#the murder of his wife

[lordkingsmith]

I see we have entered into a new phase of aesthetics. Which comes with the addition of my pointing at the background boys thinking "COTTAGE CORE!!!!" while lying on the floor pointing at the girlies in your icon whispering "babies...precious babies..."

Which really all just amounts to:

the background is cottagecore handsome boys that are both unbelievably pro-murder and then my icon are sweeties who are trying to be far tougher than they are but should still be handled carefully. in short, I am ushering in my 'I am kind, I am good, but I am not nice and don't mix those up :)'

thank you ^-^

half the reason I wanna make a movie; so I can promptly crossover everyone and make them queer af. and then marah and kapri are just a mood. gotta combine the moods somehow lolololol

[tomahachi12]

That’s how that works, right?

[mismatchsocks]

[on-the-clear-blue]

So yall know that the League of Assassin's are like, an eco terrorist thing right? Well I just had this idea.

Sam, coming into Danny's room and just face planting on his bed: Ugh...

Danny, who was sleeping, awoken as his friend who had gone missing 6 moths ago flopped onto of him: OH SWEET-NOCTURN IF THIS ISNT REAL I AM GONING TO SOUP YOY SO HARD...

Sam, reaching up and slapping her hand on his mouth:Shhh, less screaming, more sleeping, escaping murder cults takes more energy than I thought.

Sam produces to pass out and sleep for three days straight.

---

Tucker, lookingnup from his PDA: so...you joined what you thought was a peaceful protest and some how ended up in a eco terrorist death cult of assassins? I mean...shit now I have to do something interesting...

Danny, choking on his drink: Nuh uh, your the normal one Tuck, I died and now have a magical girl transformation and Sam got kidnapped by ninjas and somehow even more bad ass, you...you can still get out of this and just be a normal person.

Sam, nodding sadly: Yeah...don't conform to our standards Tucker, be your true, weak little boney self.

Tucker, sniffing:I am so going to not do that.

---

Just the idea that Sam not only got League training but also got out is hilarious to me, like yeah, that is the kinda bs that would happen.

Alsoni can just see her dropping random lore shit.

Sam, bored as the boys study: Did you know thst the Demon Head dunks himself in corrupted ecto? Yeah it's gnarly man, didn't taste good.

Danny, going to speak before pausing and thinking, before sighing:Yeah I would have licked it too.

Tucker, frowning as he finishes his "Evil invention-enator": You both have so many issues.

---

Sam, trying to teach Danny the basic league hand to hand:Come on dude! It's not that hard!

Danny, falling flat on his ass after not even touching Sam: Ow ow ow...fuck yeah it kinda is!

Sam, rolling her eyes: If not only the Demon Heads six year old grandson can learn but also Ellie? You can too.

Danny, mutterinf under his breath before pausing completely:ELLIE? What was she doing with a murder cult? I thought she learnt her lesson after the last one!

Sam, shrugging before putting kicking at Danny on the floor: I don't know she was following a guy around who was catatonic, said something about being angry at him for not answering her pen pal messages or whatever, I was more busy training to really care...like you should be doing!

---

Years later Sam is joining Danny and Tucker in Gotham, Tucker because he was scouted by both WE and Lexcorp, he wanted to choose the evil company because poorer work place regulations and the likely hood of him getting a powerbost was much higher, but was bullied by his friends/partners into choosing WE.

Sam, coming to the R&D labs late one night bringing Tucker dinner so he doesn't starve working a late shift, blinking as she sees a short boy sneaking out of the lab: Biraeam? (Sprout in Arabic) what are you doing here.

Damian, blinking right back, experimental tech Bruce has yet to clear for the field clutched under one arm and the blueprints for a new type of explosive batarang in the other: Manson...I-I could ask you the same.

Sam, raising an eyebrow and staring down Damian: bringing dinner to my husband...who works here...and I can only think that you do not. So I ask that you put those things you have down and tell your bastard of a grandfather not to step back in this place.

Damian, eyes squinting, he hadn't been around his grandfather for ages at this point but still felt offended at her tone: I don't think I will.

---

An epic fight produces where they both try not and spill/destroy the things that they are carrying until either Tucker or Tim find them and explain everything.

