and perhaps had been betrothed to her for a while. ✿ Like yeah, he’d be a little disappointed, but this is the woman he’s going to spend the rest of his or her life with and will (hopefully) be the mother of his children, so he’d rather start the marriage off on the right foot. Plus that means he gets to be the one to undress her and she can undress him, so his disappointment would be short-lived. He’s a product of the culture he’s been raised in, but Gwayne is a kind person beneath it. ✿ He would tease her though, once they were alone. As he unlaced her gown, he would be saying “Oh? So you didn’t want anyone seeing this, hm? These? They’re magnificent.” while cupping your breasts and teasing your nipples.

✿ “Perhaps it is for the best… the whole of the Seven Kingdoms would be beside themselves with envy. The women for your beauty and the men because you are mine.” ✿ He’d be laying the charm on thick, focusing on easing your worries and making you feel more comfortable. ✿ Now, if all things go according to custom and you do not outwardly express the wish to forgo the ceremony, things would play out very differently. ✿ Regardless, Gwayne would still want first rights to his wife, so as his arm is grabbed by the nearest woman, he’d reach over with his free hand to undo the top lace of your wedding gown, grinning cheekily before he’s pulled away from you. ✿ Like Aegon, he would find a majority of the bawdy jokes amusing (the Hightower big cock jokes write themselves), laughing and shaking his head as they were spouted towards the two of you. He would raise his brow at the more outlandish ones, though he would have his own responses for anything he found too degrading towards you (degrading even by Westeros standards, at the very least). ✿ “Be gentle with my bride,” he would warn if he noticed the men getting a bit too rough with you. Though he would veil it with a lighthearted tone, there would be a layer of seriousness that made itself known. He wouldn’t want them ripping your gown off in their haste to undress you. Gwayne would want you treated delicately. ✿ There is a good chance that you were a virgin, being of noble birth, so Gwayne would be aware that you were likely nervous about the act itself. He would want to make you giggle, kissing your neck while his fingers danced across your stomach. ✿ He might scoff at some of the suggestions your drunken guests shout through the door, but he’d still find most of them amusing. “Ridiculous. Do they think you’re a wooden doll to be bent every which way? Though…” (He secretly stores some suggestions in his mind for when you’re more experienced).

[macksartblock]

So I actually forgot to draw anything yesterday for my birthday bc I rewatched Catching Fire so uhhh

Unfinished small dads and fathers I wish to shove off a building

[chalkrub]

more svanhildr - trying new things, like a brave boy

[pricetagged]

Someone has surely suggested a 'The Menu' AU with Simon as the head chef? No? I feel like he's the perfect candidate.

Butcher turned-cook-turned-chef. He could never be described as friendly, as a well-socialised wheel in the kitchen machine, but he is good at his craft. Respects it. Only somewhere along the line, he ends up serving the kind of people he wouldn't spit on if they were on fire. Stupid, deconstructed fine-dining bullshit that he hates, but that he can serve and charge a three-digit figure.

And so, he chugs along. Makes a name for himself and builds a clientele. They're all abuz with the mystery of the chef - always in a mask. All in black from head to toe. They titter at his gruff comments and flat jokes - 'he's such an interesting character! Part of the atmosphere of the restaurant'; a little thrill born of his dead eyes and silent kitchen.

He finds it infuriating - and infuriatingly boring. So, he invites some guests to an undisclosed location for a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience. They actually pay to be black-bagged and taken there - to eat crumbs of 'gourmet' cuisine in an old industrial factory. 'Such an interesting commentary on the cycles of production and consumption!' Makes him scoff.

And then you come along as an unauthorised plus one.

[ramblesbiab]

My biggest problem with Hitman content on YouTube is that everyone always skips over caring about the story, meaning I bought the game expecting to only care about the gameplay.

And then it hit me with a story about self-identity and purpose which resonated so much that I can't stop thinking about it. Everything about 47 and Diana's journey is a brilliant escalation, one about the realization that even though Diana is slowly bringing out 47's ability to feel again, she's still continuing the cycle of him being used and controlled. It hit me right in the chest when 47 is doing his second mission without Diana, and repeats her line "I'll leave you to prepare" to Olivia. To see a cold-blooded assassin miss his one friend in the world, to see how worried he becomes when she's present for his next mission.

