#its why sam and sybil hit so hard
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Look at the end of the day I'm always going to go back to the fictional couples that are like "it was worth it. all of the bad stuff was worth it if it brought me to you"
#like shit LITERALLY DOES NOT MISS#'i dont mind all the terrible horrible stuff that happened to me anymore because that made me the person you could fall in love with :)'#'i'd tell them put me back in it' type of couples#its why the cullen romance hits so hard#its why faramir and eowyn hit so hard#its why sam and sybil hit so hard#like this is my ULTIMATE#does that reveal a lot about me and how i view love#as something that could save me from my own trauma and heartbreak?#probably#but we're not unpacking that rn#its also why the gale romance hits so hard#and why my rook/lucanis headcanons are so good
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Redcove Harvest - Bucky x Reader(f) Chapter 5
Authors Notes: So the notes on this series are starting to drop, which I suppose is normal for a series but if there is something you don't like about this, please consider letting me know. My anon is on so if you don't want me to know its you, you have that option. I’m not gonna bite and I won't be offended. I need the feedback so I can understand what I should try to write next time. TIA.
AU: Farmhand!Bucky x SingleMom!Reader
Word Count: 1.1 k
Notes/Warnings: (Notes are for the whole series) FLUFF, mentions of a past toxic relationship, a wild storm at the end, drama and a break-up, mentions of drinking, kids being adorable and ridiculous, kissing, romance and a tiny bit of angst if you look hard but nothing more than that of a Hallmark movie.
Masterlist Series Masterlist
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Bucky got his keys and unlocked his truck. Thank goodness he bought a crew cab, all the girls couldn’t have fit in a standard.
They headed for the school and Bucky let the music play to fill the silence. He took Y/N’s directions and soon they were sitting in the carpool line.
“So, two girls?” Bucky tried to break the silence.
Y/N huffed out a smile and nodded. “Yeah, double trouble.”
“How old are they again? I keep forgetting.” That was a lie.
“Lex is five and Grace is nine and a half.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, they’re not all bad, I guess.” She teased.
There was a brief pause before Bucky got the nerve to ask his question.
“Is it hard?”
“What, girls?”
“No, raising them by yourself.”
“Oh,” Y/N turned away for a second before taking a breath and answering, “Yeah, but they really are good girls. Lex asks about him sometimes but… i don’t know. It’s hard but it isn’t, you know?”
No, he didn’t, but Bucky nodded anyways. “Well, you’re doing a great job.”
She smiled at him, “Thank you.”
The school bell rang loud and within seconds, tons of elementary school kids were pouring out the front doors.
Y/N stepped out of Bucky’s Chevy and waived when Grace came out holding Lex’s hand. Grace looked a little confused but waved back nonetheless.
Lex waved big and then let go of Grace’s hand and started running towards Y/N.
“Bucky!” Lex shouted as she passed Y/N and opened the back door to Bucky’s truck.
“Well, hi.” Y/N said in mock offence.
“Wow, you have such a nice truck!” Lex said loudy. She flung her book bag to the floorboard and started to click into her seat. “Mom, we need a truck like this!”
“That’s rude, Lex. “Grace huffed as she climbed in. “Hi, Mr. Bucky.”
“Hey, Grace.” He smiled.
“It’s not rude I was saying something nice.”
“It’s rude to mom.” Grace corrected.
“Enough girls. Hi, hello, how was your day?” Y/N shut her door and shook her head.
“Fine,” They said in unison.
Y/N sighed and hung her head dramatically before turning to look at the backseat. “Y’all are in school for six hours and all you can manage is one word?”
“I learned how to spell ‘alphabet’, today.” Lex said proudly.
“Oh really?” Bucky raised his brows, impressed. “Spell it.”
“A, L, F- wait….” Lex giggled. “I forgot.”
Bucky chuckled silently.
“What did you do today, Gracie?” Y/N looked over her shoulder at her briefly.
“Um,” She looked out the window. “We got to write letters to people in history. That was kinda fun.”
“Who did you write to?” Y/N asked.
“Sybil Ludington.”
Y/n and Bucky looked at each other bewildered.
“Who?” Bucky asked.
Grace perked up. “Sybil Ludington. She rode the same night as Paul Revere -the night he warned the people that the British were coming- and she rode twice as far as Paul did but no one remembers her. And she was only sixteen. She rode all night and warned 400 soldiers all the way from New York to Connecticut. I’m writing a paper about her.”
“Well, I know what I learned today.” Bucky smiled.
“And her horse’s name was Star.” Grace was smiling, too.
“Hey!” Lex chimed in. “That’s your horse’s name!”
“Mhm.” Nodded Grace.
“Well, that’s great, baby.” Y/N said as she turned back to face forward in her seat. “Speaking of horses, Mr. Sam is coming over today for your barrel lessons. He can’t make it tomorrow so he’s coming early this week.”
“Yes!” Grace squirmed in her seat.
“You run barrels?” Bucky asked without needing an answer. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it’s my favorite.” She grinned, still looking out the window.
Bucky nodded and smiled at Y/N. She really was one heck of a mom, raising her girls.
Back at the house, Y/N and Lex watched from the fence of the back field. It wasn’t set up for barrel racing in the sense that the grass was coming up in the makeshift arena and Sam had her riding around barrels at a trot first, but you could see how happy it made Grace.
Bucky had spent a good hour on it, but he finally got Y/N’s truck running. He was going to let her know but when he saw how big she was smiling watching Grace, he figured it could wait.
He hopped back into the bobcat and got back to work spreading out the gravel. He got about halfway down the drive when the sun finally set. He worked another half hour under the orange sky before turning back up to go to the house. When he got closer, he found Y/N was back on the driveway with the tamper, hitting the gravel hard and pressing it into place.
Sweat had coated her forehead but she paid it no mind. As she lifted the tamper, Bucky could see the muscles in her arm flex. She didn’t look strong but she clearly was. Working the tamper wasn’t a fun job but she didn’t seem to let the labor bother her.
