#from fanfic to novel

[judeinthestars]

[alyssarabil]

Fallen: Chapter Four - Andy's POV

It’s dark outside when she wakes up and at first, she’s not sure what disturbed her. She blinks through her already-developed hangover and rolls out of bed. She listens, unsure if it is a dream or something outside. She hears something dragging across the gravel driveway and goes to inspect. She bought a knife after leaving the airport. She’s not unarmed, but she’s not as prepared as she’d like to be. 

She sees a figure struggling in the darkness and holds her breath. When it moves again, she can see someone kneeling in the dirt and a pair of wings silhouetted in the moonlight. She exhales. 

She leaves the knife on the table by the door and goes outside to investigate. She tries to keep her voice low in the darkness. “You hurt?” she asks.

Oriana jumps. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed Andy approaching. Her wing snaps back and both wings shift then droop awkwardly against the ground.

Andy can’t tell if she’s injured herself more. The cabin is closer than the main house.

“Fuck,” she mutters. 

Oriana doesn’t say anything.

She hauls the angel to her feet. The thing crash-landed in the rockiest part of the driveway, proving yet again that luck is not one of her powers. She doesn’t protest as Andy wraps her arm around her waist and leads them back to the cabin.

Oriana doesn’t look too badly injured, but she won’t lift her head. 

Andy’s not sure what she was doing outside, but she has her suspicions. 

As they enter the cabin, Andy searches for a place to let the angel recover. She exhales, annoyed, as she realizes the couch isn’t big enough for Oriana’s wings. Andy leads her over to the bed.

She slides from Andy’s arms and sits on the edge of the mattress, head still hanging and eyes still downcast. 

Andy itches to break the silence, but something tells her to let it be for now. She eyes the angel, relived to see no obvious damage. The last thing she wants to do is stitch up a monster at two in the morning. 

Oriana’s brow glistens with sweat in the lamplight. 

Andy reaches out a hand and touches her forehead to check for a fever. It’s a reflex. She regrets it instantly. 

Oriana jumps violently as Andy’s touches her. Her head jerks up and she pushes herself back, away from Andy’s hand. She tries to pull her wings around herself, but the broken one is still bound. She cries out in pain, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” says Andy, quickly withdrawing her hand. She steps back to give the angel some room.

Color floods into Oriana’s cheeks and she draws her knees to her chest. She covers her head with her arms and sits in silence.

Is it—she—embarrassed? 

This is new. She has no skills here. This is Faith’s arena. Andy, at a loss for what to do, goes to the kitchenette and quickly returns with a damp dishtowel. She clears her throat. “Mind if I sit down?”she asks.

Oriana shutters, but then slowly nods her head. 

“I brought this,” says Andy. She holds up the towel, but Oriana doesn’t look at her. 

Andy isn’t sure how to continue. 

She used to do this for Faith when she got sick. It’s not much, but it’s what she knows.

“Can I—” she begins but loses the rest of the sentence.

Finally, Oriana raises her head, just enough to peer at Andy with one blood-shot eye. She watches Andy for a minute, seeming to deliberately slow her breathing.

“You okay?”asks Andy.

Oriana nods this time. She lifts her head and sits up a little straighter. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. Her face is still red, and her eyes are glistening.

Andy recognizes that look. She’s been guilty of it herself. The angel is trying to pull herself out of whatever is going on in her mind. 

Oriana still has her knees pressed into her chest, but she is watching Andy’s every move, eyes a little more alert. 

“I thought you might have a fever,” mutters Andy. “I didn’t mean to—ah—startle you, I guess.” She holds the towel up again. “This is cold. It might help. I mean, it’ll help if your face feels hot, otherwise it’ll just be cold.”

Oriana’s eyes go from Andy to the towel and back to Andy. “I shouldn’t have jumped,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Andy. She suddenly feels guilty, and she doesn’t know why. She tries not to dwell on it. “I scared you. I shouldn—”

As soon as she says “scared,” Oriana looks away and a shadow falls over her face. She looks upset.

Andy understands now. Oriana let Andy see her fear and weakness and is now grappling with the humiliating aftereffects.

If this were Faith and they were about 20 years younger, Andy would make a joke. She’d make her little sister feel better by distracting her. Andy would say Faith had scared her because she thought Faith was going to fight her. 

Andy would talk about how tough Faith was and Andy was the one who was afraid. She’d babble on until Faith forgot her humiliation and felt strong again. But this isn’t Faith and Oriana is not a child.

Andy holds out the towel. “I wouldn’t trust me either,” she says. She’s going soft. She knows it. 

Jeremy would never approve of this. 

Andy’s sitting on a bed with a wounded angel and she’s sympathizing with it.  Jeremy would disown her, but Faith would be ecstatic. 

Andy decides she’s still doing this for Faith, and not because she recognizes something of herself in Oriana. 

