#dr mossy lawn

[theemmtropy]

Apropos of nothing, I present-

My smash ranking of important Discworld characters that I've encountered so far:

1: Death. I love a man who looks fucked up and also carries a big weapon and also loves cats and also is brutally honest.

2: Vetinari. I'm fully aware that he is likely aroace, but in the off-chance that this tyrant should like some company, I like to think that his office is soundproof. Also, I know he would know what the fuck he's doing.

3: Moist Von Lipwig. He's so cringefail, I'm pegging this man into eternity.

4: Rosie Palm. She has both pragmatism and a sense of humor.

5: Adora Belle. She's pegging me into eternity.

6: Ponder Stibbons. You know a stressed out wizard had to make this list.

7: Mossy Lawn. He needs a break, and also proper thanks for all the help he provides doing illegal surgeries.

Sorry to the Vimes lovers; I don't fuck cops, no matter how anti-capitalist they are.

[jellymish-art]

Some drawings from today!

[juliaanoia]

This little exchange always cracks me up. Vimes being totally in charge of everyone, giving orders right and left, and Dr. Lawn calmly winding him up in his dry way...I love Mossy Lawn.

[aeshnacyanea2000]

‘I just wondered where you trained.’ ‘Why?’ ‘The kind of people who come in by the back door are the kind of people who want results, I imagine.’ ‘Hah. Well, I trained in Klatch. They have some novel ideas about medicine over there. They think it’s a good idea to get patients better, for one thing.’

-- Terry Pratchett - Night Watch

[sawbones-showdown]

[dimity-lawn]

This has Dr. John “Mossy” Lawn vibes, does it not? Given his sarcastic nature and the preexisting records already on file to acknowledge what it actually was, it seems like something he’d do, or perhaps say to an assistant/student who was taking notes.

after recently gaining access to my medical records, i am mystified to discover that instead of recording my regular t-shot as "sustanon injection, intramuscular" (as is standard), the doctor i saw last week chose to record it as "problem: gender. history: ongoing."

[fictionalmedicshowdown]

Dr. John ‘Mossy’ Lawn (Discworld)

Competent doctor who actually manages to keep his patients alive and is trustworthy. He seems to the main doctor for the local sex workers and gives free treatment for people who need it, like torture victims. I would also like to mention that while his full name is John Lawn, he is most commonly known as Mossy Lawn, which is a great pun.

vs

Medic (Team Fortress 2)

I like Him ❤️❤️ he strong❤️❤️ he's so helpful and has great respect from his teammates and owns an entire flock of doves in his medical room. He's SO dramatic and gorgeous and has the best theme out of all of the mercs imo (the saxophone!! I love his meet the team video too, it's so funny!)

[curarems]

Petition to give Dr Mossy Lawn a good night of sleep

[ao3tageverything]

Night Watch - AO3 tagged

Rating Teen And Up Audiences Warnings Minor Character Death Fandoms Discworld Categories General

Characters Samuel Vimes, Fred Colon, Nobby Nobbs, Carrot Ironfoundersson, Carcer, Rosie Palm, Dr. John “Mossy” Lawn, Lu-Tze, Samuel Vimes (young version), Findthee Swing, Lady Roberta Meserole, Havelock Vetinari, Qu, Ned Coates

Additional Tags lilac, cop killer, commemoration day, visiting graves, mad murderer, storm, magical accident, time travel, Monks of History, mulitverse theory, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, impersonation, curfew, meeting your former self, secret police, craniometry, fledgling revolution, riots, booby traps, bamf!Vimes, the art of deescalation, build-up to big events, Sam Vimes whump, barricades, item connecting you with reality, changing history, torture chambers, torture victims, coup de grâce/mercy kill, arson, improvised weapon, The People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road, hero worship, soldiers’ song, civil war, malicious use of ginger in body orifices, assassination, terror-induced heart attack, coup d'état, death by grapnel, violating amnesty, surprise attack, police-confiscated vehicle, improvised plumes, delayed major injury reaction, mêlée, berserk moment, the Glorious 25th of May, back to the future, disregarding one’s nudeness, difficult childbirth, beyond exhaustion, ... (spoilers after the jump)

not changing history (much) after all, resisting the beast inside, by-the-book arrest

[dimity-lawn]

Why do I feel like this song would become a tradition at the Pseudopolis Yard Watchouse?

