#someone write a fanfic or something!

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[legayllyblonde]

drawing i made for a narumitsu fic i’ve been writing for the past couple months! it’s 29k words of phoenix tackling his hardest case yet: getting edgeworth to agree to a pet name. completely finished & uploaded, T-rating, established relationship… link’s here if you're interested, if not, enjoy the sillies!

for venturing under the cut, i reward thee with the title card & section break illustrations! my favorites are the origami family and the popcorn pigeon :P

and finally... tigerworth...

[helixcraft]

the fish that keeps appearing all over my recommended only that he's out of jail and happy

[luvfy0dor]

incest and pedophilia isn't sexy

[cfffrk]

+ little bonus

I think I accidentally created their son instead of Jeeves when I was drawing the first frame😭

[dear-ao3]

I FINALLY REALIZED WHY THIS BLOG SEEMS SO UNCANNILY FAMILAR

ITS BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE A GOD DAMN SITCOM

WHY ARE YOU TWO LIVING OUT A SITCOM???

(/lh /pos)

man if you think this is a sit com you should come hang out in my apartment for a few hours on a weeknight

[joelsflower]

you’re so vain | eddie alden x f!reader

you and eddie are roommates and work at the same newscast… but the news aren’t the only things you’re reporting together.

or

some moments sfw and nsfw between you and your ‘friend’ eddie

warnings: sexual and romantic tension, eddie is a munch, they love each other but won’t admit, funny silly goofy moods, pussy eating in public/work place (the door was locked no one saw it), protected piv… while it’s raining outside… and you make love while still not admiting your feelings… the fwb drill we all know and love

a/n: hmmm did someone ask for… fwb!eddie? ☝🏼cause i did!!!

wc: probably around 2.3k i wrote it here sorrys !

the pictures are from this post and this post by @divinesols (both highly recommended as moodboards for this btw!) and i couldn’t find the creator of the gif :/ if anyone knows pls let me know so i can tag!

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“And… cut!”

“We had a bigger audience tonight. Looks like you’ve finally managed to draw the public’s attention.” You handed Eddie a smirk and a cup of coffee while he took off his earphones.

“I always draw attention, baby” he took it and winked at you, taking a sip but immediately making a face of disgust indicating the sugar that was not there.

You knew exactly how he wanted it, but you loved pissing him off.

“And you always brings me the coffee the way you know I don’t want it,” he said as he paced to the studio’s kitchen, followed by your fast steps behind him.

“Ops! And I don’t always bring you coffee, I jus-“

“You just happened to be passing by the coffee shop. Mhmm. I know,” he mocked your tone and expressions, “and you also just happen to be thinking of me all of the time, hm?” He pinched your nose.

You gave him an annoyed look, “well, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Mr. Alden!” You said jokingly, pronouncing the “Mr. Alden” with very much cursive letters.

“Don’t call me that… At least not here.” You were always impressed by the way Eddie could manipulate the look in his eyes to translate exactly what he was thinking about. And, 99,9% he was only thinking about one thing.

Sex.

“Oh I’m not calling you that anywhere, believe me”

“Hmm, cause you rather scream my name, huh?” He raised his brows at you in a funny way, using his arms to cage your body between his and the kitchen counter while swaying a little, making you laugh in that way he loved; when your eyes squeezed together and your head hanged back with a big grin on your lips.

He just loved seeing you happy, specially if he was the reason. When was he going to admit it to you? Probably never.

“Eddie, Jesus! Not here!” Now both of you were laughing unglued his hands from your sides and pushed him away, giving him light taps on the chest.

“Alden, newsroom wants to see you.” Someone from the staff peaked from the door, causing your bodies to distance from each other at the speed of a Formula 1 car, him pretending to still put sugar on the coffee and you weirdly looking for something in the sink.

“I’ll be there in a minute, thank you,” he nodded his head, “wait for me tonight,” he smirked and taped your bum lightly, making you jump.

“Oh yeah bet on it,” you gave him a teasing tone.

“I’ll be watching you,” Eddie motioned his point and middle fingers from his eyes to yours, already by the door.

“That’s cause I always draw attention!”

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“Oh… fuck-“, you tried your best to whisper half of the depravations that were slipping from your lips and to swallow the other half that were stuck in your throat.

But it was very hard when Eddie had you sitting by the end of his desk, skirt up and legs spread wide upon his shoulders so his head could sit perfectly between them.

