#or know of one that already exists?

[deep-sea-anemone]

Thinking about starting a discord specifically for One Piece fan authors/artists. Like, a place to bounce ideas around/share WIPS and get feedback.

Would anyone be interested?

[problemnyatic]

when will we talk about the willful helplessness epidemic on here. So many people on this god forsaken website demand to have any and all things that exist outside their personal experiences directly, personally pre-chewed and spoonfed to them. And when you do, they'll then ask for you to swallow for them, too, because, you see, in THEIR experience..,

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side

[egophiliac]

YOU MANIFESTED THE TWEEL CARDS CONGRATS

YOU'RE WELCOME EVERYBODY!

seriously though I was probably like. 60-80% thinking we'd get at least one tweel for chapter 10. but I was NOT expecting it so soon! both of 'em! in August! a shame we're not getting a Coral Sea event after all...but I guess I can be resigned to that and ALSO excited for getting shiny sparkly glowing(!!!!) mertwins along with Azul fighting his inner demons and going right for the eyes! AHHHH I CAN'T WAIT

(also heeeey I recognize that rowboat... 👀)

[newgroundstier]

peace and love on spaceship lost light :)

[moongothic]

Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.

At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little

You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)

Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right

So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?

Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)

Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)

Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass

Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)

My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?

Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO

So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.

Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.

Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))

But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...

Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.

But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.

But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)

Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.

The only question is, how would Robin take that?

Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good

So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.

Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.

And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.

What's she going to do?

EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy

[fuupan]

drew these for heart pirates day and uhhhh ep1115

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

putting my prediction on record now that the coming decade is going to see the rise of viral-marketed fancy at-home water filtration systems, driving and driven by a drastic reduction in the quality of U.S. tap water (given that we are in a 'replacement era' where our current infrastructure is reaching the end of its lifespan--but isn't being replaced). also guessing that by the 2030s access to drinkable tap water will be a mainstream class issue, with low-income & unstably housed people increasingly forced to rely on expensive bottled water when they can't afford the up-front cost of at-home filtration--and with this being portrayed in media as a "moral failing" and short-sighted "choice," rather than a basic failure of our political & economic systems. really hope i'm just being alarmist, but plenty of this already happens in other countries, and the U.S. is in a state of decline, so. here's praying this post ages into irrelevance. timestamped April 2023

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.

[magicpiano]

DCxDP AU: The Ultimate Enemy + The Flash

One of the speedsters (doesn't matter which really) is one of the few survivors of the apocalypse and he just figured out who Phantom is. He can save the world, all he has to do is go back in time and kill Danny Fenton.

Which seems like a great idea, right up to the point where he finds Danny and realizes he is just a 14 year old kid......

[silkenwinger]

daimon

mdni. ancient greece AU. princess!reader x guard!ghost. heavily inspired by antigone (but it ends well :)). 7k. tw for suicide attempt, maybe slight dubcon (mention of wine drank before sex)

The room was cold as you finished fastening your black peplum. It had been a cold autumn, mountain winds bruising sore skin. It was the autumn your life ended.

Your brother. So brave. You remembered running with him among the olive trees and tripping on the roots as you trailed him. Your mother had yelled at you so much you remembered the sting of the tears on your cheek.

But you had grown. Your father, the king, dead by the plague by spring, followed by your frail mother. Your brother away east. When he’d returned along with his men, he found the city he was supposed to lead in the hands of the most powerful merchant, a man as crooked as rich. We thought he was dead, said the men of the city. Lost in the barren hell of the east, gone for too many years. And when he tried to enter the city, he was met with violence and bronze. As expected, your brother did not lie down, but fought to retake the throne. He now laid in the place he died still, eaten by vultures and dogs alike. His soul stuck between the living and the dead, forever restless.

Profane he was taking something that was not his, and profane he was not burying your brother. 

“I’ve decided, then. Take care.”

Your dearest maid, her loyalty unmatched, did not comprehend.

“Princess, you must stop this talk at once!” She cried, clutching at your vest. “You know The Shepherd is a cruel man, but you will marry his son. Going against the decree…”

You scoffed. Being kin with that monster would be worse than being dead.

“I no longer care about marrying. Honoring my brother is more important,” you brushed your hand against her thin shoulder, and moved away, but with pain. No time for lost love.

