I IS PROBLY DEAD - A Discworld Blog

ngl, sometimes some tiny things are so much more romantic than grand gestures, like --

#they're really so sweet because they're so much more realistic than most Romantic Couples#like sybil is terrible at knitting but she feels like it's her job as the wife to do and so sam wears the terrible socks she knitsfor him#because she knitted them for him#they sigh and get frustrated with one another but they truly love each other and are willing to make room for the other in their lives#sam/sybil is a love story written by someone who is long out of the butterflies-in-the-stomach phase of romance#who has loved their spouse for many years and knows what it's like beyond the passion#when it's just someone you choose to spend your life with because you like having them by your side#i love the subtlety and imperfections of their romance and i truly believe their love will last the rest of their lives 

OP hope you don’t mind me reblogging with your tags bc they’re very good.

Image description: Text from Jingo by Terry Prachett. It reads:

She was knitting inexpertly when Vimes came in, but rose and gave him a kiss. “I heard the news,” she said. “Well done.” She looked him up and down. As far as she could see, he was all there. “I’m not sure that we won...” “Getting you back alive counts as a win, Sam. Although of course I wouldn’t say that in front of Lady Selachii.” Sybil waved the knitting at him. “She’s organized a committee to knit socks for our brave lads at the front, but it turns out you’re back. And I haven’t even worked out how to turn a heel yet. She’s probably going to be annoyed.” “Er...how long do you think my legs are?” “Um...” She looked at the knitting. “Do you need a scarf?” He kissed her again.

“Excuse me, are you the lady who is with the clowns?”

Corporal Nobbs, who had been trudging along gloomily, looked up. He was being addressed by a pleasant-faced young woman. A woman actually talking to him by choice was a novelty. Smiling while doing so was unheard of.

“Er yeah. Right. That’s me.’ He swallowed… ‘Beti.’

“My name is Bana. Would you like to come and talk with us?”

Nobby looked past her. There were a number of women of varying ages sitting around a large well. One of them waved at him shyly. - Terry Pratchett, Jingo

(Description: A pretty young woman smiling with her hands on her hips. She is wearing a white hijab, a white long sleeve shirt and a simple, sleeveless shiny pink frock by the designer Anniesa Hasibuan.)

Borzoi by Paul Croes

She looked up. Ahmed was watching her carefully. Of course, the royal dogs were treated like kings, all those diamond collars... It didn’t have to mean he knew-- 

“Not hungry?” he said. “Your mouth says you are.”

Something snapped around her neck as she spun around to bite. Her teeth closed on a mouthful of greasy cloth but that wasn’t as important as the pain.

“His Highness has always liked fine collars on his dogs,” said 71-hour Ahmed, through the red mist. “Rubies, emeralds... and diamonds, Miss Angua.” His face came down level with hers. “Set in silver.” - Terry Pratchett, Jingo

(Description: a white, long haired, silky Borzoi dog sitting with an elaborately beaded and jeweled collar with fancy gold tassels hanging from the front of it.)

(Description: A quote from Terry Pratchett’s ‘Jingo’ on a background of a forest with a nebula visible through the trees. It reads: It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.)