“So sweet, princess,” his praises were muffled against your throbbing clit, both of his hands hardly squeezing the sides of your thighs. He spent the whole morning dreaming about the taste of your pussy, and by lunch he couldn’t wait anymore.

“W-we have five minutes, Ed,” your worried little mind kept you looking every 5 seconds towards the foggy glasses on his door, but this time got interrupted by your eyes screwing shut and your mouth hanging open in a silenced cry when Eddie quit the sucking in your bud to fuck your hole with his tongue.

“I- we-,” every time you tried to say something and your words died in muffled little moans and cries he sucked and fucked harder. Eating you out was for sure one of Eddie’s favorite things and making you come when you couldn’t scream or cry freely was like a reward for his tiring day.

Having the opportunity to give you pleasure and piss you off at the same time? He was in.

“C’mon baby, cum on my tongue, hm? Wanna taste my girl,” he used two of his fingers to spread your wetness all over your center before nuzzling his head back again, nose stimulating your clit while his tongue entered you hungrily, in and out, in and out, the vibrations of his moans exploding fireworks in your veins.

The man was devouring you.

You came in a quiet moan, fingers gripping Eddie’s roots while his nails dig in your upper thighs and his face drowned in your cunt. He sucked and lapped you clean, until you were too sensitive to bear anything else, “fuck, thank you, baby. Here,” he gave you a paper tower from the adjoining bathroom he had in his office and helped you put your panties and skirt back. If you didn’t already knew all too well the smirk he had on his face you’d think by that he was something that he actually wasn’t.

A gentleman.

But deep, down, he was. For you, at least.

“Can you stand?”

“You have done better performances”

“Oh of course. ‘oh, fuck! Eddie! so good! we have 5 minutes!’” he joked while pulling you in for a see you later hug and a kiss on the cheek before you could run away from him, “thanks, bub. Best lunch ever”

“You’re disgusting,” you laughed, pushing his chest and stepping towards the door.

“If I was I wouldn’t have your pussy all over my face now, would I?”

“Disgusting,” you mouthed and closed the door, not giving him time to fry your braincells that had just started working again.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“Shhh. Almost there, baby. You can take it, just a little more”

“So good,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips while the raindrops slipped down your window.

Your plan definitely wasn’t to end up under Eddie tonight, but the thunderstorms got louder than you thought they would. And as it always happens between the two of you, one thing led to the other, and…

“Fuck- found your spot, pretty girl? So good t’me,” Eddie was fucking you tonight. You didn’t know if it was because of the rain painting your frames with the moonlight, the fact that it’s been a little while since you’ve slept together or if he found it cute every time you shivered and gripped his biceps cause a thunder was a bit too loud.

His cock was nestled deep inside your walls, messaging your favorite spots with each thrust. He was going slow, fierce, calculated, and he had all the patience in the world.

You could feel him everywhere.

From his fingers in your scalp to his hot tongue slow dancing with yours to every vein rubbing your walls deliciously. Sometimes his dick split out because of how wet you were together and he didn’t even bother, he kept fucking your clit with his tip, up and down, up and down, making you see stars until he felt you couldn’t take it anymore and tucked himself back in. His words? Praises and praises and praises hanging from his lips like sugar. You’ve never felt so full and so… Adored.

“Yeah, c’mon princess, can feel your little pussy squeezin’ me. Think you can come now, baby?” Eddie slowed even more his pace to watch your face contort in pleasure while tears fell down your eyes, every pulse of your warm cunt around his cock sending him closer and closer to the edge. You came within seconds, nodding your head “yes” while your little pants and moans being muffled by his own, your mouths tangled while he came with you, filling the condom you help him put earlier on.

Both of you had - intentionally - little to no sex like that; but it happened. And when it happened, it was usually because you either lost yourselves or one needed so much. You tried not to be too much in your head about it, but it was difficult when Eddie kissed your forehead and played with your head, still inside you.

He didn’t want to go, either.

“You don’t look so afraid of the noises now,” he tried to break the silence between you, knowing very well it wasn’t the awkward or comfortable types, but the emotional kind.

“The rain stopped,” you let out, with tears still leaking from your eyes.

“And are you sad about it?” he dried them from your cheek.

You smiled, “fuck you.”

“You just did,” he stared at you for a bit, caressing your cheeks as your eyes stopped watering and the last raindrops flowed down the window.

“Stay? It might rain again…”

You lifted your pinky between your bodies, “just this time,” and he embraced your smaller finger with his, “just this time.”