“I have been wearing the black for half a year. Did you know? The moment I heard my brother was alive, I cried real tears of joy. I would no longer be alone in the world.” You sat down on your wooden couch, looking down. “And two nights later he is dead. I never even got to see his face again.” If you strained your memories, you could make out a ghost of a smile, of a laugh, but you couldn’t be certain they were his.

“The King is unfair, that much is true,” mumbled your maid, “but you go against certain death. The law says it, anyone who buries your brother is to be stoned in the square!”

“I know,” you looked up to see her shocked face, “so I heard.”

She cried then, howling. Her grief for you moved the strings of your heart, but did not dissuade you. You died the other day: your last act would be making sure you could see your brother in Hell, along with your parents. Hooding yourself, you left your room, the only place in the palace you could still call yours, by the lesser known way, one that passed through a less surveilled zone of the palace.

He looked old. No, not old: older, his skin worn by the sun. Tall, and strong, and dead. You remembered well– he smiled like that, a lightning bolt in the fair weather. 

Hurried, you acted fast. You covered his body with a thin layer of dust. That is enough, for now, you thought, as you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

The path you took made sure you were hidden from the guards. You wondered how many of them saw your brother grow, train and live: and how could they bear to leave him there, alone and doomed. 

The darkness of the road calmed you. The sting of the broken law was nothing compared to the peace you felt inside. 

But the sting of the hand grabbing your arm was real. A tall shadow made it so you couldn't move.

“What are you doing here?” Asked the Ghost, one of the main palace guards. A real enigma, that one. He did not recognise you immediately, hidden as you were. But your voice would tell on you. Perhaps, at the start, you could have wanted to do what you did without being discovered, but you had changed your mind. You did not care for the Shepherd’s decision.

“I was just doing my daily offering at the temple,” you told him, and his eyes, the only visible part of his face, widened in recognition. He then started glaring at you, obvious suspicion brewing.

“At this time and alone? It is unsafe for you.” 

“Should I have left the house in the daylight so close to my brother’s death?”

He remained silent at your response. The Ghost never saw or knew your brother– you wouldn’t blame him if he had only distaste for his attack on the city. He was probably only an enemy to him, and not the boy who giggled at the comedies and puppet shows.

The Ghost had arrived in the city around four years before. Immediately, he’d attracted the attention of everyone, men and women, for the mask he wore on his face and his mysterious attitude. No one knew where he came from, or how he really was called, and would answer only to Ghost. His accent had been weird, and his behavior even more so. Whispers said he was a barbarian driven away from his country for having killed too many. His ruthlessness was legendary: he’d torn apart limbs and eyes of the few criminals that dared venturing into your palace. They even called him a demon that fed on his victims' souls. You had never spoken, but you’d seen him around, mostly guarding your father’s rooms, now occupied by the Shepherd. What was he doing outside, too, for that matter.

“Will you kindly let me go, now?” You tugged your arm away, but he did not relent.

“I ought to bring you back.” You just looked up at him then, at his unreadable eyes, and nodded, resigned.

The walk was silent, but not unpleasant. You kept thinking about what you’d done and oscillating between being proud and feeling an overwhelming distress inside of you. The Ghost kept at your back, his steps more silent than yours despite the difference in sizes.

“Good night then. Do not leave the house unaccompanied,” he made sure to reprimand as he left you at your door. You shrugged: leaving it accompanied meant worse for you.

Four nights after his death, your brother still laid in the dust. You could not be placated along with the pain in your chest. The guards, noticing the thin layer of earth on the corpse, had reported to the Shepherd that someone had attempted to bury your brother, thus breaking the law. 

It is clear, you thought. You will die either way, inside your room or stoned to death: you might as well bury your brother properly. That time, your maid didn’t even cry: she had resigned herself as well.

They grabbed you while your back was to them, crouching on the corpse. The Ghost stood tall behind the guards: you locked eyes with him and could not tell what he was thinking. Was he maybe regretting not arresting you the first time he found you outside?

Once you were brought to your feet, he made a soundless gesture, and the other guards offered you to him. He grabbed you then, alone, and started dragging you to the palace.

The Shepherd, your father’s successor, had no regard for you. Despite being betrothed to his son before your father even passed, he made no qualms about taking what was your brother’s by right, and would not hesitate sending you to your death. 