Oriana sighs and turns her eyes to the towel. She takes it from Andy’s hand and cautiously touches it to her face. She closes her eyes. 

Fever or not, she seems to appreciate the gesture.

Andy shifts on the bed and Oriana’s eyes shoot open, staring her down. Andy suddenly realizes she’s lifted her hand again and now it hangs awkwardly in the space between them. 

Oriana tilts her head and slowly lifts her free hand. 

Their fingertips touch.

“Your face is red,” says Oriana quietly.

It’s Andy’s turn to jump. She pulls her hand back and quickly stands. She puts a good two yards between them before she faces the angel again. 

Shit. 

She should have known better. As soon as she let herself think of the angel as a person and not a thing, something changed. At least that’s the story she’s sticking to. It has nothing to do with those deep, inquisitive eyes or the subtle curves of her cheeks.   

Oriana frowns.“I’m sorry,” she says.

Andy says nothing. Her head is spinning. Her heart is beating, pounding in her ears. Her face feels like it’s on fire. She isn’t surprised Oriana said it was red. 

“We should sleep,” croaks Andy, when she finally finds her voice.

“I will return to the house,” says Oriana.

Andy shakes her head. 

“Stay put,” she says. “I’ll crash on the couch.” She wonders what kind of life-altering mistake she is making.

“I shouldn’t stay,” says Oriana.

“Well, I don’t want to wake up Ava trying to get you back inside, so you’re kind of out of options,” says Andy. “If Ava wakes up, she’s going to want to know what you were doing outside, and you’ll have to explain.” She is doubling down on her terrible decision.

“I make you uneasy,” says Oriana. 

Andy shakes her head firmly. “You’re staying.” If Oriana escapes, it’s Andy’s own stupid fault.“We can make each other uneasy together.” 

Oriana looks at her like she’s confused.

Andy has no explanation. 

Finally, she sighs again. “I will stay,” she says, “but I will not take your bed.”

Andy points to her wings. “Those won’t fit on the couch.”

“I’m aware,” she says.

“You can’t make them…you know…” She isn’t sure if this is a sensitive issue. “They don’t disappear?”

“No,” answers Oriana. 

“Then how are you going to fit on the couch?”

“I will sleep on the floor.”

Andy sighs.“You can’t sleep on the floor, Oriana. Ava would skin me alive if I let you do that.” 

She blinks at Andy. “You said my name,” says Oriana.

“Yeah. Should I call you something else? Is there a nickname I should use?”

“Nickname?” 

“It’s a name friends use. Like, if I started calling you Ana.”

Her eyes narrow. “We are friends?” she asks.

Andy hates Faith for getting her into this; hates herself more. “I don’t know,” she answers. “It’s late. I’m exhausted. Just make yourself comfortable and we’ll get you back to the house in the morning.”

Oriana doesn’t ask for more of an explanation. She cautiously moves her knees away from her chest and examines the bed.

“You need help?”

“My wing,” she murmurs.

“What do you need me to do?”

Oriana doesn’t answer. 

Andy senses she is about to start beating herself up again, this time for needing help. “Does it hurt to move it?” she asks, rushing to distract Oriana from whatever thoughts are going through her head. “You probably shouldn’t move it on your own. God only knows what you did to it trying to…” she stops. “What were you trying to do?”

Oriana bites her lower lip. “I was trying to fly,” she answers. 

“With one wing?” asks Andy.

“I’ve flown with a broken wing before,” she says.

“It’s still bound,” says Andy. “What the hell was your plan?”

Oriana glares.“I was testing the mobility of my uninjured wing. I was going to unbind the other and—”

Andy raises an eyebrow. “You were escaping.”

“Yes,” she answers. “I realized after speaking with you today, that you will not be able to follow through with our deal. I wanted to live my last days my way.”

“I’ll follow through,” says Andy. “I told you that.” 

Oriana shakes her head. “Your bond with your sister won’t allow it. My health means a great deal to her. She means a great deal to you, ergo my health means a great deal to you, ergo you will not be able to kill me. This is most likely the reason you’re allowing me to stay in your cabin.”

Andy crosses her arms over her chest, preparing to deny, but Oriana is right. She sighs.

“Yeah,” is all she manages to say.

“It’s all right,” says Oriana. “Once I realized you and Doctor Black were sisters, I suspected this would be a problem. I understand humans have very strong familial bonds.”

“And angels don’t?” It’s a question but the words come out with more bite than intended.

“I don’t know,” answers Oriana. “I…” She trails off again.

Andy feels a stab of guilt. “Sorry,” she says.

“Do you even know what you are apologizing for?”

“Uh.” That’s as far as Andy gets. She knows she’s hit a sore spot, she’s just not sure what that spot is.

Oriana smiles for what feels like the first time. “You are very different from other humans,” she says.