But both of you knew it wasn’t just this time.

It would rain again.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

When your keys turned on the locket the last thing you expected was to meet Eddie eating ice cream directly from the pot at home 20:17pm on a friday.

Sitting on the counter.

Shirtless.

“…What are you doing here?”

“Uh.. I live here? I should be the one asking you that,” he motioned the spoon in your direction.

“Eddie, it’s 20pm on a friday,”

“Actually, it’s 20:17pm on a friday”

Yeah you weren’t doing this tonight.

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hey, what’s that?” His tone was softer, he always knew when you had a bad day.

And good ones too. And any kind of day you have had and exactly how he should react to it.

“Just… Pierce screamed at me again,” his eyes followed you as you took the wine glass out of the fridge.

“So… She did her job cause you weren’t doing yours…”

“Try again,” you poured a glass.

“She’s just a bitch who can’t let you do your work without complaining about whatever shit she caused”

“Bingo!” You swallowed the whole wine in one go, watching through the glass as Eddie’s hand reached for it and took it from you, “no no no, this will not help you.”

“And what will? Being dumped by a freshman college girl and Ice cream?”

He gave you a disappointed look but reached for your hands anyway, “come here,” he pulled you to his body, arms embracing you while you positioned yourself in between his legs, head resting on his chest and arms around his waist.

“You know what you really need?” His words were muffled on the top of your head.

“Hm?”

“To shut the fuck up”

“You shut the fuck up” now your words were muffled on his chest.

“I know you don’t mean it. You love me.”

“Sure”

And actually you sure as hell did. And he loved you too. When were you going to admit it to each other?

Probably never.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

[arttsuka]

have Jedidiah and Octavius watch brokeback mountain on Larry’s phone

Sorry anon, but my headcanon is that Jedediah watches it alone for some reason (maybe Octavius was busy that night with something else) and he starts questioning his whole existence.

Internalized homophobia am I right? (Also Jed is definitely the kind of person who thinks like 'this isn't all that bad except from when I'm doing it, then it's the worst thing ever). Anyway, I think it's way more difficult to actually think about your feelings than just have them. It can be scary too, putting a proper name on a situation.

Then he just kinda dissappears for a few weeks, no one knows where he is. He doesn't say anything to anyone but even when he gets back he kinda avoids everyone.

He vents to Larry without giving him any context.

Octavius just blames Larry. It was something on the phone that made Jedediah upset, so naturally it must be Larry's fault.

They make up in the end but I don't know if they talk about what actually happened. Maybe Octavius watches brokeback mountain too and he understands idk

A little sequel to this here

[luxaofhesperides]

Surprise husbands + "How are you real?" ; requested by @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff!

They may not have planned to get married, or even wanted it all too much at the beginning, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to treat each other right. It was rough going, with both of them coming out of relationships and having secret identities, but time had softened the hurt feelings and allowed them to actually get to know each other.

And Danny, Duke has discovered, is a really good husband. 

Neither of them ever saw themselves as married at 20, but sometimes life throws horrible curses at you and the embodiment of balance and life and death swoops in to save your life. Via marriage. 

His life is weird, okay? Duke has made his peace with it.

The thing is, if they had met naturally and started off as friends, Duke could see himself falling for Danny and asking him to marry him in a far off future. Instead, they’re doing everything backwards: married, then going on dates to know each other, and finally feeling close enough to be friends. 

It helps that Danny does his best to communicate and that helps Duke find the words he needs as well. 

He’s sweet, too, so kind and doting and affectionate. Like a really lovable cat, honestly. Duke’s never been cuddled so much in his life and he’s loving every minute of it. 

He… might be falling in love with his husband. What a revelation.

“Duke?” 

He blinks, looking up from his half-empty plate, pulled out of his thoughts suddenly. Tim and Dick stare at him, concerned, and he realizes he’s missed the entire conversation because he was so preoccupied thinking about Danny. In his defense, it was their one year anniversary the night before and Danny had kissed him for the first time after a date night spent playing video games and talking shit about their respective rogues. 

Tim snaps a finger in front of his face, and Duke startles. He got distracted by his Danny Thoughts again.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You okay? You’ve been out of it all day,” Dick says, clearly concerned.

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s all good. Just… adjusting.”

“To what? Did something happen?”

Duke shrugs, scooping up another forkful of pasta to shove in his mouth. “Yeah, I… this is going to sound kind of stupid, but I think I’m in love with my husband.”