And damn, the way scene where they dance together was perfect, because you can just tell that the betrayal is coming. It almost feels like a premature goodbye. Diana cares deeply for 47 after all this time, and that's why she knows she has to let him go. It's not truly a betrayal - it's mercy.

When he takes out The Constant and goes off his own, they leave things a bit vague, but I love it. It doesn't matter who Diana is now, because her and 47 aren't together anymore. He's on his own, and while he's continuing the path The Constant taunted him for being stuck in, it's different. He makes the choices now. He works for himself.

I teared up watching him smile while talking to Diana. Agent 47, the cold blooded killer, is finally allowed to feel, to grow as a person, because he's free. It's the best conclusion I could've asked for.

The gameplay is amazing, obviously, but I wish less people ignored the story behind it all. I haven't even touched on Providence or Lucas Grey, which are both excellent in their own rights.

Maybe I'll touch more on those another time. I'm tired lol

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[lazylittledragon]

Your novel excerpts are incredible and I would love to see more. The warmth and care you put into it shines through and I just want more of it!

On a side note, incredibly unfair that you can draw AND write so masterfully. A true power house, haha.

aaAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH :'DDD

as a treat you can have some more akdffd

if the main plot is 'Fantasy Murder Mystery' then the biggest subplot is probably 'Snow is Not Doing Well'

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[notbecauseofvictories]

sometimes I think they put some sort of...aural drug in mediocre movies. If I played all these thoroughly middling movies in reverse, would I hear a satanic message telling me, YOU WILL BE TEMPTED BEYOND ALL REASON TO WRITE FANFIC ABOUT---YES, THE MOVIE YOU HALF-WATCHED WHILE COOKING AND ANSWERING EMAILS. YES. YES, I---YES, I'M SERIOUS. YES, THIS MOVIE. THE CHARACTERIZATION OR LACK THEREOF MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. UH HUH. MHM. YEP. LOOK, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES, I JUST WORK HERE OKAY?

[trensu]

Guess who's baaaaack! It's me, I'm back to writing. My laptop when kaput back in May and I've only recently gotten a replacement. In celebration of this, here's more of stasis in darkness. Enjoy :)

.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said. 

“Years? But, why would you want–? I’m–I’m no one, Lord.”

“Don’t say that.”

The god’s voice hadn’t gotten louder, yet his words carried a force that made the room tremble. The air became heavy with it. Wayne’s breathing grew haggard under the pressure of the words. Steve tossed out any idea of false privacy and crossed the room in a few steps to kneel at the other side of the bed. He took Wayne’s free hand to anchor him. Wayne didn’t so much as twitch in his direction but his knuckles went white as he gripped Steve’s hand.

“You gave me your spoils and your stories every night. I felt your love in every word you spoke to me. You’re the reason I’ve been able to exist this long. Wayne Munson, you are the most important person in the world to me."

Wayne let out a wordless cry. The hand in Steve's shook. Steve viscerally remembered how it felt to have the god’s attention like that for the first time. He also remembered how guilty the god sounded after he realized the effect he had on mortals. With a slight grimace, Steve discreetly nabbed the Lord of Night's attention. 

"I think that was a little too much," Steve suggested cautiously in a low tone barely audible over Wayne's sobs. "Maybe dial it back a little?"

The Lord of Night nodded abashedly. When he spoke again, the pressure in his speech noticeably lessened though the love in his words remained.

“So, you see, I needed to meet you in person. To thank you.”

The last part made Wayne weep louder. The grip he had on Steve’s hand increased in strength, and Steve was sort of relieved Wayne was an old man because even this frail, his hands were pretty damn strong. If he’d been any younger, Steve would’ve had bruises for sure. The god waited patiently as Wayne collected himself.