“What are you doing back out here?” Bucky said as he drove the bobcat up to her.
She looked up and wiped the sweat from her face. She shrugged, “Just figured if you were still working, I should be. I’ll get better this way anyhow.”
“Or I could ride the cat over it and cut your workload down.” He winked.
Y/N sighed and looked back at the half dozen square yards she’d already done. “You just thought to make that suggestion after I’ve done all this?” She looked like she might be hiding a smile.
“Well, I didn’t think you were gonna come and help anymore tonight.” He chuckled.
She laughed at herself and tossed the tamper to the ground. “Serves me right for thinking I was helpin’.”
“I already drove over the gravel I laid, why don’t you jump on and I’ll finish the rest of all your hard work and we can both be done for the day?” Bucky smirked at her.
She shook her head as his teasing, “I’ll just walk thanks.” She turned but then backtracked, “Hey, you wanna come inside for dinner? It’s almost eight and I figure since you’re here…”
“Are you sure? What about the girls, they don’t mind me joining?”
“You kidding, Lex loves you. Besides, they already ate and should be getting ready for bed already. Really, it’s no trouble.”
“Well, then sure, dinner sounds nice.”
Y/N patted the window of the bobcat, “Great, see you up there then.”
“It’s a date.”
Y/N chuckled as she walked away.
Bucky wanted to shoot himself. A date? Really? He knew he had it bad for her but now it was actually coming out of his mouth.
* * * * * * * *
Forever Tags:
@cassiopeiassky @sgtbxckybxrnes @itsanerdlife @beccaanne814 @tanelle83 @artemis521 @elaacreditava @feelmyroarrrr @palaiasaurus64 @the-stuttering-kiwi @destiel-artemis @sexyvixen7 @girl-next-door-writes @coolest-avenger @xoxabs88xox @youclickedthislink @also-fangirlinsweden @widowvinter @daughterofthenight117 @drayshadow @archy3001 @miraclesoflove
Redcove Tags:
@cavillanche @bi-bucky-barnes @mylifeiscrazy0423 @dumblani @thefridgeismybestie @csigeoblue @selluequestrian
#bucky x reader#bucky AU#farmhand! Bucky#reader x bucky#james buchanan barnes#sergeant james barnes#107th#reader insert#bucky x you#you x bucky#i wrote this#iwillbeinmynest#Redcove Harvest#bucky barnes#bucky fluff#bucky series
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Easy like Sunday morning
Royality as Sam Vimes and Sybil Ramkin-Vimes from Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series. You don’t need to know about Discworld to understand the fic, though hopefully fans of both will enjoy it.
1.3K - fluff with an interruption
Edited by the lovely @mariniacipher
Tw: Knife, a small cut, death threat, blood mention
Patton wasn’t used to a full night’s sleep.
Long night patrols with the feel of cobblestones hard against his feet through cardboard soles, punches and blades in the alleyways, lying on a thin mattress with the midnight desire for just one more glass of whisky to cut the lump at the back of his throat - nights had been full of as much harshness as the day.
He would never have complained, he loved his job! Protecting the people of Ankh Morpork was something which he had to do, despite the difficulty of serving a citizenry on a wide spectrum of moral opinions from ‘none’ to ‘murdering those I disagree with - morally’ to ‘The Night Watch are oppressive scum’ (slightly more of them fell there than Patton would like). Even if his watches had shifted to less punishing hours, his job was still a hard one.
With Roman, though, everything was soft.
Patton shifted with a small, content sound on Roman’s chest, cheek rubbing against the smooth silk of his husband’s obnoxiously red pajamas. He blinked up at his sleeping face, dark skin dappled with the lazy morning sun diffusing through the curtains. The three thin scars lining his cheek almost glowed in the nostalgia-golden light. His mouth was tipped open just a little and his eyelashes rested on his cheeks. Looking at him flooded Patton with delicate, terrified wonder once again. Roman Ramkin-Vimes was the most beautiful person he had ever met, inside and out, and Patton would do anything to protect him.
He carefully moved off of Roman, untangling their legs in a way that elicited only a mumble from his husband. The baby dragon Roman had been nursing chirped in its thick steel crate in the corner, sticking its eye onto the holes in the side of the box to watch its sleeping owner. Roman would have her on the bed if he could, Patton reflected fondly, but being burnt to death by the anxious hiccups of one of his charges was something even Roman was sensible enough to avoid, besotted as he was with them.
As his calloused feet hit the thick carpet Patton wriggled them luxuriously before padding to the bathroom. He had to head to work today, of course, as Captain he didn’t like to stay away even on his days off, but first… breakfast. Charred bacon sounded delicious and Roman might make fried eggs, as rubbery and congealed in fat as they should be to deserve a place in a true cooked breakfast. For a man accustomed to eating canapés in the highest circles of society Roman really knew how to cook like a hungover innkeeper, and since Patton reckoned that food which hadn’t been spat on was probably poisoned that suited him just fine. He opened the bathroom door with the beginning of a hummed tune on his lips, quiet enough not to wake Roman.
The knife at his throat was an unwelcome interruption to his routine.
“I doubt,” a voice whispered into his ear, “that I have to tell you to be quiet or why that is.”
The assailant pulled Patton into his chest, leaning around him to lock the door. Their cloak was dark against the white marble fittings, and stubble grazed at Patton’s neck.
Patton laughed quietly, tensing as he realised he wouldn’t be able to fight the person off from this position. “I’ll shave us both some time and tell ya that whatever you want, I ain’t got it.”
“You have a beautiful husband, Mister Vimes, and a lovely home. You’re going up in the world, aren’t you?”
“You know, kiddo,” Patton whispered, shifting to turn to the person and nicking his neck in the process, “‘Up’ makes it sound like there’s just one direction towards happiness, and-”
“Quiet,” they growled, digging their fingers into Patton’s firm arm.
