#also i drew vetinari

[cosmospoons]

[megafaunatic]

silliest guy in ankh-morpork

[higgsbison]

I fucking love your Angua holy shit?????????

thank you also I just remembered I drew her before if you want more feral angua content

[pourablecat]

Young Havelock is taller than his aunt only if he's on tiptoes.

I had so many more ideas for Night Watch Princess Maker, so I tried for something in the style of the sprites from the original - I'm learning as I go; so don't judge. My pixel art skills may evolve drastically, or I might forget everything I already know.

Madam gets a cool hat (with plumes, gasp), naturally, and a muff. Alternate designs I'm considering include Madam in lilac and white (instead of black), Madam with a ridiculous tall hairdo that grows five pixels every time she appears, until it's taller than her and covered in fruit and model ships etc., and flapper Madam. Gosh, I love her! I also drew her with a cat, but the colors are all wrong.

In all his early appearances/cameos Vetinari's face will always be partially covered despite the fact that pixel sprite faces all look the same. So it's face in shadows/hair blowing into face/view from the back, etc. etc. Drawing him in non-blacks felt somewhat wrong. Maybe it's the shade of green. I should change it.

For credit, the pose designs both come from Olive in the dancing contest in Princess Maker 2 - although Vetinari's hair blowing in his face came from Katana Terror. Next I'm making some sprites for Rosie, Dr. Lawn, young Vimes and young Sybil!

[patriciavetinari]

Tagged by @patchworkgargoyle to asnwer 15 questions!!

1. Are you named after anyone?

In the real world my name is in like top 10 most common ones in my first language which I hate vehemently for that fact alone. Also, maybe I was named after some relatives with that name but that was never an important part of my lore. I dislike the name anyway.

My tumblrsona is Patricia Vetinari, obviously named after the one and only dark flamingo authoritarian usurper, patrician Vetinari. Lady Margolotta was taken at the time I think but I figure it's for the best.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Day before yesterday. There's this OC who makes Ophelia from Hamlet read like a buddy comedy by contrast and that's in no way shaded by the fact that I'm the one writing the tragedy, I'm completely objective.

3. Do you have kids?

I do not and I don't think I'm fit to be a parent. I think about it sometimes though. I think of names and the names for their potential imaginary friends. And what would our favorite board game be and could I possibly sit down and invent it? Who knows.

4. What sports do you play/ have played?

Used to swim. Loved swimming in family time pools and wild waters like lakes. Had a nickname 'Bobber' as a child. Was strongly suggested (read: forced) into more sportish swimming by mother to lose weight. Was bullied out of the swimming club because of my weight. So you could say it all went

Swimmingly.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Only recreationally.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Clothes. I can't be seriously into fashion, I'm fat and a commie, but I like people watching and seeing the life choices they wear on the outside, of the circumstances they are forced to wear. Either way, most make me sad.

7. What's your eye colour?

Blue. I fee ehh about it. Wanted brown as a teen, would prefer green now. But I can't be bothered with lenses and occasional compliments are nice.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movie can have a happy ending if you're not a coward about it. Happy for whom? Which character are we suggested to identify it? What is a happy ending anyway? Can a happy ending be a scary movie? Absolutely.

That being said, I don't do horror well, and I do like when the characters I like get home, get fed, get railed, get fulfilled. If they had to go through a scary movie for that – that's the story, innit?

9. Any talents?

I am a jack of all trades kinda gal. Is loneliness a talent? I'm a maestro at that.

Also I cook well I guess. Some writing is looking good.

I might also be an absolute firecracker in bed but I'd have to get back to you on that after I acquire some empirical evidence, but my theory is strong.

10. Where were you born?

In a hospital in the midst of New Years celebrations in a country that was struggling to be born with me.

11. What are your hobbies?

I have ADHD. Give me a well presented topic and it will become my hobby for a few weeks.

I write silly things about silly people.

I read serious things about silly people.

I run my sims dynasty with an iron fist and a five year plan.

I read about perfumes sometimes. I even wear some and one of these days one of those dainty bottles will get me laid.

I try to learn to play chess. Consistency is key and my inner locksmith hanged himself when I was 13, I still hold memorials for the man and pay a generous pension to his unfortunate widow.

I recently drew a picture of a snake with a muffin.

I sometimes make collages and playlists for my unfortunate OCs.

I currently have 2 moods in music: Eartha Kitt or Vivaldi. No in-between. It's been going on for a month.

I do my best not to have a day without an orgasm (covid has put a slight damper on that but I'm not a quitter).

I duolingo, French. 707 day streak. I will be guillotined for this.

I steal cashew nuts from the office to feed to local birds.

I like vintage kitchens, I make the best hot chocolate, I talk to myself, I plan to turn my life around every other weekend, I go to that drama thing when I don't have a deadly virus ripping through me, I will pet any dog that will have me and any cat that's not fast enough. I've recently broke 400k point record on tetris. I post about all that and more (or less) on my silly little scripture of a blog. I sing badly outside of the shower when nobody's home. In the shower I check if I still can do the wrist lock behind back thing (I can, both sides). I ache for the world and my place in it.