Imagine that a similar version of the original song already existed in Ankh-Morpork, but after the year when some watchperson had had a few too many “festive drinks” at what Nobby refers to as a “Hogswatchly piss-up”, resulting in the song above, the rest of the Watch wouldn’t let it go, and after a while it just turned into something of a competition.

The competition wouldn't have set standards, or even a prize (except a hangover the next day, to poor Bilious’s dismay), and usually the only goal was to have a laugh (there was one year when Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson and most of the undead with hypersensitive hearing, i.e. werewolves and vampires, were out on patrol when “Jingle Rock Bell” was being sung, and it was decided that a there was an additional goal of a noise complaint). Generally most of the watchpeople who are still sober enough to even attempt to perform the accompanying dance* will do so with incredible enthusiasm, and those who are too drunk to perform the aforementioned dance will at least make spirited attempts while laying on the floor.

*The dance is preformed thusly: each dancer wears their uniform, including their chainmail and bell (usually with something to somewhat muffle the din), and some even wear extra bells (Nobby does this every year without fail). Upon each word of the song they perform an accompanying motion: at “Jingle” they jump, twirl, shake, or find another way to make the chainmail jingle; at “rock” they usually jump or stamp their feet on the floor, but some people who get really into it run outside to actually have cobblestones under their feet**; and at “bell” they either ring their bells or try to clang them together (sometimes this results in an injury or two. Or more. The important thing is that Igor (or Dr. Lawn if Igor is particularly drunk) has never had to get involved).

**This is the rule that everyone remembers, no matter how drunk they get, and possibly the only rule of the dance. Some of the trolls used to incorporate dance moves that explained Detritus’s “hand off rock and on with sock” to anyone who didn’t already understand, but this stopped the year that Miss Iodine Maccalariat happened to be passing by, entered the Watchouse to tell His Grace, His Excellency, The Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch about the mad watchpeople stomping on the streets (and they say working in the Post Office drives you mad!), witnessed a particularly inopportune part of the dance, and decided she had to do Something to make sure that His Grace, His Excellency, The Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch prevented any future indecency or nothing else that might possibly suggest anything even slightly adjacent to Hanky-Panky, which led the rest of the watch started to debate the merit of what parts they (including a vampire) could overhear coming from Vimes’s Office Upstairs, which led to Sharing Opinions and then Disagreements.

Additionally, nobody wants a repeat of the year when someone brought a brick to the dance and accidentally threw it out into the street through a closed window and got a stern talking to from Carrot, or the year some of the Watchpeople decided to bring some of the cobblestones inside, resulting in multiple arrests by Colon (nobody ever actually went to the cells that night because Carrot insisted that they had the right to not injure themselves falling down the steps on the way to the cells and one of the arrested watchfolk said they didn’t want to fall but was clearly already having trouble standing still on flat ground, so they were simply handcuffed to a desk instead) for unlicensed theft of public streets, a lot of angry citizens in the morning, and a letter from Lord Vetinari the next day.

MetaFilter.com's favorite Christmas Carol

Jingle Rock Bell

Lyrics:

Bell jingle rock jingle

Rock rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell rock bell

Rock bell jingle rock

Bell bell bell

Rock bell rock bell

Jingle jingle jingle

Jingle rock bell rock

Jingle bell rock

Bell rock bell bell

Rock bell jingle

Jingle rock bell rock

Bell jingle jingle

Jingle bell rock rock bell

Bell rock jingle

Bell rock jingle

Jingle jingle rock rock bell

Bell bell rock

Jingle rock bell

Bell rock bell rock jingle bell rock rock

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell jock ringle

Ringle jock bell rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Rock jingle rock bell