“That’s not very nice,” Patton replied evenly.
The assailant gave up on a decent opening. “Tell me what you know about Deceit, or I’ll cut your throat and leave the blood all over the bathroom floor for your husband to find.”
Patton frowned, childish confusion pulled over his features like a mask. “But you locked the door?”
“I...I didn’t want to be disturbed.” “Kiddo, I really like the black clothing and the knife, you’re doing so good! I’m terrified, really, I am. But maybe, to make this even better, you should open the door so that my husband can find my corpse more easily!”
The assailant’s eyes widened a little. “I suppose…” They pulled their arm tight around Patton’s neck as they leaned forward to unlock the door. “I mean, you should tell me now so I don’t have to kill you, but if you don’t tell me you’ll be a warning to anyone else…”
As they turned the key, the door was kicked open with a bang.
Behind it stood Roman, resplendent as an illustration of a warrior prince, scarlet pajamas shining in the sunlight as he held his baby dragon aimed at the assailant’s face, tousled hair seemingly ruffled by a breeze with a penchant for the dramatically heroic.
“Unhand my husband!” he pronounced, a determined glimmer in his eye, “You fiend.”
The assailant startled back. He stood, facing Roman and the dragon for a moment, before he dropped Patton and shoved himself through the tiny bathroom window. In the moment it took for Patton to rip a handful of his cloak, he’d dropped to the alleyway below.
As Patton staggered a little, his husband caught him by the arms. He lowered Patton to sit on the side of the bathtub. “Are you alright, my love?” He turned to pull a cloth out of the cabinet to dab at his husband’s neck.
“Oh, I’m fine, Ro!” Patton laughed shakily. “How- how did you know I was in trouble?” “You weren’t humming,” Roman replied simply, dropping a kiss on the dragon’s head as he carried it back to her crate. “You always hum in the mornings when you’re happy, and you were happy this morning.” He turned a dazzling grin onto Patton. “How could you not be, waking up next to me?”
The bedroom was still in the morning light as though their sleepy intimacy from earlier had been preserved in amber. Patton smiled back, and in a moment his legs carried him towards Roman so he could press their smiles together in a flutter of a kiss. He wrapped his arms around Roman and they kissed again, more deeply.
Patton leaned his forehead on Roman’s with a small frown and quietly said, “You could have been hurt.”
Roman cupped his face as he replied, eyes soft with love and hardened by protectiveness all at once. “Patton, darling, I’ll always protect you.”
“I know,” Patton said, tracing a finger over Roman’s heart, armoured by nothing but pajamas and fragile skin. “I know that, Ro. I still wish you didn’t-” He paused and sighed. Roman knew that this would be dangerous. Years ago, when Patton had gently told him to leave, he had refused. A bruise corrupting his delicate face and still shaking from revenge for someone Patton couldn’t even remember arresting, Roman had held his gaze the exact same way and told him that he was not afraid. When Patton promised to never let him be hurt again, Roman returned the vow in the same breath. Patton put his hand flat on Roman’s chest and met his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Roman replied softly, enveloping Patton in a hug. For a moment they stood quietly, Roman rocking side-to-side on his feet as they hugged until he heard Patton giggle. “Fidget.”
Roman laughed. “I’m full of energy for the day ahead!” He let go and proffered his hand with a flourish. “To breakfast! I swear I’ll get the timings right this time.”
Patton laughed as he took his hand. “I’ll egg you on, but if you ba-can’t do it, I don’t mind!”
The two headed downstairs, easy and domestic as outside the assailant ran through the rooftops to report the news.
Patton Vimes was a hard man to kill. But it was Roman who would make the day someone succeeded one they would regret for the rest of their lives.
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Can TV Ever Fully Capture Terry Pratchett’s Discworld?
https://ift.tt/355lRyx
This article contains spoilers for The Watch episodes 7 and 8.
Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books have long been fantasy favorites. In fact, the CEO of Motive Pictures, a UK company planning to adapt a huge number of Pratchett’s novels for television, called Discworld “a national treasure.” But with the recent lackluster reception of BBC America’s The Watch (a Rotten Tomatoes rating of 50%, a 4.9 out of 10 on IMDB), can television adaptations both succeed in live-action serial storytelling and live up to the expectations of Pratchett fans?
Although the last two episodes of The Watch manage to redeem some of the earlier missteps of the season, there are reasons why the program never quite lived up to the expectations of Discworld fans. The punk-rock atmosphere of Ankh-Morpork was off-putting to many, and the jarring technological levels seemed at once futuristic and anachronistic.
In part, this felt due to a lower budget than a show trying to draw fans of other huge fantasy properties, such as Game of Thrones or Amazon Prime’s forthcoming Wheel of Time series, merits. That gritty, low-budget feeling was likely meant to enhance the weird urban atmosphere that mixes magic, guild warfare, and a City Watch struggling to rise, but instead it came off as dissonant.
Viewers couldn’t sink into the world, because the world never felt quite solid enough to sink into. The references to other realities, particularly with the technology from “Roundworld” being brought over into Discworld by experiments at Unseen University, made it harder to suspend disbelief and accept the world of the series as independent.
But, as it turns out, that’s part of the point. In episode 7, The Watch makes it utterly clear that the multiverse is full of different versions of Discworld. For readers familiar with multiverse fiction (or just readers familiar with the many iterations of the Marvel Universe, numbered for convenience), fully admitting this construction lightens the burden on The Watch to be a familiar adaptation. This Sam Vimes isn’t the same Sam Vimes we know—because, in episode 7, we see two different versions of the same character. And while as viewers we already knew that, having the story itself make that an important, pivotal piece of information changes the way the story functions.