“Come, girl. It was you, I imagined.” He spoke, up in the throne where your father once sat. The sight filled you with a bright anger, which then turned into muted despair, to end in cold apathy. It was not coming back. It would never come back.

You stood silent in front of a dozen men.

“You know what the price is, do you? I made sure the heralds read the decree many times, right outside here, as well.”

You nodded. The Shepherd tilted his bald head to you, regarding your figure more like an insect than a noble woman. The men of the council, shiveling, cowardly men, murmured at your admission of guilt.

“You broke the law. What made you think you could do that?”

You inhaled then, and made yourself taller. 

“The laws of the gods came before yours. It is wicked not to bury the dead.” The murmuring ceased at your words, an oppressive miasm falling over the room.

“But he declared war on the city. I protected the inhabitants, and you as well.” The Shepherd replied, unbothered. He was well aware he was going against a non written law, but did not care.

“That does not matter to me. I would bury a murderer.”

“And murderer he was, bringing fire and weapons to this peaceful city.” He laughed at you. You felt ire overflowing your judgement.

“How dare you? My brother was the heir to the throne!” You yelled, and the Ghost shaked you hard. You glowered at him and all you got as a reply was a brown eyed glare.

“Your brother was a fool, who ignored your poor father’s requests to return several times! And this,” he clutched the scroll, “declares me as the heir to the King!” 

You shook your head. Your father had been less lucid the last years of his life, and even cussed out your brother for not returning from his childish dreams of conquering. But he'd never make the Shepherd his heir: he even confessed to you he couldn't stand the man. 

“I do not accept you as King of the city. That is the truth of it.” You tried to keep a steady voice, but you were trembling. The hold on your shoulders got tighter. Why was the Ghost clutching you so severely? He couldn’t possibly be afraid for you: maybe his loyalty to the Shepherd was such that he’d kill you yourself.

The men of the council, men who had seen you grow, looked pale in the dim light of the morning. How long had you been outside? You felt like you’d seen your brother for only a second.

“I see, then,” spoke the Shepherd, as he rose from the throne. 

“You’ve decided to declare yourself an enemy of this state, as your brother before you. The sentence for going against the edict is stoning.” First rose muttering, and then louder voices, and then shouts. The vile men protested, outraged, but the Shepherd shot them down with a steady hand.

“As the past princess of this city, and betrothed to my son, I ought to not expose you with such an execution. See how they cry for you still? Would they hold the same respect for you had you been a thief, a conman? Yet you are guilty to the same degree.”

“That is not true!” Cried a voice, close or far. “She committed a sacred act!”

“Who dares go against me!” Shouted the Shepherd, but no one showed their face. He made an hissing noise then, red in the face.

“All that break the laws must be punished. How else are we supposed to live civilly?” He then moved his gaze back to you.

“I condemn you to be walled alive, and your brother will stay unburied until his bones turn to dust. His body will feed the soil of this splendid city.” 

This is it, then. The rest of your days. The shame of disrobing did not fall on you, yet. This would be your salvation from starving. The damp cave amplified the sound of all of your actions. Biting the gentle cloth, you tore a strip of the fabric from your skirt, testing its resistance. As you calculated the distance between the ground and the wooden rod on the cave ceiling, you heard steps approaching. The door, that could only be opened from outside, revealed two tall figures, dressed in typical military garb. The Ghost, clad in his dark attire, got closer to you, sword in hand. Ah. That was it, then. 

“Have you come to kill me yourself, then?” You told him. He said nothing, just got even closer, long strides and deadly silent. He grabbed you, again, and you let yourself be taken. The other guard, with piercing blue eyes, just looked at the Ghost with a doubting expression. The Ghost started dragging you out of the corridor, and that was when you pointed your feet down, tears filling your eyes.

“What is going on? I won’t be shamed now. I’ve already been condemned.” You cried, afraid. More afraid now than when you were going to hang yourself, for your hand would be merciful, but the Ghost’s wouldn’t. He stopped then, and looked in your eye. He seemed weirdly reluctant.

“Keep quiet, now. You won’t die today.” Unintelligently, you muttered your surprise. The Ghost started dragging you along again, the other guard becoming smaller and smaller in your view.

You walked, and walked, and walked through the night and the city and the fields. Exhausted, you had to stop often, even for just a moment. The Ghost looked at you with distaste then, like he regretted ever taking you away from your attempt at your life.