Andy breaks eye contact. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable again,” says Oriana.

“No,” says Andy quickly.

“Yes,” says Oriana. “I don’t know why you insist on denying it.” 

Andy rubs a hand over her face. “Okay. Yes. I’m uncomfortable. But only because this is new to me and I’m trying not to fuck up.”

“Or Ava will skin you alive,” says Oriana.

Andy laughs. “Right. Ava and Faith both.”

“Presumably that is meant metaphorically and not literally?”

“Yeah,” she answers.

“What does it mean?” asks Oriana. 

“Seriously?” She realizes Oriana isn’t joking. She’s confused. 

Andy feels sick. Of course, Oriana doesn’t get it. She’s covered head to toe in scars and Faith said they found her caged in a fucking grain silo. 

Oriana is still watching her. She’s still waiting for an answer. 

“It just means they’d be mad at me,” answers Andy.

“And as a result of their anger?”

“They maybe wouldn’t talk to me for a while? I guess it would depend on what I did.”

Oriana nods slowly. “I think I understand. You are concerned they would be angry then withhold affection.”

“Listen, I,”Andy stops.  Andy’s pretty good at knowing what she should say. She’s never been good at saying it. She’s nauseous again. How many angels has she killed? How much pain has she caused?

Oriana is still watching her. After a bizarre few seconds of staring, she pushes away from the bed and gets to her feet. “I should go,” she says.

Andy sees her sway and is at her side before she can second-guess herself. “Easy, Ana” she says softly.

Oriana holds one hand to her side and rests the other on Andy’s shoulder. She’s tense.

They both are.

Her face twists with pain. 

Andy doesn’t know if it’s her wing or something else. She nudges the hand clutching the collar of her t-shirt. “Hang onto me for a sec,” she says. 

Oriana gets a firm grip around her neck. 

Andy leads her over to the couch. “Can you hang on right here?” she asks.

Oriana nods and shifts her weight, so she is half standing, half leaning against the side of the couch.

Once Oriana is stable, Andy hurries to the bed. She pulls the mattress onto the floor and drags it closer to the couch. She stops in front of Oriana and returns to the angel’s side to help lower her down. “Lay on your side with the broken wing up,” says Andy, trying to direct her as she helps her onto the floor. Andy crouches on the mattress as she settles Oriana onto the bed.

“What hurts?”

“It’s just my wing,” says Oriana. “But I’m better now. I should go.”

“No.” Andy channels what she can remember of her mother’s commanding tone. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll make sure Ava takes a look at you in the morning, but you don’t need to move anymore. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Oriana looks up at Andy from her side. Her breathing is heavy. She doesn’t argue.

“Did Faith give you anything for pain?” 

“Yes. I don’t know what it’s called.”

“Is it human medicine? Can you take human medicine?”

Oriana laughs. 

“You want to let me in on the joke?”

“You are treating my injuries,” says Oriana, still grinning. “This place is full of contradictions.” 

“Is this like, an angel-humor thing?” asks Andy. 

Oriana quiets and waves a hand, dismissing her. “Never mind.”

Andy gets up and retrieves the dishtowel from the bedside table. She grabs a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass from the kitchen area and fills it with water. She soaks the towel under the faucet and rings it out. She goes back to Oriana and kneels beside her. “Take this and drink,” she says.

Oriana looks from Andy to the glass to the pills she’s offering and, for a second, Andy thinks she’s going to protest. But then she props herself up on her elbow and pops the pills in her mouth then reaches for the water. 

Andy doesn’t let go of it. They both hold the glass while Oriana drinks.

When she’s done, Andy sets the glass on the floor beside the mattress. 

“Can I see if your head is hot?” she asks.

Oriana nods.

“I’m going to touch your face,” Andy clarifies, remembering her earlier mistake. 

“I understand,”says Oriana, all traces of humor gone. She closes her eyes, a frown pulling ather lips.

Andy cautiously places her palm against Oriana’s forehead and the angel exhales. She is warm. Andy needs to call Faith in the morning and find out what to do next. Andy runs her thumb over Oriana’s skin.

Oriana flinches and Andy’s hand shoots back. 

“You might get cold later,” mutters Andy. She quickly covers Oriana with a sheet and leaves the heavier blankets within reach on the mattress. She rises slowly and turns off all the lights except the one by the couch. Once she is settled and Oriana seems comfortable, she turns off the last light. “Good night, Oriana,” she says.

“Good night, Andy.”