If The Watch had somehow been able to communicate in its first two episodes that this was the “Discworld: The Musical” (I’m not kidding) version of Pratchett’s universe, then the amount of time spent with members of the cast behind musical instruments would have felt natural. Music is a core storytelling tool for the television series, and by the end, it comes together and works. The problem is that too many Pratchett fans gave up on the series long before it hit the point where everything clicked.
Read more
Books
Terry Pratchett’s Discworld: Revisiting the Sky Adaptations
By Andrew Blair
Books
The Animated Discworld Adaptations You May Have Forgotten
By Juliette Harrisson
In some ways, this is a true shame, because the cast delivered stellar performances throughout. Richard Dormer’s physical acting in the role of Vimes is stellar, managing both comedic and serious scenes with equal aplomb. Jo Eaton-Kent’s Cheery, a non-binary (by the final episode) dwarf, is a delight. Marama Corlett makes viewers believe her brooding werewolf Angua could kick everyone’s ass despite being half their size. Adam Hugill as Constable Carrot embodies the earnest fantasy hero. Lara Rossi delivers a Sybil Ramkin that has as large a presence on screen as her physically-larger novel version exudes on the page. Samuel Adewunmi’s villainous Carcer has enough pathos that viewers might almost have rooted for his redemption up until his actions in the finale, and Bianca Simone Mannie’s Wonce is inspired; both villains are drawn from more minor characters in the novels and given greater depth for the series, a departure that results in making them some of the more interesting, nuanced inventions of the show.
But despite that, the reason The Watch never quite managed to bring even its own Discworld to life was the shorthand of silliness for satire. Pratchett’s novels are beloved because they’re funny, it’s true, but his humor isn’t just goofy or absurd (although it swings that way on occasion). Much of the fun is in the way the humor is used not to lighten the scene, but to illuminate it. There’s a bit in a later Watch novel (Thud) where Sam Vimes has promised never to miss reading a bedtime story to his son; when he’s kept away from that promise by the Summoning Dark (which in the books is not the ally it becomes in The Watch), he shouts the words to the memorized picture book so loudly that his son can hear him miles away.
It’s hilarious. The book, Where’s My Cow, was actually made into a picture book featuring Vimes, who replaces the repetitive, saccharine original words with his own Ankh-Morpork version. In Thud, the picture book is the kind that all parents know: the words so repetitive they’re like pulling teeth, but it’s that one book that the child chooses over and over again. And in the humor of Sam Vimes shouting out the words in the middle of a battle, there’s also a true resonance with what parenting is about, with keeping promises to children, and with knowing that failure to keep those promises is bound to happen, no matter how hard we try. It’s funny, and poignant, and the kind of moment that can’t be replaced by sound effects and dance numbers and rock songs, no matter how talented the cast.
The Watch may yet get a second season; the finale episode offers the hook for where the story will go next, providing Sam Vimes with a new nemesis. No season has been announced, but the show hasn’t been cancelled either. As Motive Pictures moves forward, perhaps they can see where The Watch succeeded in becoming its own thing, and where it didn’t manage as an adaptation, and find a way to both use the television medium (hopefully with larger budgets!) and create works that Pratchett fans will enjoy.
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Den of Geek’s Juliette Harrisson had some suggestions for how a Discworld Cinematic Universe might succeed. The stories are there, providing the bones of the stories. But it’s the heart of the books that needs to make the transition from page to screen, matching the humor and poignancy that will live up to the love Pratchett-fans have for the originals.
The post Can TV Ever Fully Capture Terry Pratchett’s Discworld? appeared first on Den of Geek.
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“You’re staring at Mister Vimes, Reg.”
“Am I?” Reg asks, eyes fixed on Vimes’ back as he speaks to some new recruits.
“Yes Reg,” Nobby says. “You’re staring, Reg. Why’re you staring?”
“He… just reminds me of someone, sometimes. The Commander.”
***
He’s twenty-five and he’s standing on top of the barricades, flag in his hands and pure defiance in his voice.
He’s twenty-five and he should be dead, is dying, blood gushing from more wounds than he can count but he’s still crawling forwards, still fighting, propelled by nothing but willpower and conviction because he will. Not. Give. Up.
He’s twenty-five – but is he, still? – and fresh air washes over his face, not quite ridding him of the taste of mud and dirt still filling his mouth.
***
He joins the Watch sometime in summer, coppers giving him funny looks and cracking unfunny jokes about limbs falling off and parts not working properly, and the people, the differently-alive that used to be his friends whisper behind his back, words like traitor and selling out to the system, but when after his first weeks he singlehandedly – or single-armedly, seeing as how it was that limb that he threw after the miscreant and which hit him in the back of the head, knocking him out – when he catches his first criminal, Commander Vimes gives him a look, and a nod, and after that he’s Mister Vimes to Reg, and the funny looks die out a bit.
Even so, when his first twenty-fifth of May in the Watch rolls ‘round, he almost doesn’t wear the lilacs. He’s been wearing them consistently, without fail, for over twenty years, but this is the first time his fingers shake as he pins the flowers to his helmet.
People stare at him when he gets in that morning, both lilac-wearers and the younger, the more innocent coppers. Reg holds his head high – careful not to put too much stress on the stitches in his neck, just in case – and pretends not to see. In a way, he’s got more right than any of them to wear these, after all.
Vimes, too, wears the lilacs, pinned to his breastplate. Reg passes him in the hallway, not long after he comes in. Vimes, eyes downcast and face unreadable, absentmindedly glances at Reg when he passes, strolling on at his policeman’s pace. Then, he suddenly halts mid-step.
He turns back. He stares.
Reg braces himself.
“Ah,” Vimes says, eyes flicking between the lilacs on Reg’s helmet and his face. “Yes, you were there too, weren’t you? I remember now.”
Zombies have a good memory, but it’s still hard to connect the skinny pale terrified kid to the grizzled man he sees in front of him. Still…
“And I remember you, sir,” Reg says, with a small smile. “You fought bravely, that day.”