“You can’t even walk a mile without bending on yourself,” he spit out. For his indecency and rudeness, you struck him across the face, hand making contact with the black muslin of his mask. The slap barely moved him and he growled, and you expected him to finally retaliate and penetrate you with his sword. But he just turned on himself and started walking again.

“If you had told me where you’re taking me, I would not have struck you,” you tried to bargain. He sighed then, clearly thinking you insufferable.

“You have allies in the city. As the true King’s daughter,” you gasped at his words, tongue curling around the r’s in an odd, mesmerizing way.

“But they all voted in favor of the Shepherd taking power.”

“You know it’s because of the secrets and extortions he has on them. He’s no dearer to them than a tyrant.” You closed your mouth then, pondering. Could the city go back to having a proper king, one that respected the Gods’ laws?

“So you are my friend,” you said simply. He swallowed at that.

“I am… your protector. For the time being.”

You nodded. He, too, was now an enemy of the state, by association.

“I thank you then. Even though I would not have minded joining my family.”

He remained silent at that. A while after, he spoke again.

“We need to stop for a few hours at least. And you’ll need male clothing,” he simply said. You hid in a cave, wider and longer than the one that was supposed to hold you in your death. The Ghost lit up a small fire near the opening, and you watched him as he stroked it, pensive. Perhaps he, too, was thinking about what he left.

“Ghost,” you called, tone uncertain, “can I call you that?”

He nodded without taking his eyes off the fire.

“How… What is going on back home? Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he replied to your second question. “As for back home, we placed a corpse in your place to give us a head start.”

“Someone else died for me,” you whispered, upset in your soul. You had been ready to kill yourself.

“He was already dead,” spoke the Ghost, weirdly demure. “One dead instead of two.”

“But…”

“Enough of that. You do not deserve to die for burying your brother. It is as simple as that.” You were stunned into silence by the determination of his words. So far, you’d thought he was only hired to do what his employer asked him. But now, you saw he agreed with your stance. For some reason, you felt pride in yourself bloom.

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“I know a place,” he said, “where you won’t be found.”

Something moved in your heart, again. He was being remarkably gentle for a butcher.

You fell asleep some time after, warmed by the fire. 

When you woke up, Ghost was nowhere to be seen. You looked deeper in the cave, but made your way back when you couldn’t see the light anymore. When you reached the entrance again, you heard someone call your name. 

“Come, then,” Ghost told you as you made your way down the cave’s entrance, back to more stable terrain and the spare tree. A small river ran to the side of the plain. Ghost was clutching a leather bag, ruffling around it crudely. His eyes could have almost betrayed embarrassment. 

“I know nothing of princesses’ dresses. Will this suffice?” He held up a man’s tunic, to which you raised an eyebrow. The Ghost was an odd fellow, and you’d be indebted to him for the rest of your life. That didn’t mean you would understand all of his actions.

“You told me yourself I had to dress like a man.”

“True. I was rude about it.” Your eyebrow raised even higher. An apology… or a statement as close to it as possible. You didn’t think the city’s terror was even capable of that.

“No, you were right. I will change.” You grabbed his offering with shaking hands. Once you’d switched your black clothes for the off white tunic behind the tree, you tried to look at your figure in the stream’s reflection. There was little difference between men and women’s clothes, besides the face that your lower legs were now exposed. You’d wear your hood to conceal your female face, but also your upper body. You tugged at the Ghost’s wrist. He looked at you then, dragging his eyes from your face to your feet. You felt an odd sensation making its way up your back.

“Shall we go then?”

“Yes.”

You walked in the market, among the people and the animals. It was weird to not open a road every time you showed in a public place: and even weirder to walk side to side with a man. You looked up at Ghost, again, and you found him inspecting the surroundings with thin eyes.

“Are you hungry?” He asked you, like a wet nurse might ask her toddler. The image of the Ghost tending to a small child was so comical, a giggle left your mouth. You were quick to shut your mouth, but he caught you anyway. His expression was baffled.

“Yes, I am. Sorry,” you apologised. You had only eaten some bread all day, and maybe the hunger was making you silly. He accosted a stand and bought pears and bread from the farmer, who took a long look at you. Probably wondering why a man would bring his slave boy to the market, you realized with shame, and looked down.