“My Lord, y-you–” Wayne gasped as his crying subsided. “I don’t deserve–”

“Wayne, you crazy old man, are you going to argue with your god?” the Lord of Night said in the same teasing tone he used with Steve all those nights in his pilgrimage. Wayne’s eyes widened.

“N-No! I’d never–!”

The god laughed, playful and bright as a star. Wayne halted his protests to stare in awe again. 

“You know, I usually encourage a bit of dissent but this time, I’m putting my foot down. You do deserve this, okay?”

Wayne nodded dazedly. He still watched the god with soft, warm eyes. His hand twitched in Steve’s as if he wanted to reach up to touch the god. Steve loosened his grip to allow it but Wayne didn’t follow through with the motion.

“...you remind me of someone,” Wayne whispered. The Lord of Night tilted his head curiously.

“Do I?” he asked. At Wayne’s nod, he added, “I hope it’s someone good. I know what people say about me these days, and let me tell you, it’s not super flattering. King of Darkness this and monster herder that, blah, blah, mean and scary, blah.”

“I know better than to pay any mind to hearsay,” Wayne replied. "I’ve found that most people are fools, my Lord." 

The Lord of Night laughed again. Wayne looked delighted. 

The rest of the night continued along the same line. The Lord of Night listened eagerly to Wayne’s every word as he reminisced about past heists and recalled fond childhood memories. Steve kept to himself, for the most part, letting the Lord of Night and his last believer bask in each other’s presence. Wayne stayed awake as long as he could but finally fell asleep as dawn approached. The Lord of Night began to fade as the first rays of the morning peeked through the bedroom window.

“Watch over him for me, please?” the Lord of Night asked Steve. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“Of course, Lord,” Steve replied. 

The sun broke past the horizon and the Lord of Night vanished. Steve took the stone from the bedside table. He wrapped it up carefully in cloth before returning it to his satchel. That level of care probably wasn’t necessary considering it was solid stone but it was the only thing they knew would keep the god tethered to this plane so far from his last shrine. Steve was charged with carrying his god's tether and he would not let him down by being careless with it.

It was also the only thing he had been given that belonged to his god. Typically, a holy warrior would be granted a symbol of their faith by a temple priest once a god had accepted the holy warrior’s offered service. Most of the time it would be a simple pendant or bracelet with a god’s sigil; a mass produced thing any follower could obtain, the only difference being that a holy warrior’s token would carry a particular blessing from the high priest. A holy warrior would carry that as a sign of their commitment until they’ve earned a more prestigious item to replace it during their years of service.

Steve’s journey so far has been as atypical as it could get. Most warriors traveled to their god's grandest temple. They recited that god's specific prayer for a holy warrior's offering, witnessed by a high priest who would then reveal whether the offering was accepted. Steve's god had no official prayers of any sort, much less temples or clergy. Steve's god couldn't really remember his own symbol aside from a vague outline of it; not nearly enough for it to be inscribed on even the simplest of tokens. 

Regardless, Steve wouldn't trade his experience for anything. Most holy warriors toiled for years, even decades, before getting a chance to meet their god. Steve met his god nearly at the beginning though he hadn't known it at the time. He'd been able to see him and speak to him. Steve’s humble offering of servitude had been accepted directly by his god rather than by priestly proxy. So what if his god wasn't able to grant him a token for his pledge? His presence was a privilege Steve would take over any boon.

It was a sentiment Steve knew Wayne understood. Steve scooted his chair closer to the bed where the old man lay sleeping. He wrapped a hand around Wayne's wrist to track his weak pulse, and settled in for his vigil.

–

Steve woke Wayne a handful of times to make sure he drank some water or ate some of the vegetable soup Steve had thrown together using whatever he’d picked from the garden the day before. They chatted for a while; Wayne telling Steve about his life before age and sickness caught up to him. Eventually, Steve was able to coax him back to sleep when it became obvious his energy was fading.

At some point in the day, Wayne’s temperature began to rise. Nothing worrisome yet, but dread trickled into Steve’s veins regardless. The old man had been fighting whatever ailed him for a while now. If a fever overcame him, Steve doubted Wayne would survive it.