“Bravely?” Vimes huffs. “Recklessly, maybe. Stupidly. Although – well, yes, why not. Bravely.” He grins, a tiny bit too wide, too feral. “Not as bravely as you, though.”
Reg shrugs. “I was every bit as stupid, sir. Just a bit more loud about it.” He sighs, looks down. “You seem to be the only one who remembers me, though.”
“Oh, everyone remembers you, Reg,” Vimes says, with dark humour.
Reg looks up. “Sir?”
“They might not remember the name, or the face,” Vimes says, “but everyone who survived that night remembers you.”
***
It’s hard, the first few years.
Zombies aren’t actively hunted, but they’re certainly not accepted with open arms either. The others shuffle and groan, clinging to tradition and misconceptions, and for a while Reg joins them in dull, insulting security.
But he died with revolution running through his veins and his veins may be empty now, but the fire never died, and not too long after he gives up on tradition and starts talking again, starts yelling, starts fighting back.
Not that it changes that much. He can’t do anything but small things, perhaps insignificant in the larger scope of things, small acts of defiance and protest, one tiny spark in the all-encompassing darkness.
And when the revolution comes round again, the way revolutions do… This one, he’s not allowed any part in.
***
They don’t come by in one large group to the graveyard. Instead, they trickle in one by one, each spending a few moments with the grave, before quietly leaving again. Reg, tending to his own resting place not too far away, keeps an eye on them, and only goes up when most of them have already visited and the place is empty.
He leans on his shovel and looks down at what little of the headstone he can see through the masses of flowers covering the grave.
“How do they rise up,” he mutters, then smiles, wryly. “In my case, left hand first, straight through the final layer of dirt.”
“Or with the help of a flagpole.”
He whirls in surprise. Vimes has snuck up on him, quiet as a cat. He’s carrying his son in his arms, who makes a happy noise when he spots Reg.
Reg makes to leave, but Vimes shakes his head. He sets Young Sam down on the ground, where he promptly begins fiddling with the lilacs.
“It’s his birthday, today,” Vimes says, staring at the gravestone.
“I know, sir.”
“How the hell am I supposed to combine those two? How the hell can I wear a silly hat and eat cake and act like I’m happy when…”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” Reg says. “It’s not that sad, this day – it did go all right, in the end, didn’t?”
“Did it?” Vimes says gloomily.
“Well, I dare say we wouldn’t be here today without him. His courage and spirit. He lives on in all of us, really.” Reg side-eyes Vimes. “And maybe in some of us more than in others.”
For a while, there’s no sound but the wind rustling through the leaves and the soft humming of Young Sam as he picks apart the blossoms.
“Zombies have good memories,” Reg says carefully.
“Is that so?” Vimes says, neutral and bland, honouring his nickname.
Which is an answer all of its own, of course.
***
He only goes to the graveyard when it’s far after midnight. They don’t like him near the grave, don’t like seeing him around on that day, don’t like what he represents, but that’s all right.
Well, no, it’s not all right, but there’s nothing he can do about it. John Keel’s grave is not the place for petty fights.
So he waits until it’s well into the night, when it’s already technically the twenty-sixth, and only then does he go to the grave, where he can sit and think in peace, for awhile.
But this time, there’s still someone there. Reg almost doesn’t see him, at first. He’s sitting against another grave, back leaning against the stone, bottle in his hand but eyes steady on Keel’s grave. Reg hesitates, then makes to leave.
“Nah, stay,” the man says, waving his bottle.
So he approaches. There’s a lantern next to the grave and the unsteady light illuminates the man’s face. Vimes, Keel’s protégé, the skinny kid that followed Keel on his heels – except he doesn’t look like a kid anymore.
“’m holding a vigil,” Vimes says. “Wouldn’t want old Keel to get lonely, would we? And it’s not like anyone else comes to visit, now.” He looks up at Reg. “Cept you.”
“You don’t mind me being here?” Reg asks, curious.
“Why would I? You died for it. With him.” He takes a deep drink from his bottle. “Reckon you’ve got more right than anyone to be here tonight.”
“The others don’t share your opinion,” Reg says.
“The others can go to hell,” Vimes says, and he looks up at Reg, the wavering Nightwatchmen’s lantern’s light dancing across his face, and his eyes are dark and serious and angry, and not even all the booze and the misery are enough to drown out the furious still-burning fire underlying it all and –
And Reg thinks, oh.
Zombies have good memories.
***
“You never talk about it,” Vimes says.
“Neither do you, sir,” Reg says pointedly.
Vimes gives him a joyless smile, then reaches behind his breastplate for a cigar. He lights it absentmindedly, eyes going between his son and the letters on the stone.
“It was still all for nothing, Reg,” Vimes says, after he’s taken his first puff. “We failed, didn’t we? And for years and years it was even worse than before. It’s Vetinari who made things right again, not Keel.”
“He may not have succeeded then, sir, but he showed us something. Inspired us.”
Vimes huffs.
“No, it’s true,” Reg protests “He gave me courage, you know. When things got… difficult, and it felt like it would be so much easier to just let go and give in than try to fight against something that seemed like it would never change – that’s when I remembered him. I remember him standing on the barricades, organising us. I remember the way the officers and the politicians were afraid of him. And I remember that even though it didn’t work in the end, we came damn close.”
“Hah. Did we?”
“I wouldn’t be here without him, sir,” Reg says. Then adds, quietly, “Without you.”
Another silence falls. They both look down at the grave, smothered with flowers and honour. Reg still vividly remembers the way it had looked only about five or ten years ago, when eventually it had just been him and Vimes, and Rosie and Nobby and Colon. The measly bouquet, the egg. Almost forgotten.
How do they rise up, indeed.
“You’re a good copper, Reg,” Vimes says. “An awful revolutionary, but a good copper. Tenacious as hell, and some damn good observational skills.”
“Thank you, sir,” Reg says modestly.
For a while, they just stand there together, shoulder by shoulder, the sun setting and the shadows behind the stones lengthening.