You ate the sweet pears and the bread with the cheese under a tree’s shadow while Ghost kept watch. 

“Would you like to sit?” You asked him politely.

“No.” He simply said, and kept watching the horizon. You sighed into your food. Still alone, but at least not famished. Your march began anew, the male tunic proving itself to be more comfortable. Still, you felt somewhat exposed, especially in Ghost's eyes. Every time you locked eyes, you found yourself looking away first. There was something about this man that left you exposed besides your legs. Like a plow moves the earth.

Did he even sleep? He was awake when you were, and he kept watch when you slept. Later, hidden in another, smaller cave, you voiced your concerns to him. He raised one eyebrow.

“Afraid, princess? That I will fall while I watch you? I’ve been a guard almost longer than you’ve been alive.” You rolled your eyes at his pride and the humorous tone of his voice. Many men’s fall was their excessive confidence.

“Should I not worry for my only companion in life?”

That shut him up quickly. He just regarded you then, shifting on his feet. Clearly uncomfortable with the truth. When he decided to speak again, what he said shocked you most.

“I saw your brother die.”

Hearing a strange noise, only after a second you realised you were the one making it.

“Did you kill him?” You asked, voice tight. Ghost shook his head.

“The Shepherd’s men shot arrows at his back while he was fighting. He was a great warrior.” You sniffed hearing his words. You knew, you knew your brother would fight to his death, you’d seen his ruined body bloated but dressed for war. 

“It’s not honorable. Shooting a man in the back.” He said simply, holding your gaze. His body began to warp and look odd as water filled your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me this,” you whispered, and he nodded, finally sitting next to you. If you dried your tears on his wide shoulder, no one else saw you.

Your journey lasted more days than you imagined. Everytime you asked the question to Ghost, he would only answer soon. He saw you pray at the gods’ altars: Hermes, Artemis, Athena, Zeus. He never prayed himself, or placed offerings that you didn’t tell him to place, which at the start unnerved you and then made you curious.

“Where do you come from?” Your conversations usually started with a question from you and ended with a reply from him. But you didn’t think he was a too dire debate partner, anyway.

“From far away.”

“Stop treating me as if I’m stupid.” You did hate his dismissal ways, sometimes.

“I’m not lying,” he hissed from between his teeth, “I come from so far away, I wouldn’t even know how to go back home.” That intrigued you. The twists and turns of his journey would surely make for a great story. But you hoped you could arrive at your destination.

“Then we are the same,” you decided to reply, “both without a home.”

He sighed, oddly softly. You thought that was an interesting reaction, and nestled closer to him.

When you were too far away from a market, or from farmers who would sell their fares to Ghost, he would go hunting. You’d beg and beg to let him teach you how to shoot an arrow (you’d always dreamed to be a brilliant hero of the stories), and he always categorically refused to do it. But, extraordinarily, he did teach you something. He taught you briefly how to fish, so long as you had a needle; he taught you what weeds were good to eat. Dirtying your hands felt weird at first, but you were quickly motivated by the pings of hunger in your belly.

Finally, you reached another settlement. Your surprise was evident seeing so many people prepare for a feast. You asked a busy woman what was going on: she looked at you as if you had grown another head, and simply said “the Dionysia”. What joy, then. Drinking, dancing, singing. You hadn’t heard a joyful bard or a musician since before your parents died. Smiling, you turned to your brooding companion.

“Can we stop for the festival, Ghost?” You pled him.

He looked irritated at your request. 

“What will happen if you get recognized, hmm?”

“I am a mere daughter. I’m no danger to whoever sits the city throne now.”

“You can’t rule, that much is true,” he took his big hand and grazed at your belly with the back of his fingers, making your skin goosebump, “but what of the sons of your womb? And what do you think happens in these festivals? You must have seen it too, the men with the courtesans.” You blushed at his implications.

“You… you heathen! Are you not here to protect me?” He scoffed at your protests and at the light punches you threw at his chest, but he paid the inn for the day and you beamed at him. He’d even called you his wife to the innkeeper– the action had made your blood surge, but then you pathetically remembered you could never marry anymore.

You both drank a little, but not too much, you to not get too drunk, him to both integrate and not lose his mind. It was exhilarating, taking part in a feast as a common person and not a noble. Nobody but Ghost was looking at you, and you were free to do as you pleased. Nobody in the village had cared that you were a woman, the people just happy to have two more that would pray for the wellness of the settlement. 