When the Lord of Night appeared alongside the fading sunset, he seemed as worried as Steve. Wayne sat in bed, propped up by pillows Steve had strategically placed. His eyes were rheumy but steady.

“You’ve seen the Door already, haven’t you?” the Lord of Night asked Wayne dejectedly.

Wayne’s gaze strayed from the god. He glanced at the corner opposite of the bedroom door. His hands shook as he tried to point that direction. Steve didn't see any door there. The god took Wayne's hand between his own, tangible to his last believer even as he appeared more translucent than the night before.

“It showed up earlier today,” Wayne whispered. The god nodded.

“You don’t have to answer yet, but soon. Once you go through the Door, you’ll be in Death's domain. No god is allowed to enter there besides him. I would have lost my chance to meet you if we’d been delayed any longer.”

“Good thing you have Ser Steve. He got you here real quick from what he told me,” Wayne said with a crooked smile.

“Has he been talking himself up?” the god asked amusedly. “Trying to impress the boss?”

“It’s my first quest,” Steve butted in with mild exasperation borne of embarrassment. He hadn’t expected Wayne to mention him at all during his communion with the Lord of Night. “I have to make a good impression.”

“To make up for the first impression, huh?” the Lord of Night teased. 

Oh no, Steve thought when he caught Wayne’s curious look. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. That would be childish. Steve was a man so he was above that, unfortunately.

“Wayne,” the Lord of Night said with palpable mischief. “In exchange for all the stories you’ve given me these many years, what if I told you how I got my very first holy warrior?”

“I didn’t know better,” Steve groaned weakly in an effort to stop the story before it began in earnest. The Lord of Night made a shushing motion in his direction. 

“It would be a privilege, Lord,” Wayne said with matching mischief.

“Settle in, my loyal follower, and listen closely,” the Lord of Night began with exuberance. “I call this tale The Trial of Nine Nights.”

The rest of the night, the god recounted Steve’s pilgrimage. The way he told it painted Steve as some sort of gallant hero. It was suspenseful and whimsical. It didn’t sound like Steve’s experience at all. Yet every word was true, told with a flair that Steve himself would never have imagined. Wayne had hung on his god’s every word, despite the sporadic interruptions caused by coughing fits.

“The way you tell stories…” Wayne said faintly between coughs as the story wound to an end. “You…really do remind me of…someone. My little starmaker*. He was…” His voice trailed off weakly as he tried to catch his breath again.

“Rest now. Tell me about him tonight, Wayne,” the Lord of Night commanded as he disappeared with the arrival of dawn.

Wayne’s temperature seemed to climb with the sun. Steve did what he could to help. He stripped the bed of blankets and draped cold, damp towels over Wayne’s brow. More than once Wayne had asked Steve to answer the door.

“Someone’s knocking,” Wayne insisted.

“I’ve checked already,” Steve lied. He hadn’t heard a single knock all day, much less one coming from the very door-less spot Wayne kept indicating. “No one’s there.”

Wayne drifted in and out of a restless slumber. Despite Steve’s efforts, the fever had not lowered by nightfall. The Lord of Night paced at the foot of Wayne’s bed with a caged restlessness. Wayne had yet to wake up. 

“I don’t think he’s going to make it. Can you do anything for him?” Steve asked, hesitantly. “You came here to help him, didn’t you?”

“No,” the Lord of Night said shortly. “I can’t. I’m not a god of medicine. I’m not a healer.”

Each word was said with increasingly helpless frustration.

“I’m not strong enough to calm his dreams. I can’t ease his pain,” the Lord of Night said angrily. “At this rate, I won’t even be able to apologize to him.”

“Apologize for what?” Steve asked incredulously. Steve’s question went unheard. The Lord of Night tugged at his hood as if trying to hide his not-face. He gave up his pacing and slumped defeatedly on the chair beside Wayne’s bed.

“His family has sustained me for so long. He’s so devoted to me, and I keep failing him,” the god said, voice thick with shame. The brooding silence that followed was unlike the Lord of Night’s usual demeanor.