The everlasting Trio gets invited over for dinner (mostly because Bruce is a paranoid bastard and dislikes thst one of his employees is dateing/ is partners with an ex-LoA member) and it's a bit of just pointing at each other and shit

Sam, slamming her hands down on the table as she stands: Kindly Mr Wanye, Shut the fuck up, I know your batman, we all fucking know it so if you are going to try and interrogate us at least do it properly!

Danny, sipping his wine: I mean...I-I didn't know but I um...haven't been paying much attention to the bat dude...Rag man is cooler.

Sam, glaring:And you! Fucking Ragman? You can do so much better.

Danny, offended for his hero: Oi! He does good work!

Bruce, frowning as this night has gotten away from him: He kills people.

Sam, waving over at Bruce: Exactly!

Danny, rolling his eyes: Exactly she says, while having a kill count that's still growing, Exactly she says when she was the one that pushed that oil tycoon off the 50th floor.

Sam wincing,: Maybe not in front of batman babe?

Danny, looking over to Bruce that is looking ready to fight: Shit...imma call Tuck and tell him to start packing...

[jay-wasstuff]

[stravaginglurker-syne]

Role Reversal AU...... Un-Crawling your Mr.

Human! Mr. Crawling

still elongated but vertically

[ladystoneboobs]

no, but the way, cersei brushes sansa's hair with her fingers after telling her ilyn payne will kill her if stannis wins his battle, so they can all die together. this intimate, almost maternal gesture following a death threat. and then later a similar gesture is used with her actual child, when intimidating the king himself, her youngest, after threatening to have his whipping boy brought in to be beaten before them. just as she scared sansa, she scares tommen, also thought to be meek as sansa was. cersei only knows how to rule through fear but in these certain cases, she can sometimes mix in acts of tenderness too for a particularly unsettling combination.

[pato-roldnart]

I needed that kiss 😭

[nedlittle]

need the historical romance girlies to go back to their roots and read forever amber (1944)

[yayll]

Hi!! It’s my first time requesting something so I dont know how that works.. um I was thinking of some mission like some kind of ball that dazai and y/n has to go and y/n has to seduce someone to get information out of them. You know those masquerade balls? Yeah I think that really goood!! And dazai gets sooooooooo jealous and after she got the information dazai kiss her infront of that person to show him that she’s his😭😭😭😭😭😭omg

HIII angel sorry this took me a while, but i hope you like it :') i tweaked your idea a lil and fingers crossed this is what you so graciously asked for. i tried to put my best jealous goofy ass dazai in there along with the absolute MUSH his brain turns into when he has you to himself mixed with a lil........ fucked in the headness. i love requests! this was soooo fun to write i love youuuuuu <3

~ a little something about Dazai and his uncharacteristic jealousy ~

"Osamu, come on... You're my only sweetheart, you know that."

You call out half sweetly and half out of breath as you follow him down the hallway of the lavish event you were currently attending, dressed to the nines and trying to remain undercover. You were coming to realize why people didn't date within the workplace as he walked ahead, grumbling to himself. He's trying to remain unfazed, pretending to still be upset as he shrugs with his back turned to you.

"Hmph. I dunno, I don't feel like I'm your 'sweet' anything..."

This causes you to roll your eyes affectionately and pick up the pace, placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to finally stop him in his tracks. You flash him a sincere smile, and speak softly.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that. I didn't know that asshole was going to kiss me after he let me go. I also didn't think you'd ever get jealous..."

You say that last part with a more playful tone, treading dangerous waters of your unpredictable lover's emotions. As expected, he sighs dramatically, casting you a look of disgust.

"Ugh, of course I'm not... That's honestly sooo lame and pathetic. I can entertain jealousy as much as I can entertain one of Kunikida's little speeches on morals, or whatever."

"You mean his 'ideals'?"

You chide, stifling a laugh. He glares at you, his eyes narrowing as he scans you for a moment.

He can't find a single flaw on that precious face, not a single stray hair or stain on your exquisite outfit. He should change that by the end of the night.

"... You're always so negative, correcting me and whatnot. Isn't it tiring being so irritatingly superior in every way?"

This one gets a laugh out of you, You can tell he's slowly lightening up his mood by the way you both begin walking side by side once again.