“Should I go dancing?” You asked him, raising to your feet while he kept sitting down.

Incredibly, he laughed. Your mouth hung in awe. It was a husky sound, much like all of him. Immediately, you wanted to hear more.

“Silly girl, you’re dressed as a boy! You’ll look odd, moving to the girls’ dance.” Blushing, you sat back down again. There was so much you didn’t know or you had taken for granted due to your higher position, and Ghost never sweetened the hard truth with honey. As much as the noble girl had died with the rest of your family, this common one wasn’t quite born yet. A warm hand came to hold the back of your neck, gently petting it.

“You looked beautiful dancing at the palace,” you heard his voice low in your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. His mouth, red and soft, was exposed in order for him to drink and eat. “I remember your dress, that summer. Once we arrive, I’ll buy you a similar one.” 

He must have been speaking about the day of your bethronal to the Shepherd’s son, the biggest event you had ever been the protagonist of. You danced for a whole day. What had happened to your betrothed, that older boy? You had no way of knowing, but he didn’t defend you from his father. You knew even back then that he did not like you much, and he was probably ecstatic that you died to the city. 

“Are we close to arriving?” He started petting your cheek then, even brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Yes, very close, sweet thing.” He then blinked and drew away, as if he realised what he was doing. You wished he would keep touching you.

Oh Dionysus, you crazy god. You’ve freed the coldest of men at last, the one barbarian who couldn’t be dissuaded from his duty. 

You saw many peculiar things at the feast. The dances were different from what you were used to, and the plays were even more debouched. The road from your home had been long, and wherever you were, there was no longer any overlap for the princess and the girl. Even Ghost, the one link to your previous life, was no longer a guard, an impersonal male figure that worked for your father: he was a man under your will.

When it was time to leave the party, you did so broken-hearted. The warmth of the people had been a balm to your still hurt heart. And this new side of an intoxicated Ghost intrigued you.

“Oh my,” you said, seeing the inn room had only one, big bed. The headboard was an intricate wickerwork, far more beautiful that a bed from a village inn could hope to be. 

You’d never slept with a man in your bed.

You sent a nervous look to Ghost, who was busy rattling around in his bag. Always bustling, this man.

You could ask him to sleep on the ground, but as you’d been sleeping on grass and rocks for two weeks now, it would be a profoundly impolite gesture.  

You quickly removed your outside layer of clothing, and remained in your small clothes. You approached the bed and slid on it, turning on your elbows. As you settled, you saw Ghost looking up and sending brief glances your way, like he was respectfully gauging the situation.

“Ghost, come sleep next to me.” You felt yourself say. It was very much an alien part of you saying it. Maybe the innermost one.

He swallowed as he stood in front of the bed. Now in the closed, and warm thanks to the fireplace, he removed his mask.

You found yourself looking at his full face for the first time. He did not look like most men did back home, but you perceived his appearance as pleasing nevertheless. His hair was light, spun of gold. What happened next shocked you more, as he began removing the pieces that composed his armor. Ironically, had he been wearing a more simple garb, you would not have had time to elaborate, and you would have panicked. But the necessary time for him to undress allowed to study the man that was about to sleep next to you.

His height often intimidated most: he did not even need to glower at them. Despite his size, you found out he could remove his armor quickly and efficiently, and he did not stumble about even after drinking wine. Of course, you had seen many men in different states of underdressing, as that was the condition in which sports and competitions were taken on. His body was different from the ones of most athletes, but you recognised the build of a hero in it either way. For one, he was covered in hair– fair hair, matching the ones on his head, but so different from the hairless bodies of the oiled runners.This was a body meant to fight and protect, and not to be shown at the circus. Only his jaw was shaved: in a way, he was the complete opposite of the rest of the men of your city.

You smiled at him as he remained in his loincloth, and he sat down at the very opposite edge of the bed.

You had slept by his side many times now. What embarrassed him?

“You can lay down more comfortably.”

“This is improper.”

“Does it matter?” You replied, a bit miffed. “This last month of my life has been improper. You might as well get a good night’s rest.” He turned to glare at you, and that was the first time you locked eyes with him when he was unmasked. Whatever he saw in your expression must have been convincing enough, because he laid down next to you.  