Steve wanted to protest the god’s claim. He was tempted to ask why the god believed he’d failed his last follower. Steve had seen people who’ve scorned and rejected their gods for a multitude of reasons. Wayne had not behaved like any of those people. Wayne had been so happy to see the god, Steve couldn’t imagine Wayne wanting an apology of any sort.

Before Steve could steel himself to ask, Wayne finally stirred awake.The Lord of Night straightened and drew the chair closer to his last follower. Steve situated himself near the corner Wayne had claimed to see a door. There wasn’t anything Steve could realistically achieve by placing himself between Wayne and the unseen door. When Death’s Door knocked, there was nothing a mortal being could do to keep it from opening. Regardless, Steve hoped he could provide some semblance of comfort by standing guard. 

Wayne’s eyes were glassy. He lay limp and disoriented, making not a sound outside his labored breathing. Neither the Lord of Night nor Steve spoke. Steve didn’t want to startle the man nor bring his attention to the unseen door. After a few minutes, Wayne finally noticed his bedside companion. 

“You,” he croaked in a daze. “I know you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The somber tone went unnoticed by Wayne whose entire face brightened with an unexpected joy. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said shakily. 

“What?”

“Eddie, you’re here,” Wayne said with more love and joy than Steve had ever heard from another person. He felt a momentary flash of envy that someone could hold another so dear, before it hit him that Wayne was speaking to the Lord of Night. The god seemed as dumbstruck as Steve over it.

“Is…is that me?” the Lord of Night asked. The god sounded so young and lost. It reminded Steve of Dustin and his friends when they were small. It inspired all the same protective instincts.

“‘course it’s you, Eddie,” Wayne said fondly. 

“Eddie,” the Lord of Night whispered. “Oh, it is. It is me. I’m here.” 

The words rang through the air. The finality in them nearly deafened Steve. The words were a realization that shifted the entire cosmos. The air he breathed, the light he saw, the very world he perceived had changed fundamentally. It was a change so loud and obvious, Steve was certain every human left on earth and everyone beyond the Door knew it happened. Yet between one blink and the next, the world remained the same as it ever was. Everything that had been still was and would continue to be for as long as the stars burn.

Inexplicably, Steve experienced a bout of vertigo at the shift that had and hadn’t happened. He fought back a wave of nausea that accompanied it.

“Eddie,” Wayne rasped over the rattling of his weak lungs. No longer translucent, the god appeared solid and real in a way he hadn’t even at the shrine where Steve first encountered him. Wayne’s wrinkled hand reached out to gently cup the Lord of Night’s cheek.

"Hey, Uncle Wayne," the Lord of Night said with a new voice. 

"My starmaker, I missed you. So much. But how're you here? You were gone, you di–"

"We didn't want you to be alone," Eddie, Lord of Night, responded thickly, leaning into the hand and covering it with his own.  "We wanted to thank you for taking care of us all these years."

"Don’t,” Wayne wheezed, teary. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Eddie. You deserved so much more than your pa or me ever gave you."

"No! No, Uncle Wayne, don't apologize," he said earnestly. "You were perfect. You gave us a home when pa died. We were so little and you protected us. You loved us. That's all we ever wanted."

“Oh, Eddie,” Wayne said in a heartbroken rasp. “That damn door’s been knocking all day. Who'll take care of you when I'm gone, Eddie?" 

"Don't you worry about that, Uncle Wayne. Steve's gonna look after me.”

“Are you sure?”

The Lord of Night took off his hood and turned back to look at Steve for the first time since he sat himself at Wayne’s side. All the air left Steve’s lungs in one fell swoop. His god had a face.

His god was beautiful.

The Lord of Night’s skin remained pale, providing a stark contrast to his large, dark brown eyes glittered with bittersweet joy and sorrow. His lips, full and a soft shade of pink, were pulled into a wide, mischievous grin that dimpled his cheeks. His dark eyebrows were almost hidden under wild curls. His hair draped over the slope of his shoulders and matched his eyes wonderfully.