Tim, taking an ill-timed drink, chokes and spits out his Zesti. Dick springs back, trying to get out of the spray zone but doesn’t move far, shocked still by Duke’s words.

“Oh, yeah,” Duke realizes, “I didn’t tell you guys, did I?”

“You’re married?!” Tim shrieks as Dick clutches at his chest, eyes wide.

“You didn’t tell me?” Dick asks, offended.

“Seriously? That’s what you focus on?”

Duke smiles as they begin to bicker. They do it constantly, but this time it’s halfhearted, as if they’re just going through the motions of something familiar to distract themselves from the bomb he’s dropped on them.

In all fairness, Duke did forget that he didn’t tell them that he’s married to Danny. He’s also only mentioned Danny once or twice and heavily implied that Danny was just a classmate at GCU. And then forgot that he didn’t tell them, assuming that they’d figure it out eventually being Batman trained detectives, after all.

Well. 

Oops.

Clearly that is not the case. Duke hurries to finish his pasta before Tim and Dick finish their joint freak out and get their senses back together enough to interrogate him. He can’t escape it, but he refuses to have this discussion with an empty stomach. 

He just barely manages to scrape the last mouthful off the plate when his fork is being yanked out of his hands. Tim and Dick close in on him, standing to either side of him, trapping him in place, and look at him with knife-sharp smiles.

Here we go, Duke thinks tiredly, and resigns himself to clearing up this misunderstanding.

Somehow, he manages to explain the situation (I got cursed, he saved my life, we ended up married because magic is bullshit, he treats me so well) and Tim and Dick both agree to not hunt down Danny to show him the wrath of older brothers on one condition: Danny has to join them for a family dinner.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch everyone up on your… situation,” Dick says, pulling on his jacket to head out. Tim is already on his phone, no doubt telling someone already. 

“Great,” Duke says, unenthused. “You’ll also be answering all the questions because I’m not in the mood. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to figure out a day that works for all of us, and then I’m going to kick my husband’s ass in Mario Cart.”

He walks out the door, grinning as he hears them scramble after him, then twists the ring on his finger (not a wedding ring, but a magic portal making gift) and steps into the portal. It closes quietly behind him, leaving him in Danny’s lair, a comfortable, spacious house with high ceilings and little bits of his personality scattered about. There are soft rugs with geometric patterns on them, star maps on the wall, stained glass windows that throw colors across the floor, and a giant couch and pillow pit in the living room.

Danny’s asleep in it, curled up and looking completely at peace. Duke toes off his shoes and carefully makes his way over, footsteps silent so he doesn’t wake him up, all plans of Mario Cart fading away instantly.

Danny doesn’t get much sleep, with the stress of school and an internship and ghost fights to worry about. It’s why his lair is so quiet and comfortable; it’s what he needs, and he doesn’t let anyone else in without invitation, rare as it is.

Duke is allowed to waltz right in thanks to the ring Danny gave him. It never stops making him feel overwhelmed by how much trust Danny puts in him to allow him unlimited access to what is his only true sanctuary, letting his lair be a place of safety and respite for Duke as well. 

He crawls into the pillow pit, There’s no way to do this without waking Danny up since he can’t fly, so he isn’t surprised to see Danny blink his eyes open, still looking soft and content. He smiles when he sees Duke, reaching a hand out to him that Duke gladly takes, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his palm.

Sitting up, Danny tilts his head up in a silent request. Duke happily obliges, still reeling over the fact that he’s allowed to do this! He can kiss his husband whenever he wants! 

Yeah, he’s going to be riding that high for a while.

“Hey,” Danny murmurs, sleepy and quietly pleased to see him.

“Hi honey,” Duke returns fondly, “Have a nice nap?”

Danny nods, leaning into Duke and closing his eyes again. “Mhm. How long are you staying? I wanna cuddle.”

“I got nothing going on today. I’m all yours, baby.”

“C’mon,” Danny tries to tug him down. Duke goes slowly, covering Danny’s body with his own, but holds himself with one hand before he blankets his husband completely.

“Wait. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Immediately, the sleepy haze is fading from Danny’s eyes, leaving him alert. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Not really? You know how we agreed to keep our marriage a secret until we weren’t in danger anymore and all those cultists and sorcerers were taken care of?”

“...Yes?”