“I so missed a real bed. Haven’t you?” You said to make conversation.

“I lied to you,” he replied. Anxiety rose in you.

“What?”

“There was no employer,” he said, almost hiccupping, hand on his face, “nobody told me to take you away.”

The revelation hit your heart strong, and you turned away from him. 

“Why did you do it, then?” You hummed and he sat up on the bed.

“I couldn’t bear to see you die,” he whispered, now looking at you while you kept your gaze away. “I am no citizen. I live off employment from lords and merchants. I was hired by your father, and I was bound by contract to protect his family.”

“When he died and the Shepherd rose, I could and should have changed city. There was no reason for me to stay there when chaos would rule. But I wanted to keep an eye on you, because you are reckless and too determined.” You spluttered, offended. “Don’t lie, you know it to be true. And I did well, otherwise you would have killed yourself. And what a waste that would have been.” You turned to face him.

“Ghost…”

“There is no grand plan. I wanted to take you to a house I know to be empty, for I killed the owner in the past. And we would live there, and you would be safe.”

“Why “would”? I am coming with you,” you said, very simply. “What else am I supposed to do? Take back my place at the palace? There is nothing dear for me there, besides one or two maids, that I hope are well.” You tentatively got close and raised your arm to brush his cheek, this time. You felt his stubble sting at your fingers. 

“Ghost, from when you took me away, you’ve become my whole family. You are my dead father and mother, my dear brother, and even my future husband. No one else will take me in, orphan and poor as I am. Would you leave me now?”

“No, never,” he hurried to say, and you smiled again. For whatever reason, your loyalty to your family had been rewarded with a loyal stranger.

“Then there is no problem. Would you… would you be my husband then?” He sighed then, long suffering, and he turned to hover over you as his hands came to hold your hips. You yelped, surprised by his speed.

“What are you even saying?”

“You… you said I was your wife to the innkeeper.”

“That was a lie,” he said, pressing an index to your nose, making you laugh, “so that we would be taken in. Should I have said “this is the runaway princess of an important town, and I’m escorting her away from her death”? Hmm? Should I have? You insufferable girl,” he held you close as you laughed and your legs squirmed under him.

“I told you I’m not a princess anymore!”

He scoffed then, but kept you close still even as you wiggled. “What else could you be? Delicate and opinionated as you are. Only a princess with her burly jailer,” he remarked. 

“Jailer? I’ve been freer with you these days than the rest of my life.” You whispered in his ear as you embraced him in your arms. With less commodities, for certain, but free in nature, in the landscapes you observed, in the food you ate and in the company you kept. No man’s law that differed from the gods’ existed here. To think you would have never spoken to Ghost if those great tragedies hadn’t befallen on you.

Because Ghost would never make a move to really connect the two like you ought to be, you decided to take a stand, and brought your lips to his cheek, leaving a chaste kiss there. Spurred by his involuntary purr, you kept kissing him, making your way to his mouth. There, you left a longer kiss, one that confirmed that his lips were, indeed, soft. When you looked at his eyes, you found out they were glazed over, lands away. But you couldn’t be jealous of his memories, because he then started to kiss you in return. At first, with his mouth closed, much like yours: but then his lips started to part, and he began kissing you with his tongue. Taken by surprise, you timidly tried to mimic what he was doing, although this one act was lost in the records chambermaids giggled about. Before long, you kept feeling that weird sensation in your lower body, at the juncture of your legs, the one joked about in the comedies, and you held one shy hand against Ghost’s chest. He immediately withdrew from you, as if burned by your touch.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No… No at all. I feel weird,” you said, and immediately regretted it. Could you be any more fumbling. Ghost breathed hard, his chest grazing yours, and then moved so he would not lay on you anymore.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked you, and you shook your head, your hair brushing against his face. He laughed, softly, and you again felt a sense of pride in making him do so. He began kissing you again, and what joy that was.

The sensation in the middle of your legs was answered when you felt Ghost’s hand slipping under your clothes. Even without seeing, he knew what to do to you: he began tracing your sex, concentrating on the upper side of it, which made you gasp in pleasure. His index then entered you, and you felt your mouth falling open as he muttered encouragement in your temple. Good girl, good girl, he just said, and then he picked up speed and the slick sound of his fingers entering and leaving you made you hide your face in your neck. He kept cooing at you, and everything felt so real, too real, as you felt a burst of energy released inside you, a sensation unlike any other. You panted into his shoulder, shocked. Was this what being married entailed? Suddenly, you were very glad to have asked Ghost to be your husband.