I forgot what the question was, moving on.

12. Do you have any pets?

Beautiful twin monsters, little Deppy (short for Depression) and sweet mild Annie (short for Anxiety). Also a plushie called Fucked Up Evil Little Pudding, he's a sweetheart. My puter is called Bartholomew and we're civil with each other.

This is a very long version of 'I rent. I'm not allowed companionship and warmth of a live being by my side'.

13. How tall are you?

Statuesque 5'2'' in the weird foot measurements. 160 in normal ones.

14. Favourite subject in school?

Chemistry. I was spectacularly bad at it. But I actually tried, the teacher was a few percent less shit than others and sometimes I actually got the material and had wild fantasies of giving old Mendeleev a run for his money. Those dreams were crushed firmly by 11th grade.

15. Dream job?

Sheep farming. Also writing children's books in spare time.

I don't think I know 15 people on here well enough to tag, my affliction is also making me cough my heart out, so please do this if you feel like it and check in on me in a day or so if I had died or not. If you'll have a moment that is.

[murderous-coffeebean]

woops

"... you are a dead man, Moist."

"Trust me, I'm aware, Adora."

"In a universe where you haven't died or disappeared mysteriously by this evening, do you want to go out for dinner tonight?"

"If Offler and Anoia are willing--"

"I'll take that as a yes."

Moist von Lipwig, Lord Vetinari, Adora Belle Dearheart (Discworld) © Terry Pratchett / art © Murderous-Coffeebean

[therewasatale]

ex-assassin

On Ao3.

Commander Vimes blew out a weary sigh as he entered the room. "Evening." He announced in an exhausted voice and put his helmet down in one of the chairs.

Havelock Vetinari, who sat in his bed waiting for him, smiled and looked up from the paper in his lap.

"Long day, I assume?"

The Commander waved as an answer and began to undress. It was a new habit he took up in the last few weeks. When he got home and didn’t have any remaining strength to take a full bath, at the very least he changed into some lighter and comfortable clothing.

"Well, not like this was your day off or something." Smiled the ruler of the city

"You talk just like Angua." Vimes snorted, adjusting his pants, then with a tired groan sat down on the edge of the bed. "Gods damn it" he slowly shrugged.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just my shoulders," the Commander glanced over his shoulder as he tried to gently massage it, "I assume, you spent the same day as usually. Reading letters and reports, and scaring people."

"Something we might have in common, Samuel." Vetinari put the sheet of paper on the nightstand and moving closer touched the man's face. "Come on, lie down, maybe I can help."

The Commander, too tired to say anything witty, lied down on the bed next to Vetinari.

"You can do with me whatever you want, just don't wake me up." He smiled hearing the small chuckle.

"As you wish." The patrician placed a kiss on his head and caressed his shoulder. "I think it will do good for you."

A drawer creaked open, then closed, and a few minutes later cold fingers smoothed run along the Commander's bare back.

"It's already almost crossing the line of waking me uha-aaaah."

The man made a long groaned as the long fingers began to slowly massage his tired muscles.

" I studied to be an assassin after all, I know the anatomy of the human body surprisingly well," Vetinari explained with a smile, "and there are herbs in the ointment, a gift from Überwald."

Vimes muttered something from which the words 'flea ridden bastards' and 'blue-blooded' could have been heard.

"Just relax, as I heard you had an interesting day off once again."

"You mean, you've read about it." Sam snorted and smiled, hiding his face in the pillow. "I just helped out Carott."

"I'm sure the captain, and Angua have a lot on their plates. If we're already on that topic, how's the paperwork going?"

Vimes snorted into the pillow. "Havelock."

"Yes?" He kissed the commander's greying hair.

After receiving no response, he continued to massage the man’s back, who sometimes made voices full of satisfaction. He drew tiny circles with his fingers and guided them along his spine.

"You're really beautiful." He said leaning closer and kissed the man's neck.

Vimes gave out a small moan and shuddered at the same time "Hey!"

"Yes, Samuel?"

"Why did you-, that's not my back anymore."

With a soft chuckle Vetinari skilfully got rid of the unnecessary clothing on the Commander.

"Oh, well. Maybe my masseuse skills are a little rusty."

Despite his appearance, the Patrician wasn't a physically weak man. Sam was already aware of that, and now he had to find out again as he found himself lying on his back.

"Havelock?"  His lips felt dry, and he had to lick them while looking in Vetinari's eyes which made everything a bit harder.

"I'm just trying to gather my lost knowledge."

"Oh…" the Commander stopped breathing for a second when chilly fingers, ran along the inside of his thigh. He closed his eyes and gripped the sheet beside him. His body didn’t need any more encouragement, it was already ready for action.

Patrician kissed him on the shoulder. "I see you can still be energetic despite the exhausting day."

The answer came as a soft murmur.

There was an evil glint in Vetinari's eyes as a just as evil thought came to his mind. Perhaps it was only the atmosphere of the evening, or the dim glow of the Moon, that made him gave into the tiny thought as he leaned closer to the Commander.

"You're really attractive, both with and without your clothes."