Steve willed himself to stay steadfast and strong under the god’s gaze. The Lord of Night’s grin twisted a bit as if he wasn't entirely pleased by what he saw. The nausea from before came back because Steve knew what people looked like when he'd disappointed them. As usual, he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He already promised,” Eddie, the Lord of Night, said. He turned back to Wayne and gently wiped the sweat off the old man's brow. 

“Good,” Wayne said with a. “You need someone takin’ care of you, the way you get in trouble all the time.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Eddie said with a watery smile. After a pause, Eddie continued reluctantly. “Uncle Wayne, if you need to answer the Door, you can. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Wayne murmured. “I’m tired, Eddie.”

“You won’t be for long, I promise, just answer the Door.”

Wayne’s breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed. Eddie clung to his hand until it went lax. A choked sound escaped him when Wayne’s breathing stopped. Steve instinctively stepped forward to comfort him but Eddie abruptly stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. He whirled around and stumbled towards the empty space Steve left behind. 

“You better take care of him. Wayne is a good man, he’s earned–” Eddie said to…the wall? But stopped and reeled back. His mouth curved down in a scowl. Eddie’s eyes were dark and glowering as he stared at something there that Steve himself could not see.

“Oh, fuck you, I know I can’t do anything to you but–”

Eddie stopped again. He looked like he wanted to punch something. Or someone?

“I just want to know that he’ll be happy and saf–hey, asshole, I’m still talking you, don’t you dare– FUCK,” Eddie shouted at nothing. He panted in anger. Steve cleared his throat.

“My Lord?”

“I forgot how much of a dick he is. It’s not like I was asking for details! I don’t fucking care what’s past his stupid Door. It’s not a crime to want your family to, like, go somewhere good after. He could’ve just said yes or no!” Eddie ranted.

“My Lord, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh,” Eddie paused. “Right. You wouldn’t. And you shouldn’t. Not yet. Not for a long time, hopefully.”

------

*starmaker - so this is a reference to some lore i dropped in the previous scene during some edits I made after I had posted it on tumblr. basically, the legend explains why bedtime stories are a thing and that the lord of night creates a star for every story that impresses him. a really good book or author will get called a starmaker, though to the general population it's just a thing people say to denote greatness in stories without context of where the saying came from.

------

and now we're all caught up with what i've written so far, wow! but don't worry, i still have plenty more to write, stay tuned.

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[chaoticallyfluffy]

Ok consider:

A new hero emerges and the Justice League watches him for a while who make sure he’s not a threat. They see this giant clumsy man who moves like he’s not used to his body, smiles goofily every time he saves someone, and is clearly inexperienced with his powers and they’re all just like. Ah. This is a child.

Except they don’t think he’s a ten year old or however old Billy is at the time, no no. Clearly this hero came into existence shortly before his first appearance, just a few months ago. They don’t know how or why but It’s not the weirdest thing they’ve seen so it’s pretty easy to believe.

But they can’t just leave this toddler with the powers of a god to stumble around and potentially hurt someone by accident, nor go down the wrong path and become a villain. So of course they decide to ‘subtly’ guide him without alerting him to the fact they’re onto him.

They introduce themselves but instead of inviting him to the league they pop by every once in a while to ‘subtly’ teach him about responsibility and power, but also about love and humanity. They try to teach him to enjoy life and that he doesn’t have to act like an adult around them, instead encouraging him to enjoy his childhood even if it’s not an ordinary one.

(Too bad the Justice League suck at subtlety.)

Billy is certain they somehow found out he’s a kid before they even met him, probably because of Batman’s freaky know-it-all powers, but he isn’t very worried as they seem nice and don’t treat him like he’s dumb or fragile. They respect him as a hero despite his age so he lets himself act like a kid around them after a while.

When he gets comfortable enough to detransform Billy thinks that’s his identity reveal. The league thinks that he magicked himself a body that’s more of a representation of his true self and fits his developmental age better, possibly as a way to blend in with humans and experience what it’s like to be a normal child. Good for him!

Basically Billy gets a bunch of super powered parents and the Justice League get a newborn man that they think they’re raising from scratch lol

[towerofluin]

C’mon Raph, don’t noogie the elderly

(Or: finally, communication)