Speaking of which, he moved from your side, and you cried at the loss of warmth and him. He shifted to be on top of you again, and you looked him in the eye from under. He looked very vivid, like the most alive thing you had ever seen in your life. The shadows of the crackling fire played on his hair, and you made yourself even smaller.

“Was it true? What you said.” He asked you. You didn’t even know what he meant in particular, but you had never lied to him, past that one night he encountered you as you fled the scene. You said yes.

“There will be no walking back from this. We will be as good as a real husband and wife after this, do you understand? I won’t let you go–” he choked out the last part, reining in his desperation. You shook your head again.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.” He made another frustrated sound then, and you saw, in the muted light of the room, his hand holding his cock, the sword man penetrates woman with. Now you know your duty begins: the pain and the blood accompanying. But weirdly, unexpectedly, as he entered you you felt only a slight burn, a stretching sensation, but not the horrible pain of hushed stories. And then he started moving, and it was a pleasant feeling, a rocking motion in the arms of the man that had saved you from death. He kept kissing you, and saying the sweetest things– who could have imagined such a brutal warrior, turned into the gentlest, Eros-touched lover? 

His movements never rushed, or hurried to the point where it would hurt, but you could tell he was getting desperate. Just when you thought he would release in you, he moved away, leaving you gaping and cold. He took himself in hand then, and moaned softly as the white seed touched his hand.

“Why didn’t you…” You blushed again, not finishing your phrase. It felt wrong to you that he did not come inside you, but you didn’t quite have the courage to tell him so.

Ghost simply panted and looked at you, at you raising chest, and at your core. He then closed his eyes and released a decisive, deep breath. He fixed himself and held you again in his arms, moving you around as if you were a doll.

“I will do it when we get home.”

The remaining days on the road were a haze of happy memories. You remembered Ghost’s lingering touches, and the warmth of the sun in the middle of the day, happy villages and herds grazing the green grass. Ghost hissing at anyone who asked too many questions, Ghost hunting the hares, Ghost taking you on the woods’ ground, from behind and against the trees, free to mate as much as you wanted, always ready for you. And when you finally reached his home, that grey, desolate thing, the first thing he did was take you in the bed.

“This ought to be repaired,” you told him as you moved around the house and discovered yet another broken tool, or part, and he sighed, long suffering. But then the next day he would get to work, and fix the table, the window, and he bought you a dress that resembled the one you wore on the day of your betrothal, and it was even more special because it came from him.

“Listen here,” he told you one day as he returned from his work, and after you had hugged him to your heart’s content. His tone was guarded and serious as ever.

“I have news. From the city, I mean,” he said, and you nodded at his words. You felt a detachment towards what concerned your old life, besides the memories of your loved ones, but you were still curious.

“The Shepherd is dead.”

“Praise the gods!” You exclaimed. He nodded.

“The council killed him, they say. And the new king is a young hero who fought off invaders from the south. He is missing a wife. You see where I’m going with this?” He asks, tone even but tinged with that insecurity, that slightest fear... You did see it and hate it fiercely. You told him as much.

“I made a promise to you that night. Do you think me that fickle, that I would return to a city that wanted me dead so I could bear legitimate children to a new tyrant?”

He sighed again, lovesick, like he was the maiden taken away and not you. He kissed you and ran his hands into your hair, now long and free. You laid your head on his chest. How could he think you would leave him still? He was the only owner of your heart, your god-sent protector.

You didn’t know what your family would think about you running away with a man who, in the city, would never have had the chance to speak to you first, much less to marry you. But you knew that in your soul, you were living a life true to yourself and the gods. And that much would suffice for the rest of your days.

[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

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[egophiliac]

Where can you play ride kamens? It looks fun looking at your blog but idk where to play

it'll doesn't start until the 30th, but there's some pre-release episodes/character bits that are scattered around the website and twitter! (the links to pre-reg/download are also on the website :D)

honestly I'm really enjoying it just based off of the pre-release stuff, these characters look like they're going to be exactly that blend of ridiculous and emotionally constipated that hits me so right.

[copias-juicebox]

papas famous fan cam moment