"Yeah well, if it weren't for that little kiss earlier, we'd both still be all tied up in the wine cellar of this wonderful party."

He flashes you a pout, and shrugs dismissively.

"And here I thought you of all people would like the idea of being tied up with me. Hmph, wrong partner, I suppose."

Now he was starting to pick back at you, though it was cute. Jealousy looked cute on him, it was something you didn't think he was capable of. It was a pity it had to be during a mission where your main asset was your seduction skills and his was mental instability. You hated every second of it, but you also wanted to make sure you both made it out with the secret intel alive.

You make your way into the grand ballroom, the gala is in full swing, and your eyes dart around to find a proper escape route. Just as you see an exit, a handsome and well dressed young man blocks your view, sticking his hand out.

"Hi. You're gorgeous. Care for a dance?"

You stare down at his hand and then back up at the stranger, your face flushing as you're caught off guard.

"Me? No, no I-"

Dazai immediately interjects, sloppily holding a glass of champagne that somehow manifested in his hand and pretends to be drunk. He loved his theatrics, especially when he was desperate.

He bumps harshly into the young man's shoulder, the alcohol sloshing out of the cup as he slurs, but not before he flashes you a wink to tell you to play along.

"Sooo sorry, pardon me. This indeed beautiful angel is quite busy you see... Taking care of me that is. Ooh, I'm a wreck! I'm nothing but a sad and lonely dog.. In this sad and lonely world-"

The man looks at Dazai skeptically, and huffs into a chuckle. He shoves him away, and turns his attention back to you. Your eyes dart nervously between the two, wondering what Dazai will do next.

"Shut it, clown.. Anyway, I think this further proves you should be in the company of a gentleman like me tonight rather than this wet mop-"

The sound of a champagne flute soaring through the air and connecting to the man's skull is suddenly heard, interrupting him and sending him falling to the ground along with broken glass and liquid everywhere. In one swift motion, Dazai is at your side with a premature victorious smirk, but before you can both be on your way, the man regains his posture and spins him around, punching him square in the face. Dazai's not scrawny or weak, but he isn't the most skilled fighter, relying mostly on his special ability and intelligence to get him out of things.

You gasp, instinctively grabbing Dazai by the collar of his suit and dragging him away to get lost in the crowd of concerned people. You finally make it outside and you both collapse onto the soft grass just outside the venue. It's decorated with all kinds of flowers and fragrant rose bushes, it almost looks like you're at the garden of Versailles. You look over at Dazai, his nose bleeding all over the place, but he looks completely unbothered by it. As you reach over to touch the bridge of his nose, he grabs your wrist and holds it away gently. He waves a finger at you.

"No touchy, I've got it."

He does not, in fact, got it. He looks around until he plucks a rose petal and uses it to wipe his nostrils. You frown, getting all up in his space within an instant.

"What on earth are you doing, Osamu? Let me help, you goofball. Your nose is a mess thanks to that stunt you pulled."

You tear off a bit of fabric from your outfit and dab his skin tenderly, holding his head on your lap now. You can see some blood has trailed down his neck, staining the bandages there along with the collar of his crisp white dress shirt you picked out for him this morning. Dazai perks up, his voice slightly strained but full of lightheartedness.

"How does it feel to work with the agency's most tactical and covert operative? Eh?~"

You bite back a smile, and shake your head. You murmur.

"Feels like he's asking for a death wish a little more than usual."

Your lips soon become a thin line, realizing your statement hurts a little more in the context of the situation than it usually would. He notices your mood shift as his eyes flicker from your concerned eyes down to your lips and back up again. He knows it hurts you when he's like this, reckless and acting out on the impulses of his own plans. He wants to sit up and close the gap between you, kiss you until you drop down those brave walls you're putting up for the sake of the mission. For the sake of your feelings for him. He knows he's careless with it all.

He hums, eyes trained on you as if burning the image of your heavenly self into his mind, where you always deserve to be. In the distance, a bulky sketchy looking man runs out of the venue frantically, looking around wildly and you both get the impression it's the guy from the cellar earlier who kissed you in exchange for your freedom.