"No, I'm not." There was still enough self-control in Vimes to at least try to protest. However, as Vetinari spoke, that little protest has begun to wither away.

"Drumknott might have noticed that I'm calling you into my office more often these days.  But I just can't get enough of you in your uniform. I love that unlike in the old days, now you look stealthily in my eyes here and now."

"Stop it."

The Patrician kissed the Commander's increasingly red and hot face again.

The man found it difficult to maintain a calm pace of breathing, as fingers were already exploring his hips. Damn the gods for the fact that he was still hearing Havelock's words trough the drumming of his heartbeat in his ear.

"I thought you were really attractive from a long time ago, but if you would know just how much," he kissed Sam on the lips, who grabbed the Patrician's clothes and hugged him closer.

Vimes body arched, by the touch of the Vetinari's hand.

"Sam," gently drew away from the kiss, and smiled at the man shuddering harder in his hands with every second.

"Wha-what?" He watched in a daze as the Patrician gently kissed the faint scar on his palm. The wound that used to be a reminder the time he almost lost everything. Since then, his concept of ‘everything’ has changed significantly.

"You're beautiful."

The Commander's immediate and clear response came from his well-developed stubbornness.

"Oh, you son of a-. Stop with that and kiss me, I will..."

The panting and moaning felling the room became even more intense.

"Havelock ..." his body tensed into an arc and he grabbed the ruler's arm in a futile effort, he couldn't stop its rhythmic movement.

"Yes, I know." Leaning to his neck he gently bit him. At the same moment the man tensed up once again and reached a trembling orgasm between his fingers.

Vimes shuddered, pulling the Patrician closer as he buried his fingers into his hair. After long seconds when his body was still shivering from pleasure, the tired exhaustion flooded him even stronger than before. Even through the small window his consciousness shrunk into from pleasure, he could feel every inch of his body relaxing.

"My dear," Vetinari kissed his face gently and laid down next to him.

"You little..."

"Little?"

Vimes just snorted between two big breaths and despite his burning face gracefully accepted the handkerchief given to him by the patrician.

They rested side by side in silence, listening to the muffled noises of the city. The moon climbed higher in the sky, illuminating the corners of the room with their clear rays.

The Patrician chuckled and the sound of it made Vimes' heart skip a gently beat.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't really refresh my anatomical knowledge, but we'll make up for it in the morning." He pulled the cool refreshing blanket on themselves with a wide motion.

After a short moment of silence, the Commander cleared his throat.

"Okay, but I'll also try on you some things."

"Lovely, then we'll study together in the morning, but in the meantime, sleep well Sam."

There was something in Vetinari's voice that made a pleasant shiver run down Vimes' body.

"Good night, you ex-assassin." The commander placed a last tiny kiss on the Patrician's shoulder and then closed his eyes falling asleep almost immediately.

[katemarley]

fanfiction: what everyone wants

Fandom: Discworld Pairing: Havelotta Characters: Havelock Vetinari, Lady Margolotta of Uberwald Rating: T

Summary: A young nobleman visits Lady Margolotta of Uberwald on his Grand Sneer. She finds him quite … interesting.

Also available on AO3 and ffnet (see the links in my profile).

---

“You have freedom, Mister Vimes. Isn’t that vhat everyvun vants?” —Margolotta in The Fifth Elephant

---

“It seems,” said Lady Margolotta, staring at the board in front of her, “that you have beaten me.”

She was still working out how that could have happened. The pale young man in front of her had been losing, for H—for someone’s sake!

Then again, this was exactly the point when you played Stealth Chess: If the Assassin piece entered the Slurks to either side as the chessboard and made a few moves there, it could reappear practically anywhere on the board. And the young man, she reminded herself, was a trained assassin.

“So it seems.” The young man didn’t smile, which was, Margolotta thought, fortunate for him because gleeful winners tended to get on her nerves—and the blue veins under his skin were shimmering rather enticingly.

“Even so…”

“Hmm?” Her eyes shifted from his carotid to his face.

“I would feel honoured if your ladyship graced me with the opportunity of a return match.” He smiled. He had a calculating smile, this young man.

“Vhy? You have already von.”

“Yes, but I might not the next time.”

Now he had her undivided attention.

“Our match was even,” he said simply. “This was the most interesting game of Stealth Chess I have played in a long time, and we play it often in the Assassins’ Guild.” Now he smiled a real smile. “One might say we are a match for each other, as opponents.”

“Hmm.” Margolotta watched him more closely. He wasn’t conventionally attractive: A gangly young man with a long face and shoulder-length black hair … but with pale skin and clearly visible veins—features that were certainly attractive to a vampire. And he got along well with her dog.

In short, he was a temptation. A temptation sent not by any unknown deity, but by her friend, his aunt Lady Roberta Meserole, who had asked him to pay her a visit on his Grand Sneer. It would have been quite impolite to sink her fangs into—

Oh, well. Better not follow that train of thought.

---

“My sources are a little vague on the matter, but it seems you had to flee Ankh-Morkpork because you inhumed Lord Vinder?”

The young man was sitting in her library, several books of Uberwaldean philosophy on the table in front of him. Margolotta watched him closely in case the twitching of a brow or, indeed, the speeding up of his pulse revealed the truth of this allegation.