Rock rock bell jingle rock

Jingle rock bell rock

Rock rock bell

Bell jingle jingle bell

Rock rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell rock jingle

Jingle rock bell rock

Jingle rock bell

Rock bell jingle rock

Bell bell bell

Bell jingle jingle jingle

Rock rock rock

Rock jingle jingle rock

Bell bell bell

Bell jingle rock rock bell

Bell rock jingle

Bell rock jingle

Jingle rock bell rock bell

Bell rock jingle

Bell rock jingle

Jingle rock bell rock bell jingle jingle

Jingle rock bell rock

Jingle rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell bell bell

Bell rock jingle rock bell

Rock bell

Rock bell

Jingle jingle jingle rock bell

Rock bell

Rock bell

Jingle rock jingle rock bell bell bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Jingle bell rock

Rock bell jingle rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Jingle rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell rock jingle rock

Bell rock jingle rock bell

[tauntingcrow]

Valiant compassion.

Tarot Strength

—

(For dear dm @commandersrest, thank you for being you)

[j-hawthorn]

Quiet in a Storm

(Sam Vimes is wounded, and Sybil and Havelock have a quiet time with their idiot man. You can find this on AO3 here) 

Sybil sat in the drawing room staring into an empty wine glass. Her abandoned dinner now cold in the dining room. Rain bashed against the windows. Watchmen milled about, whispering quietly between themselves. That sweet Cheery sat beside her, their knees touching. But Sybil didn’t notice any of it. She barely registered when Dr Lawn came in, drying his hands on a towel. Most of the watchmen left the room. Cheery stayed. When Sybil looked up she noticed Carrot standing politely in the doorway.

Mossy pulled up a chair to sit in front of her. Sybil rolled her shoulders back, head high. That Ramkin steel bolt slamming into place. The duchess locked eyes with the doctor. And took Cheery’s hand in hers.

Mossy Lawn sighed, rubbing his forehead. ‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve done what I could. He’s steady and asleep. But...it was close. He lost a lot of blood, Sybil.’

Cheery’s grip on her hand tightened, but Sybil just nodded, ‘I’ve had a room made up for you. I would feel better knowing you were close at hand. Should you be -’ she faltered, then shook herself. ‘Should you be needed.’

He simply nodded, getting to his feet. He left with Carrot, the pair speaking low. Sybil sucked in a sharp breath, clapping her hands together, ‘Right! Cheery, dear, I think everything is as sorted as it can be. Best you be off back to work, or home, or...something. Thank you for sitting with me, I truly appreciate it.’

‘Of course,’ Cheery said softly. She flashed Sybil a small, frightened smile before heading out. The door clicked quietly shut.

Sybil sunk back into the sofa, face in her hands. She sobbed. Great heaving sobs that made her ribs ache. That blasted man! Hands shaking, she fumbled through her pockets for a hanky. A hand landed on her shoulder. Sybil looked up and went to speak, but all that came out was another loud sob.

Havelock Vetinari drew her in close, arms around her shoulders. She cried into his chest, his hand on the nape of her neck. He smelled like rain. His robes wet and cold. Havelock shivered as he held her, but didn’t move. How long they stayed like that she didn’t know, but eventually Sybil calmed. She sucked in long, slow breaths, shifting to lay her head on his shoulder.

‘You need to have a shower,’ She said. ‘You’re freezing.’

‘I’ll be fine-’

Sybil angrily shook her head, ‘You’ll catch a damn cold.’

Havelock took her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips, ‘I will be fine, Sybil. I don’t have a change of clothes -’

‘Yes you do, you always have spares here. They’re in the bedroom. Sam always grumbles about them in his drawers-’ she stopped, tears falling again.

‘I hear the culprits have been caught,’ he said softly. ‘Have you gone to see him?’

Sybil shook her head. They stood together, hands clasped tight and went up stairs.

The bedroom curtains were drawn and the room was silent except for the pounding rain, and Sam’s shallow breathing. Letting go of Havelock’s hand, Sybil silently picked her way over to the bed.

Sam looked awful. Pale and swollen, his face was a mess of bruises and cuts. He lay on his back, bandages on his chest visible just above the line of blankets. With tender hands, Sybil lifted the blanket.