Then Young Sam starts to fuss. Vimes sighs and picks him up. The child turns in his father’s arms and looks down at the gravestone, pointing at it. “Da’!”
“That’s right, that’s your dad,” Reg says cheerfully.
Vimes gives him a dark look. “If you ever…”
“I wouldn’t, sir,” Reg says, calmly. “I’ve kept this secret this long, I’m not about to change that now.”
Vimes stares at him, dark eyes boring into Reg’s face. “How long – ” Then he shakes his head. “Nevermind. I don’t need to know.”
“Course, sir.”
Vimes sighs, deeply. “Night, Reg. See you tomorrow.”
“Night, Mister Vimes. Say hello to Lady Sybil from me.”
Vimes gives a lazy wave and heads out of the graveyard, the light glinting off his helmet.
Reg looks at Vimes, leaving the graveyard with his typical copper’s gait.
And he remembers. Remembers Young Sam, as he was, scared and a bit stupid but his anger already growing, the indignant fury at things not being right. And he remembers the other Sam Vimes, the one with the eye patch and the scar and the lined face, the one who came from somewhere else, somewhere not too far away, somewhere where you could fight against the evil bastards in power and win.
Zombies have good memories. And Reg had always been good at recognising faces.
Whistling under his breath, he casts one more look at the empty grave, then walks off towards the setting sun, following in Vimes’ footsteps.
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This is super super rough, but here’s some writing for day 8 of misadventure May!
Reise closed his eyes, taking in the cool breeze. It was nice to be on the road again. The circumstances though, not so much. They’d received word of a series of monster attacks happening in the West. Villages left in ruin. Families separated. They’d been tracking the attacks, trying to find a pattern. Out of the western villages, only a few stood unaffected. Out of those, even fewer had close contact with magical creatures.
So now the two of them were heading to Sylvani, a little hamlet in the woods. Two plus one hungry lizard-bird. The creature had stuck around, even after they’d removed the crystal.
Sybil laid on its back, eating the red of the crystal reflect off of her glove. Reise sat in front and watched the trees along the path. He clicked his tongue and patted the creature’s crest. “You holding up okay Krill?”
The creature let out a cackling sound, and Reise smiled. “Well, let us know if you need to rest.”
He turned to Sybil. “What’s on your mind? You’ve been quiet for a while.”
She turned the crystal over. “Nothing much. Just thinking about what I should do when I see Sam again. These things he’s doing, the things he’s been doing- I just don’t know Reise.”
Reise glanced down at Krill and ran his fingers over the creature’s feathers. “Yeah, I can't imagine how hard this must be for you.”
She sighed and sat up. “Yeah. It’s been the two of us ever since I can remember. Being turned was hard on both of us, Sam especially. But he always managed to keep his chin up.” She was silent for a moment. The sounds of the forest filled the space between them. Finally, she said, “I want to talk to him, when we find him. If he’s in some trouble, I’ve got to help him. And if he’s strayed down the wrong path well… that’s what’s family is for, right?”
Reise nodded. “I hope that you can.” He turned to look at her. “But Sybil, I have to be honest with you. If it comes down to us having to fight him…”
“You do what you have to Reese.”
His eyes widened, but her gaze remained steadfast. “Look, I know what we’re capable of. And I’m not going to ask you to trade your life for his.”
“Sybil-“
She shook her head, signaling an end to the conversation. “We’re here.”
He looked forward to see a sloped clearing, with houses peppered inside it. They slipped off of Krill, and Reise patted his side. “Go catch yourself some bugs pal. We’ll whistle when it’s time to go.”
“Keep out of sight though. Looks like the villagers are tense already,” Sybil said. She tapped his nose. “And no stealing sheep.”
Krill cackled and disappeared from view. They turned back towards the village. Grim expression on her face, Sybil said, “Now, we wait. Let’s hope we were right.”
——
Reise was helping a villager gather firewood when he heard the screams. He dropped his bundle and ran towards the hamlet. The scene was in chaos. Little plant-like creatures were tearing into everything they could find. Reise glanced around, and spotted a flash of red. He looked over, ready to call out to Sybil, but then stopped dead in his tracks. There, at the edge of the tree line, was a small figure. They wore a cloak similar to Sybil’s. His wordless question was answered when he heard Sybil.
“Sam!”
Reise whipped his head around, and saw her fighting several of the creatures. They launched themselves at her with a rabid fervor, but she cut them down just as quickly. Reise looked around the village. Some were trying to fight back, but the creatures were relentless. The figure had moved out of the tree line, towards Sybil, but then a figure cloaked in black came from behind them, putting a hand on their shoulder.
He put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Several creatures turned towards him, and he yelled, “Sybil, go after Sam and that guy!”
Sybil looked over, and seeing the two figures retreating towards the trees, ran after them. Reise drew his sword. A creature launched itself at him, and it fell with a deft slice. More attacked in its wake. As fast as his blade moved, the creatures moved faster. He felt a bite on his leg, then his back. It seemed like the creatures were everywhere.
He launched himself into the air, tearing off creatures where they’d latched onto him. He dove at them, cutting down those within his reach and retreating out of theirs. Something landed on his back, and he turned to see that one of the creatures had jumped from the trees. It scuttled forward, biting into his arm. He screamed, losing his grip on his sword. The blade dropped into the hoard of creatures below, and they swarmed over it.
He tore the creature off of him, gritting his teeth. He pulled out a dagger and surveyed the scene below. The screams had died down, replaced by the hissing and gibbering of the creatures. He could only pray that the townsfolk had gotten away.
His gaze returned to where his sword had dropped, and he grimaced. A knife wouldn’t do much. He needed his blade back. The cost of getting it though…
He shook his head. No time to think about it now. If survivors had gotten away, he had to make sure the creatures couldn’t follow. If they hadn’t already.