“Oh no, I did not inhume him,”[1] the young man said without any sign of surprise. “However, Lord Snapcase watches every younger member of the Assassins’ Guild quite closely at the moment. Rumour has it that he wants to invite the assassin who … predeceased his predecessor in order to congratulate him, but I would not bet my travelling cloak on his true intentions.”

“Indeed not,” Margolotta said thoughtfully.

“You never know what a tyrant who compiles registers might do with them,” the young man continued in an equally thoughtful tone, looking directly into her eyes. “The existence of a register means that the aforementioned tyrant now knows my name and address. I thought it wisest not to be there, in case he thought a … reduction of the number of assassins in Ankh-Morpork was due.”

“Visely said,” Margolotta had to admit. “Perhaps not so vise to go to Ubervald, though.”

“Oh, several of my teachers at the Guild recommended Uberwaldean philosophers to me,” the young man said. “I thought reading their works might broaden my understanding of politics and its underlying principles.”

“It seems you have come to the right place, then.” Margolotta gestured around at the high-vaulted room. With its chairs and ladders leading to a second storey with even more books, it resembled the library of a cloister rather than that of a castle.

“Indeed, I believe I have.” The young man turned to one of the books on the table. “I found some of the statements in Die Bedingtheit der Werte by Friedhelm Niklas quite enlightening, especially the passage in which he emphasises that the powerful and the wealthy define what is ‘good’, and usually define that they are ‘the good ones’ themselves.”[2]

“Ah, is that not a universal truth?” said Margolotta. “There are no good people at all, only people vho claim to be the good ones.”

“Oh yes,” said the young man. “Not long ago, I watched a play in which one of the characters said: There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.[3] That seems entirely correct to me.”

“Vell,” said Margolotta, “In my experience, there are, alvays and only, the bad people. It is just that some of them are on opposite sides.”[4]

The young man turned to her, books forgotten. There was an alertness in his expression that drew her closer. He pulled out a chair for her.

“Do tell me more.”

---

“Such a pity you have to go.” Margolotta stepped behind the young man with superhuman speed. She expected him to flinch, but there was nothing—nothing but the suggestion that he might have moved away if only he had wanted to. But he remained standing, and his pulse did not speed up.

“Yes,” he said. “I quite enjoyed my stay at your place.”

“I only vonder,” she said, lifting her chin to bring her lips closer to his neck, “vhat makes you believe I vould let you go.”

And there it was, the quickening of a pulse.

“I trust that you will let me go,” he said, “and that you will not harm me.”

“Oh, but you don’t,” she whispered close to his ear. “You are afraid.”

“As a matter of fact, your ladyship, I am not.”

“I can hear your pulse.”

“I am aware.” He paused. “You can also smell people’s fear, I am told. Can you smell fear?”

She hesitated. There was no fear.

She closed her mouth and brushed her lips against his pulse point.

He shuddered, barely perceptible. Margolotta only noticed because she had been waiting for it.

“Interesting.” She stepped back.

“Of course I cannot know if you feel the same—if that is, indeed, what vampires feel,” he said, “but I do believe that you will not try to subdue me.”

“Oh, and vhy is that?” With lightning speed, she stepped to his side. He did not flinch this time either.

“Because you were the first person in years who challenged my skills when we played Stealth Chess,” he said. “Because some of the most interesting conversations of my life so far were with you.” He paused. “There will be no more if you subdue me.”

Margolotta stared into his eyes.

“An intelligent young man indeed.”

“So I am told.” He smiled. “Your ladyship, it was an honour to meet you.” He took her hand and bowed deeply, breathing a kiss on her hand.

“May ve meet again, Havelock Vetinari,” she said solemnly.

“I hope we will, Lady Margolotta. I hope we will.”

He mounted his horse. She watched him ride through the gates of her castle.

He was right, of course. She would never subdue someone like him, tempting as it might be.

“Thall I clothe the gateth, mithtreth?” said Igor, appearing right behind her in the way only Igors could.

“Yes, close them, please.” She turned back to her castle. Quietly, she added: “And I shall spend the evening asking myself if vampires can feel the same…”

“Mithtreth?”

“Nothing, Igor. Nothing.”

---

Notes

I was listening to “Freiheit” (Freedom) by Saltatio Mortis and it gave me quite the Havelotta feels… You can find the German lyrics and an English translation on lyricstranslate. 

---

[1] Lady Margolotta might have received a more accurate answer had she asked if he had had anything to do with Lord Winder’s death, but as matters stand, giving someone a heart attack does not mean inhuming them in accord with Assassins’ Guild statutes.

[2] Paraphrased from Zur Genealogie der Moral by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.

[3] Written by a certain Discworld playwright named Hwel.

[4] Quoted almost verbatim from Guards! Guards!

[patricianandclerk]

For the prompt request! honestly just something that explores Drumknott’s sexuality, and also just my boy failing in love despite not knowing what emotions™️ are

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Patrician & Clerk ‘verse

Warning for one homophobic slur. 

The first time he knew there was something, he was ten.