She sighed deeply, tears welling, ‘Oh Sam.’

Carefully she lay on the bed, gingerly stroking his hair. Havelock sat on the opposite side, looking over Vimes. He placed his hand lightly on the commander’s shoulder. Sybil watched his thumb move back and forth over Sam’s skin, the touch so tender it made her heart break.

You blasted fool, she thought, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek. You can’t do this to us.

‘...Sybil?’ Sam’s voice rasped, barely above a whisper. He haphazardly patted her thigh, and cocked a small smile.

‘Sam Vimes, I’m going to skin you,’ she hissed, kissing his cheek. She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, ‘You bastard.’

‘Yeah...sorry,’ He muttered. ‘Come here,’ He lifted his arm with a wince.

Carefully Sybil tucked herself against his side, crying softly as he kissed the top of her head. She looked up to see Havelock lean in, and whisper something in Sam’s ear. The commander grunted, then turned his head, cheek pressed to Havelock’s. The men grew still, and Sybil closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her husband’s heart.

When he and Havelock pulled apart, Sam frowned, plucking weakly at the Patrician’s top, ‘You’re soaked to the bone man, get in the shower.’

‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Havelock rolled his eyes, standing up.

‘Yer got some kit in my middle drawer,’ Sam yawned, kissing Sybil’s head again. ‘Taking up more space than you ought, by the way.’

Sybil smiled, eyes still closed, and she listened to Havelock wrench open a drawer, muttering to himself. Sam chuckled. His breathing hitched a little and he coughed. Vimes winced, hissing through his teeth.

Hushing him, Sybil kissed the underside of his jaw, cupping his cheek. ‘Go back to sleep, Sam,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah...I will. When...when he gets back,’ Sam said, voice strained.

‘Darling-’

Sam sighed, ‘I just need to know you’re both here...’

‘I was so frightened,’ Sybil winced, voice breaking. ‘Sam, you...you could have-’

‘Yeah. Yeah I know,’ he hugged her. It was one armed and weak, but the contact made Sybil’s pain ease just a little. She settled on his chest once more, listening to the beat of his heart and raggedy breathing.

The door to the ensuite opened and Havelock limped out. He was not dressed in own clothing. Instead he was swamped by one of Sam’s jumpers, Sybil’s mending visible in large chunks of off coloured wool. His wet hair stuck up in all directions. Sybil snorted, watching him open a cupboard to pull out extra blankets. Passing one to Sybil, Havelock wrapped his around his shoulders, laying down next to Vimes.

He kissed Sam, stroking his cheek with the back of his fingers. While her men were distracted, Sybil got up, getting changed into a loose nightshirt. In the few minutes it took her, Sam had already started to weaken. His head lolled onto Havelock’s shoulder, eyes half closed.

Settling beside him, Sybil stroked his hair, kissing by his ear. ‘We’re both here now. Go to sleep my love.’

Vimes gave a small grunt, lifting a hand weakly. Sybil took it, laying beside him. Her thumb ran over his skin, and he seemed to relax and soon his breathing evened in that slow rhythm of sleep.

‘Thank you for being here,’ Sybil whispered into the dark.

‘Of course,’ Havelock replied, the rain nearly drowning out his voice. ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’

‘Havelock-’

‘He’ll pull through. I know it.’

She smiled sadly to herself, holding her husband’s hand tight, ‘Of course he will. I’ve decided he will, and I get what I want.’

Havelock chuckled then. They fell into silence, listening to the storm rage outside.

‘You always do, my dear Sybil. You always do.’

[mymatedave10]

I love that one of the Seamstresses repeated lines is s pun and a wink. "Hem Hem." And that the only actual seamstress among them is Sandra Battye, who is very sucessful because her 'traditionally used' skills with a needle and thread are needed to actually repair clothing. To quote below:

"But wherever there are men who are away from the regular society of women, who get.... you know... urges of the sort which only a woman possessed of a range of specifically female skills can satisfy, Sandra Battye will not be short of a living. For men with the urge and the powerful longing, say for a shirt with all its buttons on, or socks with working heels and no holes in the toes, it can be just as confusing and unhelpful to look for a seamstress and, well, be directed to the wrong sort. As Dr. Mossy Lawn once remarked, some people who are looking for a massage really DO only want a massage. Or in this instance, a shirt with all the buttons in the right places."