He steeled himself and darted towards the group. As he neared their reach, he yelled and veered off to the side. The creatures snarled and chased after. They clambered over each other, moving like one mass, as they tried to reach him. He gritted his teeth and doubled back towards his blade. He had precious few seconds to grab it. Even less to deal with whatever creatures had stayed behind.
He slashed at two stragglers with the knife and grabbed his sword. Just as he did, the wave of creatures hit him, biting and scratching at whatever they could find. He shielded his face and darted upward. Some creatures lost their grip, but the others hung onto him. He tried to shake them off, but to no avail.
Suddenly, he felt the mass of creatures jerk to the side, and then the weight was gone. There was a loud crack, and then a triumphant cackle. He turned to see Krill, crest puffed, launch more of the creatures with his tongue.
Reise grinned a lopsided, bloodied grin and shouted, “Krill!”
His joy was short lived as the remaining creatures launched themselves into the fray. Krill let out a panicked click as the creatures swarmed over him. Reise sliced at them, but there seemed to be a never-ending stream.
“Reese! Krill!”
Reise turned to see Sybil, stepping towards them. To his surprise, the figures stood some distance behind her, unmoving. There was fear on her face and something Reise couldn’t quite place.
He opened his mouth, but a blur of green caught his eye. He threw his sword up, and a creature grasped onto it, hissing. Without turning, he shouted, “Go, we’ll be fine!” The creature snapped at him, and, with a grunt, he flung it to the side.
There was a flapping of wings as Krill tried to dislodge the creatures. Reise started towards him, but a red blur got there first. Sybil yelled and cut the creatures down in a few, deft slashes. She turned to share one regretful glance with Reise before turning to dispatch the other creatures.
Reise glanced back to where the figures had been, but they were gone. He gritted his teeth and returned to the fray.
They managed to dispatch the rest of creatures with Sybil’s help. Reise collapsed against Krill’s side.
“Sybil, what happened?”
She glanced to the side. “That person in black had some weird barrier on them. Couldn’t touch them. They said, if I left you behind they’d tell me everything. And let me talk to Sam. I tried get him to say something, but he wouldn’t even look my way.”
“Why didn’t you? Leave us I mean. This is what we’ve been waiting for for months.” There was an edge of frustration in Reise’s voice. “I’m grateful that you saved us, I really am, but there’s so much at stake here.”
She met his gaze again. “A, that would be horrible. B, I told you before. I’m not going to trade your life for his. I’ve got their scent. And something a little more.” She reached into her cloak and pulled out a short, curly brown hair. “Nabbed this off of his cloak before the other one put their barrier up.”
Recognition lit in Reise’s eyes. “And we can use that to scry for Sam.”
She sighed. “Long as it isn’t someone else’s, yeah.” She looked around at the village. “We weren’t able to save this village, but hopefully we can get closer to stopping this. Let’s follow their scent for now, and look for a mage along the way.”
Reise nodded. “I’ll check for any survivors or stragglers, then catch up with you and Krill.”
Sybil looked around the village. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”
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The Watch Episodes 1 and 2 Review
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This The Watch review contains spoilers.
The Watch Episodes 1 and 2
Anyone who has read science fiction and fantasy novels in the last 40 years has at least heard of Terry Pratchett’s “Discworld,” and it’s with some trepidation and cautious optimism that fans of the books have anticipated the new BBC adaptation, The Watch, which focuses on some of the best-loved characters from the 41-book series. What readers should know is that the series is very much an adaptation, and while there are plenty of moments that are true to the originals, and add details from various books, don’t go in expecting something as faithful as Bridgerton. In fact, don’t even go in expecting something as faithful as Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings.
The Watch isn’t the books—it’s becoming its own thing, and it may end up being more fun because of that.
If you’ve never read a Discworld book (let alone one of the “City Watch” subseries of novels), you’re in for a trip. The Watch’s Discworld—primarily the urban sprawl of Ankh-Morpork—is a chaotic, messy place, dominated by vying guilds and ruled by Vetinari, the Patrician, who has only little use for the City Watch. When Vetinari orders Vimes to investigate the theft of a book from the Unseen University library, everyone’s first response is to dismiss the concern: why would even a Watch as useless as Ankh-Morpork’s go after a stolen book? But the tome holds more danger than anyone realized, and Captain Sam Vimes and his team are embroiled in a mystery that involves dragons, drug deals, murdered alchemists and imps, a man who should have been dead the last twenty years, and a plot to burn the city to the ground.
Despite standing on its own two feet, this adaptation excels when making direct nods to the book series (or at least it’s particularly thrilling to a fan like myself). The title of the first episode, “A Near Vimes Experience,” is a direct quote from the books—Death, who is a character (and is delightfully portrayed by Wendell Pierce, whose complaints about people interrupting him while he’s working allow Death some levity), frames the first episode by having Vimes’s life flash before his eyes. It’s the flashbacks, both to twenty years earlier and to the events of the previous week, that present viewers with the story.
In those earliest moments, viewers discover that Sam Vimes (Richard Dormer) became a member of the City Watch as an undercover member of a gang, run by criminal Carcer Dun (Samuel Adewunmi), to free the other gang members who had been arrested. Instead, inspired by Captain Keel of the City Watch, Vimes chases after Carcer to arrest him, and Carcer falls from Unseen University’s roof into flashes of lightning and, presumably, dies. But in the present, Vimes thinks he sees Carcer at a (psychedelic) tavern, and he begins investigating out of the feeling that he’s seen a ghost—and that somehow Carcer is involved in a greater plot.
Discworld fans will recognize bits of that story (some drawn from Night Watch) and see how it doesn’t quite line up with the series. In The Watch, Carcer is a more complex character, a gang leader who’d been trying to care for his own crew (though in questionable ways), and—by the end of the second episode—a driven man with a mission. The first two episodes also borrow heavily from the plot—and some of the characterizations—in Guards! Guards! a secret organization steals a book to summon a dragon. Carcer provides the face for that shadowy organization, as well. Lady Sybil Ramkin (Lara Rossi), who becomes involved in the investigation in the book, insinuates herself into the investigation in The Watch as well and, already a force to be reckoned with, is an essential member of the team by the end of the second episode.