He was sitting outside the UnseenUniversity Library, sipping at a cup of sweet tea, scented with flowers[1].It was a very hot day, the summer sun not quite reaching the desperate levelsof heat it would as the summer went onward, but still more than hot enough. Hewas sitting quietly beside the Librarian, who had once been a very pleasant mannamed Horace Worblehat, and was now an orangutan.

Young Drumknott had grown used to this.

The man who stepped down the path was from oneof the supply shops in Sator Square, and he’d been called up to meet the Archchancellor.It had obviously been an upsetting meeting, because he looked hot, his skin glisteningwith sweat, and Drumknott watched as he dragged his shirt over his head, throwingit over one shoulder.

He was a beefy man, used to hauling cratesof coal and wood upon his shoulders, and Drumknott stared for a long moment atthe expanse of his chest and his belly, at the thick muscle in his arms.

He felt hot, and dizzy, and for somereason, ashamed, so he looked very intently into his teacup.

“Ook?” the Librarian asked.

“No, thank you,” Drumknott answered, notlooking at the man as he sauntered back down the path, and not looking at theLibrarian himself, offering a plate of sandwiches. “I’m not hungry.”

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

The first time he knew he was different, hewas twelve.

It was a cool day in February, and this wastheir lunch hour. Drumknott was eating quietly, although the other boysinsisted on making conversation with him. They often did, regardless of howplain it was that he didn’t care for their chatter.

“Why don’t you board with us?” asked SmeltKipper, a blond boy with floppy hair and freckles on his nose. He was a veryexcitable thing, Drumknott thought, with no small amount of disapproval, andoften entertained himself, running back and forth, kicking up a fuss aboutalmost nothing. “Your scholarship does include boarding, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Drumknott said softly. “Merely thatI have responsibilities at home, at the grocer’s.”

Graham Shed, a boy with dark hair andbrilliantly white teeth, leaned forward, across the table. He was one of theoldest in their year, but had taken his thirteenth birthday with quiet grace,and he had a very dangerous way about him, one that made Drumknott’s stomachtwist in his belly, and made his skin feel hot and tight under his clothes.

Graham Shed was the sort of boy that toldother boys what to do, and smiled when they listened, but never actuallyinvolved himself in their activities. He’d just watch, and smile, and gowithout punishment when they got caught.

“You,Drumknott,” Shed said in a slow, deliberate voice, pointing at him with hisfork, “talk like an old man.”

“Well,” Drumknott replied dryly. “They dosay you are what you eat.”

The other boys laugh and snicker, louderthan he’d expected them to, and Drumknott hesitated as Shed raised hiseyebrows, his lips quirking up at their edges. He had very soft-looking lips –Drumknott remembered them even years later, as they filled out. Shed always hadlips like cherries, and he remembered them, even as the rest of his face fadedto a blur.

“I don’t think that sounded like you meantit to sound,” Shed murmured.

“How does it sound?” Drumknott demanded,feeling the creeping heat burn as it drew up the back of his neck, glowing fromhis cheeks.

“It sounds like a sex thing,” said Kipper, laughing. “And you can’t have sex with a man.”

“Let alone an old one,” Shed said.

Can’tyou? Drumknott almost asked, before he stoppedhimself. He’d heard the other boys talking about sex, and he himself had read about it, had evenexamined some of the more explicit volumes in the Library, wherein adultsupervision was sorely lacking. He was accustomed to his fellow students at LinkstonAcademy being uneducated on some matters, or being… Not sensible.

But they sounded so certain, like it was obvious. Couldn’t you? Couldn’t men touchother men, want other men, kiss other men, have sex with other men? He had simply assumed…  They were all laughing.

They laughed as if it was so ridiculous.

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone,” Drumknottsaid. “No one at all.”

“You will,” Shed said, with confidence.

Drumknott sipped at his tea.

It was too hot: it burned his tongue.

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

The first time he knew it really mattered, he was fourteen.

“You may kiss me, if you like,” Marie Vestensaid charitably.

They had been speaking for thirty minutes,now: Marie had approached him as he had been waiting for the line for the toffeeapples to go down somewhat, idly reading his book, and making polite conversation.They were walking together, and he had been rather perplexed at a girl inAssassins’ Guild uniform coming over to speak with him for much of the time,but now…

Marie Vesten was the sort of well-bredyoung girl that seemed to feel that speaking with her was quite the privilege,and that one ought take advantage of the opportunity if she felt like bestowingit upon you. Drumknott, thus far, was not a fan. She talked a lot, and Drumknotthad been listening politely, but…

There hadn’t yet been an opportunity to getaway with her.

One did not seem forthcoming.

“Oh,” Drumknott said. “Ah… Thank you,Marie, for the offer, but I think not.”

Marie raised her chin slightly, giving hima scowl. They were standing near to the apple bobbing barrels, and Drumknottlooked over them in some disgust. He liked apples well enough, but not enoughto throw his face into a bowl of water and grab for one with his teeth –particularly not one that had likely already been tongued and bitten at by adozen mouths before your own.

It was unhygienic.