Anyway, shout out to Terry Pratchett to not only have legalized, completely safe sex work in his books, but also have one of the prominent figures of the Seamstresses’ Guild be a major positive supporting character in Night Watch, as well as general helpfulness of the guild to board single, vulnerable women in their establishments without expecting almost anything in exchange from them.

Like, is used mostly as a joke some times, yes, like changing Free Love with Reasonably Priced Love, but is never a joke directed at the sex workers themselves. It could be more, but is honestly more than you would expect from a fanstasy series nowadays really.

[mrs-venerable]

Dear Mrs. Venerable, I was in a traffic accident on my way to work this morning and am just trying to survive until the day is over and I can leave work and go home. (I suffered no physical damage, but am very shaky and nauseous.) How do you keep yourself together on your worst days? How do you keep yourself from losing grip of reality? Thank you in advance. I very much appreciate your work. It's a delight to read. Mx. R of Cockbill Street, Ankh-Morpork

Dear Mx. R of Cockbill Street,

Was it the accident between two carts at the corner of Dragon and Rime Street?

I am rather relieved to hear that you are unscathed but concerned that you remain shaken. 

Dearest Mx. R. Like any other person, I have truly terrible days. It is sometimes not enough to look forward to toast and tea. When the soul is heavy, the body labours double - nay! Triple. However, I am privileged enough to be acquainted with the inimitable Dr. Mossy Lawn, who is of the firm belief that proper medication, some light exercise and the love of a pet can drag even the most down humanoid through a terrible day. 

All these things work terribly well. For most.

I will share with you a secret you may NEVER divulge to another soul: though the medication works mostly, it is costly. Exercise is only feasible if you are not in interminable, perpetual pain. This is I. My anchors to life are two vastly different leads: one keeps me here, the other propels me forward.

A fuzzy little pet is a little something that can ground you day-to-day, should you be able to reasonably care for a creature. They lift the spirit fantastically, and soothe the soul successfully.

And choose ONE task you dread to do each morning (apart from getting out of bed - mine is brushing my teeth. Who decided peppermint is a thing,  anyway?)

Set yourself a goal: If I can get past this dreaded task (getting up/going to this meeting) to accomplish my set goal (brushing teeth/haggle with the fishmonger), then I have conquered the day, and I will conquer the next dreaded task. Make your day small steps, and tell your mind every step is a victory. Because it is. 

Warmest regards, 

Mrs. Venerable

Edit: My humblest apologies, I had to have this post re-printed, as I only just realised that I had misgendered you dearest Mx. R. I hope this correction will prove my sincerest apologies, and I shall endeavour to read my letters with hawk-eyed attentiveness hereon out. 

Warmest regards, 

Mrs. Venerable

[fictionalmedicshowdown]

Dr. John 'Mossy' Lawn (Discworld)

Competent doctor who actually manages to keep his patients alive and is trustworthy. He seems to the main doctor for the local sex workers and gives free treatment for people who need it, like torture victims. I would also like to mention that while his full name is John Lawn, he is most commonly known as Mossy Lawn, which is a great pun.

vs

First Aid (Transformers)

He's a chill, down to earth sort of guy with a morbid habit of collecting dying patients' faction insignias (they're robots so they have war badges literally attached to their bodies) with the hopes of finding a secret message sent by a spy. Also despite being a doctor he will absolutely murderize his enemies but to be fair you'd have to kill his patients in order to get on First Aid's bad side.

[juliaanoia]

I love him. (Oh and Discworld people, does anybody agree that Harry Goodsir looks kinds like a young Dr. Lawn? Or is it just me?)

@ the anon who asked for some fanart for The Terror, here u go, HERE’S MY FAV.