“Well.” Duke sucks in a breath and offers a bashful smile. “Guess who forgot to tell people we were married after that whole mess was dealt with?”

The nervousness clears from Danny’s gaze as he stares up at Duke with incredulous amusement. “No. No way.”

“Yeah. Kinda dropped a bomb on them and they started freaking out over me being married. Anyways, they want you to come to dinner?”

“When?”

Duke leans back, sitting on his heels. “Let me check.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to the group chat asking for a day they could have a family meal to meet his husband.

His phone is bombarded with texts and calls immediately until Barbara, bless her entire soul, forcibly mutes all of them and puts in a poll with a few dates, setting the poll to close in 24 hours.

“Okay, well, they’re deciding now, but probably soon.”

Danny nods. “Alright. I know these aren’t normal circumstances at all, but I’m so excited to meet the Bats.”

“You do not mean that after hearing all my stories about them.”

“No, I do!” Danny laughs, surging up to wrap his arms around Duke and pull him back down to lay among the giant pillows with him. “They sound nice!”

“The Bats sound nice?!” Duke repeats in horror. “Did you hit your head?”

“They do sound nice! You talk about them so fondly, and yeah they have problems and are dysfunctional, but they’re heroes. Of course they have problems. Even with all their baggage, they’re kind. And you clearly love them, so I do too.”

It’s hard to resist the urge to hug Danny tight enough to make him squeak while peppering his face with kisses, so Duke doesn’t. He just goes and does it, because he’s allowed to shower his husband (!) with affection (!!!) as much as he pleases.

“How are you real?” he says against the corner of Danny’s lips. “How are you so perfect! To me specifically! Honey, if we weren’t already married, I’d be going down on one knee right now.”

“I mean, you still can. We never got a proper wedding either. Think if we offer them a chance to help plan our wedding, they’ll forgive us for secretly being married for so long?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Duke says. He’s already giddy, just imagining what their wedding will look like, what song they’ll play for their first dance, where they’ll have the ceremony… He should create a Pinterest account to start putting ideas together. 

Later, though. He wants to woo Danny properly and take him on so many dates.

Dates which include dinner with the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents, apparently.

“You sure you’re okay with meeting them over dinner?” he asks, just to be sure. He knows how intense they can be, even when pretending to be normal civilians. It took him years to get used to them, himself, and he doesn’t want to push Danny into doing something he’s not ready to do.

Danny cups Duke’s face in his hands and gives him a quick, reassuring kiss. “I’m sure. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to see how long it takes for them to realize I’m not fully human.”

“I really am glad it’s you.”

“Yeah, me too. I’d choose you all over again if given the choice.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Duke laughs, wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist.

“Can we nap now? Now that you’re here and holding me, it’s taking everything I’ve got to stay awake.”

“Yeah, we can nap now.” Duke settles into the pillows, Danny cradled in his arms and closes his eyes to bask in the quiet easiness of it all. 

He really couldn’t ask for a better husband, unexpected as he was. The others will see that too, once they meet him. It’s impossible to not love Danny once you meet him; Duke knows this all too well.

He loves his husband.

And his husband loves him back.

Duke is fully prepared to keep making that choice for the rest of his life.

[onebigfangirlworld]

Okay but mob boss John price forcing you to marry him because you witnessed him committing a crime and married spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court

( John’s been watching you for a while and thinks your the perfect spouse for him and it’s a total coincidence that you stumbled upon him shooting another man while walking your normal path that you take during your evening walks)

masterlist

[daughterslaughterer]

(NSFW ! Minors DNI)

Okay, so we all love a little Sublander, right? Except I don’t like it in the “sweet mommy dom” way— I wanna see more desperate, uncontrollably rough Sublander.

Fucking you with everything he’s got, holding you so tight it hurts because he’s scared you’re going to leave. Whimpering and begging for approval, begging for praise, begging to come inside of you. Burying his face in your neck and taking in your scent, damn near snapping the headboard in half from the death grip he’s got on it.

He’d try to be gentle, he’d try to be good, but he can’t help it. Even during his little bursts of submissiveness, he’s still Homelander. He’s still rough and impatient and needy.

He wouldn’t stop after coming inside of you, though. He wouldn’t dare stop until he knew you were satisfied, until you told him how good of a job he’d done. He thrives off of praise, off of being loved and adored— especially by you. For a raging narcissist, he’s so eager to please if it means getting just an inkling of praise.