“Why not?” Marie asked. She was a tall girl,taller than Drumknott, with a willowy strength to her body, and Drumknott couldsee the dagger in the holster at her thigh, underneath a skirt that had beenhiked up somewhat above, Drumknott suspected, regulation length. He did not pointout the blade or the skirt length. Neither seemed appropriate to comment upon.

“I hardly think it proper,” Drumknott said.“We’ve only just met, after all.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Marie demanded.

“Of course,” Drumknott said, and when shestared at him, he added hurriedly, “You’ve got very nice, er…” By Io, what was meant to be attractiveabout women? He’d heard the other boys at the Academy talk about them, especiallyafter lights out, when everyone was in bed, but… “Lovely hair,” he said,somewhat lamely.

“Fine,” Marie said, crossing her armstightly over her chest as they approached one of the barrels. “Shall we give ita try?”

“Oh, no,” Drumknott said. “I don’t like applebobbing.”

“You don’t like anything, seems like,” Marie muttered.

“I like things,” Drumknott protested.

“Just not girls or kissing or applebobbing?”

“Not at all,” Drumknott said. “I’m sure I’d—”

She grabbed him by the hair, and he chokedon water as his face was pressed into the barrel, his knees hitting the floor.He struggled for a moment, trying to grab at her hip, her leg, to get her tolet him go, but she wouldn’t, so he grasped for the dagger in its holster – if hemoved quickly, he could—

He gasped in a breath, falling back ontohis hands as Marie was dragged away from him, and he looked up at the face ofLord Downey, one of the Asssassins’ Guild schoolmasters.

Drumknott coughed, hard.

“Faggot,”Marie spat, and Drumknott leaned back, the word hitting him like a slap in theface, his lips parting as he stared at her. He felt the cold water drippingdown the back of his neck, into his clothes, and he almost wished he hadn’t cometo the fair at all – all he’d wanted was one of the stupid toffee apples, and to listen to all the cheer and music, that wasall, that was all.  

“Miss Vesten,” he said hoarsely, breathingheavily, “you are very impolite.”

“I believe I agree,” Lord Downey saiddarkly, and Drumknott didn’t hear what he said as they walked away, Downeyleaning down to talk into Marie’s ear.

He got to his feet, and awkwardly brushedhimself off. No one had noticed them, except Downey.

He’d been very lucky, he supposed. He didn’tfeel lucky.

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

The first time he kissed anotherman, he was seventeen, and it was a revelation.

A handful of women had tried tokiss him in his lifetime, mistaking his politeness or his tendency to quietly listento someone else talk as shyness, orattraction. Once or twice, they had dragged him into cupboards or alcoves, tryingto wrap their arms around his neck, trying to touch him.

Each time, he grasped them firmlyby the hips, and pushed them neatly aside, before getting on with the business ofthe day.

He wasn’t going to push this oneaway.

Flyer Kytes was another clerk,and he led Drumknott with confidence into an alleyway outside of the Guild ofClerks and Secretaries. When hekissed Drumknott, the world felt right and proper, like the very Disc wasturning on an axis, and Drumknott gasped against his mouth, kissed him back. Hewas clumsy and desperate and eager, but so was Flyer Kytes, and they kissed andkissed and kissed, until Drumknottfelt dizzy with it, until he felt he would faint—

And then Flyer Kytes drew away,with a little grin on his face, and waved Drumknott goodbye before he ran offto work.

Yes.

Yes, that was…

That was something.

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

The first time he loved, it ached.

The first time he loved, it was agony.

The first time he loved was the last time, too.

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

“I,” Drumknott said, and Vetinari looked down at himquizzically, even as his hands came up to cup his cheeks, his hands so warm. Ithad been awful, the past few weeks: Vetinari had been struck down by somestupid scheme from one of the more idiotic members of the UU student body, andhad been in the Infirmary for days on end.

Now, they were home,back in the Patrician’s Palace, the door of Vetinari’s bedroom closed behindthem, and Drumknott could scarcely stop himself from burying his face in thePatrician’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his narrow waist.

“Oh,” Vetinari said softly. “It’s alright, Rufus, it’salright: I’m here, I’m quite safe.”

“I know,” Drumknott said, and he grasped tightly atVetinari’s robe, pressing closer to him. “I…” I love you, he wanted to say. He didn’t know how: his mouth wouldnot form around the traitorous words. He could scarcely bring himself to say hislordship’s name: to confess love, hecouldn’t, he couldn’t… “I prayed for you.”

There was a tense silence.

Drumknott waited for the retort, the angry response.That would be easier, he thought, that the desperate feeling he felt, thetangled mess of emotion in his chest, the want to drag the Patrician into hisbed and cling to him there, forever, forever and ever and—

“Thank you,” Vetinari said softly. “That must havebeen… difficult.”

“You hate religion,” Drumknott said, slightlyawkwardly, still itching for Vetinari to fight with him, to bite at him.

“Perhaps so,” Vetinari replied. “But I don’t hate you.And your religion is… important, toyou. If you prayed for me, it’s a sign of care. Of… love.”