Also drawing from Guards! Guards!, The Watch follows the arrival of Carrot—a 6’6” human raised by dwarves, who is as honest and forthright as the noblest traditional fantasy hero—as a new recruit to the City Watch. Whereas the Watch has been rendered ineffective by the deals that the various guilds have with the Patrician (the Thieves’ Guild has a quota of legally allowed thievery, and so long as the Assassins’ Guild has the proper paperwork for their inhumations, any murder they commit is legal), Carrot is a true believer in justice that serves the people and keeps them safe. He joins the cynical members of the Watch who have mostly given up on doing meaningful work: Sergeant Detritus, a Troll; Angua, a werewolf; and Cheery, a forensic expert and female dwarf. All three are misfits, who’d have had no place in Ankh-Morpork had Vimes not offered them jobs. (Detritus meets an untimely death at the beginning of episode 2 “Ook,” which is disconcerting not just because we’ve only just met the character, but because his body is made of rock—which, in the books, is practically impenetrable, and would have kept him safe from the crossbow bolts that, in The Watch, killed him.)
Cheery, played to great effect by Jo Eaton-Kent, is presented as a tall dwarf (Eaton-Kent is not as tall as Adam Hugill’s Carrot, who raises an eye at both her size and her gender). Eaton-Kent is a genderfluid actor, and the show does a brilliant job dismissing gender expectations in just a few lines:
ANGUA: Cheery’s our forensic officer. Nothing she doesn’t know about potions and powders. CARROT: She? ANGUA: She. CHERRY: Me.
From there, it’s simply accepted, and Cheery is who she is: a tall dwarf who’s remarkably gifted with fantasy-world forensics. She does a tremendous job with fingerprinting, collecting clues from crime scenes, and bringing Vimes back to himself after a drinking binge with her dosage of near-magical Klatchian Coffee.
Hugill plays the earnest Carrot with all the gravitas the character is due, and his straight-laced performance gives the other actors plenty to work off of. While Angua (Marama Corlett) differs the most from her literary inspiration, the portrayal of a werewolf who gets to decide who sees her and when, and how she lets others in, is well done. Corlett is also filmed to appear tiny compared to the other members of the team, which plays against her deadliness with a crossbow (and fang and fur, all of which is played off-screen).
Dormer’s (who played Beric Dondarrion on Game of Thrones) Vimes has one of the most expressive faces on television, and his physical acting is both impressive and true to the early origins of the character. This is a Vimes who is downtrodden, who believes in people and in justice but can’t figure out how to make a difference, who believes in a good pair of boots, and who depends on the bottle to get him through his day. There’s tremendous room for growth in his character, and Dormer plays him as a man who feels as deeply as he can before he has to drown out his emotions with a stiff drink. Rossi’s Ramkin is a fantastic foil for this Vimes; she’s sure of herself (although clearly she’s been hurt in the past). She’s a vigilante, determined to change the streets by converting one criminal at a time. She trains a pocket sized dragon, has rows of weaponry and armor (all of which she can use expertly), and wields her prestige and family fortune like a force of nature.
All of the casting is quite well done, and gender-swapped characters like Vetinari and Throat—who here is not only gender-swapped by excellently performed by Ruth Madeley, who uses a wheelchair, adding another interesting layer to that unlicensed criminal and source of information—are a delight. (IMDd shows Madeley listed for three episodes, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of Throat.) The diversity and inclusion make Ankh-Morpork feel as cosmopolitan as I’d expect from a big city, and it counters the criticisms many viewers rightly have over fantasy shows that are too white.
This all isn’t to say that the show hits its stride off the bat. While Ankh-Morpork’s population creates a sense of big city fantasy, the mix of technology levels hasn’t quite yet gelled, even after Archchancellor Ridcully (James Fleet) justifies the “keeping the lights on” as a magical effect rather than electricity. The hand-crossbows, carried around like guns (and Vimes wearing what looks like a gun belt) feel off. The fantasy-punk vibe is a strange one, and while it may yet work for the series, it’s different enough from what viewers might expect that it takes getting used to.
Add to that psychedelic graffiti, jarring scene changes, and quick camera angles, and it can be hard to keep up with the show. It’s the kind of visual stimulus that makes you feel like you need to see it twice before you’ve really caught what’s going on, which can be a bad sign for a just-starting series. The actors also speak quickly, in a variety of accents, which reinforces the multicultural feel of the city but made me wish the screeners had the option to turn on subtitles so I could keep up.
Some of the effects (the dragons in particular) are very well done, but others feel determined by budget rather than effectiveness. The style of filming and effects reminds me quite a lot of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere (also BBC, 1996) in that way; there’s a sense of keeping the effects gritty and real by using materials rather than digital effects, but the other side of that coin is that they can feel under-done. The Librarian—who in the books is a wizard who mistakenly transformed into a chimpanzee, but who refuses to allow the wizards to change him back because his form is so effective—is, in The Watch, hidden under a cloak, hiding the form that he so gleefully embraces in the series, and his facial makeup looks plastic and not orangutan-like at all. (On the other hand, The Watch’s depiction of Unseen University Library itself is absolutely gorgeous and a place where I could imagine spending hours or days exploring.)
If viewers can embrace the frenetic pacing and mixed-era visuals, there’s a lot to love here. Most of my worst objections (why are the wizards, especially the Archchancellor, not wearing hats, for Pratchett’s sake?) are due to details I was expecting rather than internal problems with the show.
cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });
And that may be the thing The Watch has the hardest time overcoming; by its nature, this adaptation is most likely to draw people who are already fans of Pratchett, and they’re also going to be the hardest audience to win over.
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