He’d apologize when he was done, too. Apologize for being rough, for not being a good boy and being gentle when you asked. Can you blame him, though? Controlling all that super strength is difficult enough, and you make it ten times harder.

Anyways, moral of the story is that I love rough, needy subs and Homelander fits the bill perfectly. 🫶🏻

[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

[thelampisaflashlight]

To Take Care

[Dew being soft. That's it, that's the whole fic.] Below the cut.

Dew settles into one of the plush, leather armchairs in the ghouls' common room, the one that sags a little when anyone sits in it, the springs so pressed down they awkwardly cradle his form instead of pressing back.

The bump of his head against the backrest elicits a groan, from the chair or his own mouth, no one could tell, even Dew himself, and he's certain he felt the air pass through his lips.

He's the kind of tired that leaves his whole body feeling like a heavy, immovable lump, and, in spite of that, he's carried himself quite well up until this point.

Mountain calls it a "boots off" situation; When you sit down, suddenly you don't have the energy to get back up.

Any and all motivation is gone.

Boots off.

Left by the door.

Not going back on.

...Barring an emergency of course.

With a long, deep sigh, Dew feels himself sink deeper into the thinning material, eyes half shut as he uses a fragment of his willpower to turn his arm over to examine a stray thread between his finger tips.

He could sleep like this.

He really could.

But he fights it, biting back a yawn as he surveys the room.

The new kids are asleep; Aeon on the couch, his lithe body stretched selfishly across the entire thing, while Aurora is tucked into a ball on the loveseat, pressed so tightly against the upholstery Dew knows it'll leave a mark on her face.

Despite the protests of his knees, Dew stands, stretching slightly, before popping the top off of a nearby ottoman and pulling out a couple of neatly folded knit blankets from inside.

He takes a moment to knead the material, remembering when Cumulus had asked him to come along with her to pick out the yarn she was going to use to make it.

"You'll probably use it the most, so you should decide." she'd said, and she wasn't wrong.

Back then, he had only recently transitioned from water to fire, and his body had decided that anything short of an oven wasn't warm enough for him anymore; Essentially, with everything being comparatively cooler than him, he got chilly quite easy.

How and why that was -and still is- the case, even Dew isn't sure, but having a blanket or two ready and available was always a good thing, and the fact that it was handmade made it even better.

He sniffs the fabric and hums softly.

Even after years of use and several trips through the wash, it still smells a bit like Cumulus' perfume.

The other blanket is a heavy thing, bought on tour years ago from some chain store in America when they'd needed to scavenge some extra supplies for the bus.

It's an unfortunate bedpan pink, it's big and can be folded to add a little extra weight across your body.

He weighs the two blankets in his arms before setting about covering the two sleeping ghouls.

Aurora snuggles easily into the fluffy white knit of the blanket Cumulus made, her lips turning upwards in her sleep, but doesn't wake.

Aeon, however, blinks up at Dew, purple eyes peaking through his lashes as the watches the older ghoul layer the blanket over him.

He doesn't say anything at first, letting Dew tuck him in, but mumbles his thanks when the other is done.

"Go back to sleep." is all Dew says in return, returning to his chair.

Now.

Now he can sleep.

[triglycercule]

nightmare's gang but they're one of those youtube family channels that extorts the kids. HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

i mean cmon man managing his multiversal takeover scheme must take a lot of money. nightmare needs a source of income. so what better than to torture and extort his gang even more. he makes them behave and act entertaining for the camera because if not they get beat and punished. he has cameras everywhere in the castle for content and to monitor everyone. people online are worried about the "kids" on the channel because they are CLEARLY being abused and exploited. nightmare gets a feast of negativity from these peoples' worries. now do i think that he would be cruel enough to force his gang to act like children for this channel?? i dunno,,,,,,,, perchance (YOU CAN'T JUST SAY PERCHANCE)

idk there's definitely a lot more than could be done with this stupid idea. but i just think,,,,,, i just think it would be funny,,,,, think about it,,,,,,,,,,

[toxintouch]

Love the thought of Mhin’s monster being terrifying; a true threat to your (the MC’s) safety, an insurmountable burden that has destroyed Mhin’s life and that’s why they are so desperate for a cure.

But also…

Thinking about Androcles removing the thorn from the lion’s paw…

The thought that maybe if the monster doesn’t successfully kill you the first time, it will recognize you the second.

That transformation looks like it hurts.  Before, after, during.