Drumknott let out a desperate, ugly noise, and hefell to his knees on the hardwood planks of the bedroom floor. Immediately, Vetinarigrasped at his arms, drawing him over to the bed and laying him down, clutchingDrumknott in his lap, and Drumknott shuddered as he tried not to cry, as hetried to measure himself—

And then Vetinari kissed him. It was a gentlemovement, just Vetinari’s lips brushing against his own, chaste and soft.

Drumknott wept, and Vetinari held him.

No words passed between them.

None were needed.

♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔ ☩ ♔

Later, Drumknott straddled Vetinari’s hips, his faceburied against the hard panel of Vetinari’s chest. Vetinari had made him washhis hair, to remove the unguent he wore in it, and was now dragging his fingerspleasantly through the half-dry locks.

“When did you first know?” Drumknott asked, mumbled.“That you liked men?”

“I was only a young man,” Vetinari said. “I saw twomen fencing – friends of Madam’s, I believe. There was something in that. It…called to me, spoke to me. I stayed awake at night thinking about it, until Ihad decided that I liked men as other boys liked women. Yourself?”

“There were little moments,” Drumknott said. “Smallrevelations.”

“Tell me?” Vetinari asked, his voice low and quiet…It was a lover’s voice, warm and affectionate. Drumknott’s stomach twisted, notat all unpleasantly, and he wriggled in his place, trying to press himselfcloser.

He told him.

Vetinari listened.

[1] It was good, he was reliably informed by his aunt, a witch, forbone development.

[tpprpracticalskillsblog]

2nd October 2019, Summerhall Edinburgh Field Trip, The Summerhall Tour

On Monday 30th September 2019, the two classes from Inverness and Perth UHI went to Edinburgh for a tour of Summerhall and to listen to a couple working artists talk about their own practices. 

The following post is a direct reflection on my reactions in the moment as well as after the fact of the tour of Summerhall. The disjointed jumpiness of text is how I received the information.

At the beginning of the tour, we were seated in a Victorian lecture hall, where an employee of Summerhall spoke to us about the history of the building and what exhibitions we were to see on the tour. This employee mumbled a lot when he spoke making it difficult to catch what he was saying including his own name, thus him being referred to as employee throughout this post. Within the first two minutes of his talk the employee complained about how he was underpaid which was fun banter, to begin with yet soon he kept bringing it up which for me drew the line into unprofessionalism. I am not your HR team don’t complain to me about these things. Due to his mumbling, it appeared that he kept jumping from one story to the next making it very hard to follow and understand what he is saying. The employee also spoke ill of other artists saying “90% of artists you’ll work with will be absolute c words other 10% will be alright.” this to me seemed uncalled for as again it wasn’t anything to do with the tour. 

Finally, the employee started talking about Summerhall. 

The building of Summerhall has been around for hundreds of years, in the 1600s this area of Edinburgh was quite seedy and rough, in the 1700s a brewery was built and is the property of McGlenans Summerhall still has a brewery/distillery to honour this heritage. The gin distillery does tours also.

Summerhall has a cafe that is mainly occupied by mums with small children or people with laptops working away.

Summerhall Mission Statement is to be a multi-arts centre complex and over the past few years has become one of the best locations of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

Summerhall was a veterinary nurse school for hundreds of years many rooms in Summerhall have changed very little from these times. They try to incorporate the history of the building and make them a part of the exhibitions. 

Summerhall has theatrical programs, as well as comic and musical programmes they run. They also do wine festivals and other events. 

They have hardly modified the rooms other than modern health and safety standards and heating.

However, there are some exceptions they do transform some spaces for certain exhibitions temporarily but when they’re done the room goes back to how it was. 

there is a war memorial library in the veterinary school.

they have a waiting list for use of studio spaces but it is very expensive. 

Summerhall has a visual arts programme, sociated programme, and curative programme.  the Sociated Programme is to have Summerhall make money you pay for a lot of the spaces etc. the Curative Programme is where they go out and look for artists and bring them in.

Summerhall has five shows at the moment of which it is my understanding we were seeing some of these on the tour.

Photography exhibition by the New York Times on climate change

Painter from Edinburgh painting exhibition deals with the exploration of sexuality, gays etc. Abstract painting.

Jane Frairs exhibition mural is highly political, Brexit, immigration, refugees. The employee describes it as a “beautiful exhibition”. The exhibition consists of murals and three short animated films. Sor politics has been talked about an awful lot in the beginning talk of the tour and it is getting irksome. 

Alan Smith exhibitions life exhibition of him right up to his death artworks and a couple films where he speaks his mind about his life as an artist and illness.

In the basement, a mental health exhibition is being prepped so cannot visit today. Opening on 10th October 2019 non-alcohol opening the employee expressed how he didn’t like this and how openings with alcohol available are better. 

The exhibition is about art therapy the employee stated “surprisingly they show real talent without and formal training” his tone and body langue tell that he is a believer you need formal training before even considering submitting your work to an institution. 

Richard D’maro is an artist in 60s, 70s, and 80s patron and collector of the arts in Scotland and South-East Europe he has an admirable archive library which recently has been opened to the public.