Shit! You could have sworn you knocked him out cold. Dazai sits up from your lap and you two scoot more into the bush, trying to hide from him as he makes a call. You mutter under your breath, turning to Dazai as you begin to type something out on your communicator.

"Now's the perfect time to let the others know we're ready for extraction."

He's already looking at you, or gazing admiringly more like. He knows he can fuck up everything, pay any consequence, but the thing he needs to get right for the selfishness of his wretched little heart is you. He scoots a bit closer, hearing the sounds of both your shallow breaths harmonizing. He mutters, softly.

"It would also be the perfect time for you to kiss my face better. You know, for my wellness and all that. Besides, that guy wasn't very nice to us earlier and we need to get rid of any traces of him from those lips. Yuck."

You roll your eyes yet again, despite the fluttering that won't let your stomach rest.

"Who cares about that, we have a case to close first."

He smirks, voice dropping low and provocative.

"I care."

He leans in even further, practically caging you with both arms on either side of you. He can feel your breathing become more erratic, his own filled with a pathetic sense of need he always has when he's with you. Dazai's hand reaches out and grabs your chin, turning it up slightly to face him, making sure you drop this silly act once and for all. His voice comes out gentle, firm.

"I need you to physically push me away, or I swear I'm going to kiss you right now, cutie."

Your eyes widen as you let a shaky breath escape your plush lips, murmuring in return.

"I'll.. punch you in the nose again, you know..."

His hand moves from your chin to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as he takes another breath, his body aching to be as close to yours as possible. His eyes are fixed on you, tearing you apart right then and there, but not before putting you back together so nicely. In that moment, he knows you don't mean that, and he knows he can't resist anymore.

He then whispers with a finality, the anticipation torturing him like you do on a daily basis.

"I don't think I'm going to listen to that..."

You break into a faint smile as you perceive him back.

"You've still got a little blood on your-"

Without another word, Dazai closes the remaining distance between you and him, kissing you with fervor as his soft whines reverberate against your lips. You taste sweetness and then... metallic as your lips mesh together for a heavenly moment. He feels alive, this was what he needed, the soothing balm for his soul and any other wound only you could provide. He's like a vampire, a parasite leeching off of your very essence so he could be himself around you. Cowardly burrowing into the safety of your heart. You squirm just a tad, your fingers carding through his brown hair as you try to keep up. He pulls back after his nose can't push more air through and keeps his lips hovering over yours, feeling the heat from your mouth mingle with his as he sees your lips stained red with his blood. Just as he's going to comment on how disgustingly erotic it is to see you like that, he pushes away the indecent thoughts, using the bandage on his wrist to wipe your mouth instead.

"Okay, I'll be good for now. You can call for extraction.~"

It was a dumb thing to do and could be seen as him being territorial or jealous, but the reality of it was that it was the natural order of things when it came to the way he processed his affections. Someone gets in between the two of you in any way?

An uglier and more dangerous past version of himself would have called for an immediate execution, there was a reason he held the titles that he did. He did his very best to keep that mentality at bay, rebuking it every time he felt a dark urge that he felt needed to be dealt with, mostly for your sake and for the sake of the promise he made to a friend once. Though he can't lie and say that's not who he is anymore, he can always find a better way to get his point across... even if a wishful bullet to the head comes out in the form of a kiss on your precious lips. He'll try for you. He'll wear the fastidious label proudly and be Dazai, a jealous man.

[marysblo0d]

Every time I see a Daemyra stan posting about how the portrayal of Daemon is unfair because he’s supposed to be the best husband in the world:

[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

[minty-frost]

He hasn't played a single one of these btw.

Killer by Rahafwabas, Dust by ask-dusttale

It's the Wikipedia "List of video games notable for negative reception" article. I just copied the list and formatted it into a text box. It took so long to erase all the extra spaces oh my stars...

[azadrithaanatheme]

Unexpected Reunion, Part 2

part 1 | part 2 - Click the images for better quality

*points at Nori, Yeva, Khan, and Yeva's husband (who I'm calling Alexei because other people call him that and I like the name)*

"Old. Married. Polycule."

[turkey-sandwich]

Friendly reminder that Lyon stabbed Gray in the manga of the Galuna Island Arc

[therexlare]