The idea that it will be a slow process, a dangerous one, but if you can survive, if you can calm it down–

Preening broken feathers.  A slow and methodical process, but your heart beats like you’re running for your life.  You keep retreating, feather by feather, because you’re not sure how stable this moment of calm is, how long you have before it will try to kill you again. 

You gain Mhin’s trust the same way.  Slow and methodical.  Showing your hands at all times.  No sudden movements.

Mhin knows you ran into their Monster–knows that you know.  They hate the thought of putting this much faith in another person but they hate the thought that the monster might get out and harm people even more.  You could be an ally in this too, they suppose…

They hand over a key to their safe house, show you how to use the security measures they have in place for when they transform.  They explain to you how to safely lock them inside–it can be done from either side effectively but Mhin never gives any thought to which side of the door you’d choose to be on…

You start asking Kuras for medical supplies, unable to give any information regarding why you need them.  You see someone selling hunting birds and carrier pigeons in the market so you ply them for information, paying them back by shelling out a ridiculous amount of money on whatever care products look like they might be moderately useful.

More preening broken feathers.  It seems to–they–seem to understand that you mean to help, now.  The process becomes easier.  You start carefully removing bits of broken glass you find embedded into them–you’re not sure how it got there, if the glass is something mystical or if they went on a little rampage before you were able to lead them into the safe house.  Maybe they’re just like a regular bird and they ran into something by accident.  Maybe it’s been there for years because no one’s been around (or able to) take it out.  

Does it hurt Mhin, too?

You’re even more determined with that thought, though you have to be so-very-careful because if you startle or hurt them, they become agitated.  You’re not sure if they would hurt you on purpose anymore, but they sure as hell could kill you by accident.

It burns your heart to leave some pieces in before Mhin changes back, but you know you have to.  You can’t help if you don’t stay safe. And Mhin always makes you promise to look after yourself when they can't.

Mhin transforms back and realizes that it didn’t take so much from them this time, that the usual pain is a little lesser, that they still ache but it isn’t debilitating.  They write it off at first but the thought sits at the back of their mind. Filling them with unrest. A thorn in their side that they cannot quite reach...

They go to their safe house to check how the locks are holding up and they notice some things.  A large basin for water. Your supplies.  A music box, of all things.

Needless to say, they’re horrified.  They demand to know what you’re doing.  Are you trying to get yourself killed?

“I knew you had no sense but–”

You assure them that you’re taking every precaution.

Besides, aren’t you doing the right thing?  It’s totally logical that they (–it , Mhin insists) can get thirsty, of course Mhin is feeling better when they aren’t being locked in an empty room deprived of water half the time.

The monster looks so sad, now that they aren’t trying to hurt you.  As they became more used to you, you began to see the parts where they and Mhin overlap.  Shared habits.  The way they settle down to sleep at night is the same…

Mhin hates the monster inside of them, but you don’t.

[virescent-v]

French Kiss

A/N: This is a combination of two requests I got: a fluffy fic of Emily telling you she has a crush on you and asking you out and a fluffy fic of Emily teaching you another language. Combining them seemed perfect!

Summary: Emily teaches you a little French ;P (Translations for the French is at the bottom!) Word count: 950 Warnings: nada, this is tooth-rotting fluff. :) Well, the only warning might be that I got the translations from Google, so if they're wrong don't yell at me lol Ps: If you haven't seen the tiktok of Paget speaking French....go do that first. 🫠😩🥵😵‍💫

You hated the fact that you never took a foreign language in middle or high school, when it was easier to learn. Now, it felt like grasping the semantics of another language was nearly impossible. 

You let out an exasperated whine, rubbing your temples. “Why does French have to have so many rules?” 

Emily chuckled, rolling her eyes at your antics. “It’s not that bad once you get the hang of them,” she said, rubbing your shoulders. “Quoi qu'il en soit, c'est une belle langue.” 

You squinted your eyes, glaring at her. While teaching you, Emily would consistently throw out random French sentences, hoping the constant exposure would help you. It only further irritated you. “Says the one who’s been fluent in French for most of her life, and who has lived in Paris.” Another eye roll. 

Emily’s smile grew. “J'aime parler une langue que vous ne pouvez pas. Tu es très mignon quand tu es irrité.” 

Another second of glaring might make your face permanently stick like that, so you decided to ignore her. “Moving on,” you said, looking intensely at the notes before you. “Possessive adjectives. Mon, ma, mes for the masculine, feminine, and plural my.” Your face scrunched up, your eyebrows furrowed a little. “Easy. M’s for the my’s.” You felt your tongue peek out in concentration. “Ton, ta, and tes for you.” 