The employee expressed his views that an artist (because of the mumbling didn’t catch their name) was involved in Nazi practices because they grew up during the third riech the employee said “make that as you will” all though his body language and attitude said he believed they did based on one technicality no other evidence. 

Finally, the tour began. We were herded into a room full of photography no context as to what the art means or who the artist was, we were barely in there and taken a couple photos before being shuttled off somewhere else. 

Although the images have been displayed in a very professional manner I cannot give further thoughts on this exhibition as there wasn’t enough communication as to the context.

Next, we were taken to a room with art based around the themes of Brexit and immigration by artist Jane Frere. As personally I do not like mixing art and any form of politics my brain had instinctively switched off.

However, this being said one element of the exhibition 9 enjoyed and was very interested in. It was the placement of a Japanese shadow puppet box on a black plinth.

I have used plinths to display my artworks before and like here the plinth and wall colour was the same so it gives the impression of a floating artwork. Yet this is where the similarities end. Where I use the plinth as an extension of the artwork Frere uses the plinth purely for display purposes seen as the distribution of the artwork is printed directly onto the plinth branding it as a mere stand.

Sadly this all I can say on this room and exhibition as once again after a few short moments we were escorted away to a room which I was only able to have a glimpse at the reasoning for showing this space I am unsure.

The next room greatly interested me as it holds prints of works from Leonardo Da Vinci as being known as one of the artistic greats seeing these is an experience not to be forgotten. There were also works by David Boyes.

At the end of this room there is an interesting contraption. The employee informed us that it was used to separate bone from tissue, back when the building was a vetinary school. This to me was the current highlight of the tour as these vintage machines and ways of various surgery’s are an interest of mine.

In the climate change exhibition the photographs are very uniform, each shown in the same thin black frame, the same dimensions, and same high quality resolution. Again because of the messaging I didn’t pay enough attention, but I could still appreciate the art for what they are. High quality photographs.

At this point the employee asked me what my favourite exhibition was. To which I explained that the I don’t agree with the mixing of politics and art, I don’t want to see it everywhere when I know the world is going to pot. He wasn’t pleased with this answer looking me up and down like filth before abruptly turning away to talk to other students. Over the course of the tour I had be getting more and more annoyed with the employees unprofessionalism from his complaining about being underpaid to his mumbling, this pushed me over the edge. Do not ask for an opinion if you are not willing to hear any type of response.

The tour was still not over.

The employee showed us th drool where they hold staff parties. It was a room where the vetinary school would hold dissection classes, the students stand in the balcony while the lecturer directed various animals. On the side of the room there is the original lift where they’d transport the large animals such as elephants, horses, and cows to be dissected.

After this we were lead out into the courtyard where the tour ended and we made our way back into the building to listen to Anthony Shraug talk about his practices as a working artist.

[leona-florianova]

Arts I need to draw but i ll forget cause memory is shite

also no energy... After ill finish the school stuff i fear i wont have the energy and the spite to draw my stuff...heres list...because reminding myself in public places like this assures me remembering to make at least lil part of it... 

Discworld fanart -- more Vetinari, ankh morpork and its fashion, ankh morpork and its architecture (sure first i need to learn how to heck draw buildings)

Edge Chronicles - i think i never drew anithing even though the series are super important for me.. (me you gotta draw)

Fallout comics - Getting rid of Myron, knowledge is power, Worse or...better?, Havin beer with Ulysses, Destructive but gullible force of nature Courier gets fucked by Benny but not in the literal sense, high as kite and on their way to kill a bear they meet the mormon mummy, playing with rattle snuppies, some good ol ghouls, more harold.. 

Fallout “vintage” covers - at least three more

Terminator salvation - why aint there more fanarts of marcus? he was a good boy..a good concept

Tuf Voyaging by G.R.R. Martin - gosh what a nice sci-fi book..llove that logical cat lover

Alien - draw some xenomorphs...and DAVID 8

all the stuff people aked me to draw but i either forgot or something got in the way.

Marvel - Loki, LOKI, LOOOKKKIIIII (from the comics), squirrel girl (gosh how precious), fanart on the Legion series, quentin quire

2000ad - DREDD

asexual appreciation - you know... some good aces n aros 

history stuff 

more Hitchhikers guide and Dirk Gently arts

Mad Max and other postapo 

Dune art - 

McElroy content - MORE FINAL PAM THERE ALWAYS NEEDS TO BE MORE PAM

Cool OCs of folks I know

i guess you guys can add more if I like the idea I might draw it...later...

 Also because my money is going bye bye I might need to figure out how the hell patreon works and to start comissions

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Vetinari looks Downey then down to the crate which he has reappeared from the filing room. Realization of reason for summons is Downey’s eyebrows lifting half a fraction.

‘Bursar was doing a spot of spring cleaning at the Guild. He found mine as well. Did you know I actually circled X on an exam and wrote “found it” next to it?’ Downey lounges in his chair and looks like he is a natural feature of the office. ‘I imagine yours are all pristine. I didn’t look.’

‘I know.’

‘I also found an exam where I drew an anatomically correct frog in answer to an essay question on Genoan Absurdism. I believe I thought I was being clever.’

‘However did you graduate.’

Downey you were such a tool.