[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

[fandomrouletteburrito]

I wonder what needs to happen in canon for soukoku to actually talk for once

Not just banter but actually have a conversation

And im not talking about the one sentence check in thing that we see all the time

I want a full blown conversation for once between them

Like we get all this content but never actual words between them where theyre both talking and gah I really want that

[happypeachsludgeflower]

I know that technically when a god dies they die completely, unable to reenter the cycle of life and death, but the way a god dies is by all their believers abandoning them. Shi Wudu was decapitated by He Xuan, but I don’t think that necessarily destroyed his following. After the main series, it’s plausible for Shi Wudu to reform (whether as a god or a ghost) out of devotion and love for his brother, now with the purpose to save Shi Qingxuan from his inevitable death.

[youngyoo-apologist]

OG!ChoiCale

Based off of a scene from [In the Borderline] on AO3

[itsawritblr]

Me editing.

[jjoelswatch]

Having thoughts on The Acolyte.

I've seen a lot of commentary about how the show doesn't feel like Star Wars because it's not a hopeful show. Hope is central to Star Wars, and I think this commentary is fair at a surface level, especially given the other Star Wars stories already told, but (for me, at least) the show still feels like Star Wars and here's why.

It is a show that focuses on misguided viewpoints. The politicians have a misguided view of the Jedi. The Force cult have opposing views of the Jedi. The Sith of course have a skewed view of the Jedi. We are shown several flawed Jedi making questionable, misguided choices. I had no expectations going into this series that it was ever going to paint the Jedi in a kind light-- because it's a Sith story.

The hope that's featured in the show is a personal sort, not a broad, overarching hope for mankind and the future. It's about small, personal hopes for something better or, more often, something that the characters feel they deserve. It's mostly rooted in ridding oneself of what's holding them back and embracing personal freedom. That's great on the surface! But if you look closely, it fits right into the Sith code.

Mae is driven by a sense of (from her point of view) justice to avenge the death of her mother and her people. Osha hasn't come to terms with her anger and grief and her belief that Mae's actions fully resulted in the loss of her mother and people and had buried those emotions rather than facing them as the Jedi would teach her. Osha's journey is one of apparent truth and clarity. There is truth in the reality that Sol was wrong in his actions (misguided and well-intentioned as he was). It isn't necessarily wrong that Osha is angry at the lies she was told. Instead of burying or facing her negative emotions, she embraces them under the guise of facing the truth of them. There's a running theme of "truth in freedom, freedom in truth" to what's being offered to the dark side characters in the show.

Osha and The Stranger clasp hands over her dead Jedi Master's bled lightsaber and stare out into the sunset while Vernestra covers up recent events to the Chancellor and meets with Yoda in private. It's framed as freeing and hopeful for our Sith-aligned characters because it is-- for them. For the Jedi, it is damning. These are two statements that can coexist. And yet, through Osha's agreement with The Stranger and Mae's memory erasure, we are presented a crumb of hope for Mae's future with Vernestra.

This is very much a Sith story, not a Jedi story, and I think once that's taken into consideration the apparent lack of hope in the story makes perfect sense. It's a different kind of hope, underlined by a grim reality that it is a false hope, the promises of the dark side. It isn't a story the Jedi would tell you~

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

My dad called the story I’m writing once my “novel” and it majorly caught me off guard. I feel more like I’m writing fanfiction of my own characters — not doing something as professional and high quality as a novel!!

[moispanik]

My type of character in mxtx universe

[allgremlinart]

LOVE korra fandom actually. it's considerably smaller and therefore considerably less annoying . falalalalaaaa we dont even have twink wars here .. you WISH...

[rhineposting]

Cinders, Regrets and Half Truths

Now that the bear has been put down and buried six feet under, Jack and Dave have all the time in the world to do whatever they desire. For Jack, it's getting his life back. In which two zombies discuss anatomy, the scent of smoked scuttler, plastic hamster breasts and affections.

[alyssarabil]

My current WIP.

Fallen, book one, is available from Bella Books.

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

Seeing that one post going around that's just basically 'say if you ever read fanfictions that are better than published books' and it's like, yeah of course there are some that are better, because some people are genuinely good writers, but also there are good books too, and then seeing people say things like, 'I have never read a good book I only prefer fanfictions' and it's just?? Seek out some books? There are so many different kinds, for so many different things. It just sounds like you're reading for an easy serotonin boost than really engaging with the work.

People who write books and people who write fanfics have one thing in common: they write. They are doing the act of writing, and each person is going to have different styles and come at it with different experiences. Also, if your favorite fanfic writer comes out with an original work that's not just filing the serial numbers off, will you read it? Or are you only there because they're writing your favorite characters from another piece of media (which might even be from a book?). Speaking as a fanfic writer who is happy when people compliment my writing, please read some books I'm begging. Not everything is from booktok.

[samberrybay]

This is such a cute and funny panel because children in the future gonna make Cale try to crawl in between them. Like am sure these four are the type to:

On, Hong and Raon: take the biggest part of the bed and still clinge to Cale's side

Cale: sleeps on the smallest part of the bed that have been left

[nichiperi]

Illustrations for the fanfic I'm working on.