You tapped your finger along the paper, the rhythmic cadence a tactic you hoped would help you remember everything. A loud sigh. “Why do these languages have to have gendered descriptors for everything?” 

Another giggle came from beside you. “Parce que, oie idiote, ce sont les langues romanes!” Emily exclaimed, forcing a more dramatic French accent. 

A loud pause. “Did you just call me an idiot?” 

You’ve never heard Emily laugh so candidly, loud and carefree. It made butterflies erupt in your belly, a deep blush heating up your face – not out of embarrassment, but because you made her laugh, made her nose crinkle and her eyes shine. It was one of your favorite sounds. 

You’ve had a crush on Emily for months, ever since you started working closely to her at Quantico. A shared case between your two units brought you together and you quickly became friends, bonding over similar interests and upbringings. 

You thought of the idea of having her teach you one of the many languages she knows as a way to spend more time together. It was an added bonus that you got to hear her speak another language; something about the way French rolled off her tongue was hypnotizing and…incredibly hot.  She had jumped at the idea and you became hopeful that she might have shared feelings for you. But after weeks of constant texting and a few study sessions, she’s never hinted at feeling anything other than friendship. 

“Absolument pas! Cependant, je pense que vous êtes incroyable. J'adorerais t'emmener dehors un jour.” Emily paused, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Hey eyes traveled across your face, taking in everything, like she was trying to profile you. “Comme rendez-vous?” 

You felt the air shift even though you couldn’t understand what she was saying to you. It was in the way that she looked at you, how her dark eyes had grown fond, intimate almost, as if she was trying to stare into your soul. You had an inkling of what she had said, rendezvous being an easy translated word.  

“Ask me in English,” you whispered. 

Emily turned more to you, grasped your hands in hers and looked you in the eye. “Would you like to go out with me? As a date?” 

Your smile was timid, growing as you watched her start to fiddle with your fingers in nerves. “Oui, Emily.” One of your hands came up and brushed hair behind her ear, watching her grin spread. “But I have a question for you first.” 

Emily’s smile turned a little more serious, a hint of nerves creeping back into her expression. You watched as she took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever you might ask of her. “Ask away.” 

You paused, schooling your features into something you hoped was more serious, letting her sit in her nerves for a second just to mess with her. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” 

You watched as Emily’s brain stuttered, her mouth opening for a second before she burst into another fit of laughter, her hand coming up to cover her eyes for a second out of shocked awe. “I’m glad Lady Marmalade taught you something in French, my god.”  

You two laughed together, the tension of finally admitting your shared feelings broken. As you calmed down, Emily gazed at you, all of her feelings for you finally shining through. You felt your entire being warm to the look she was giving you, finally overjoyed in being able to relish in the attention you craved from her. 

As your gazes locked and held, you decided to break out the one other sentence you had been practicing in French. The one sentence you were wishing you would get to use on her. Your hand cupped her jaw, another timid smile gracing your lips. “Puis-je t'embrasser?” 

Emily smirked, inching her face towards you, pulling you closer by your hips, before whispering, “Oui, s'il vous plait.” 

Your lips met in a soft, tender embrace, tongues lightly gliding over one another. It was the first kiss of what you both hoped was many.  

As you broke apart, a quiet giggle traveled up your throat, making you softly shake your head in exhilarated bliss. “I love French lessons.” 

Emily waggled her eyebrows, a mischievous smirk growing. “I can’t wait to teach you more French things.” 

___________________ 

Translations: 

- “Quoi qu'il en soit, c'est une belle langue.”  - Regardless, it’s a beautiful language. - “J'aime parler une langue que vous ne pouvez pas. Tu es très mignon quand tu es irrité.” - I like speaking a language you can’t. You’re very cute when you’re irritated. - “Parce que, oie idiote, ce sont les langues romanes!” - Because, silly goose, it’s the romance languages! -”Absolument pas! Cependant, je pense que vous êtes incroyable. J'adorerais t'emmener dehors un jour.” - Absolutely not! However, I do think you’re amazing. I’d love to take you out sometime. -“Comme rendez-vous?” - As a date? -Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” - Do you want to sleep with me tonight? -”Puis-je t'embrasser?” - Can I kiss you? -”Oui, s'il vous plait.” - Yes, please.