#telling me what Sam Vimes said

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

Devastation. Why is the penguin audio Night Watch audiobook not available in the United States

[nanomooselet]

Episode One: No Man's Land

He's so fluffy. <3

Man, the fact that Vash ran out to greet all those people by name and he's not even a minute into it when the ships begin to explode is really everything about him you need to know. The first time we see his face and it's after he's been thrown off his feet as cascading destruction is unleashed around him. The face that crashed a thousand ships? Vash of Troy? My poor sweet boy.

Young children can sometimes have trouble with cause and effect, assuming events relate more to their own actions than they really do and blaming themselves. So Vash asking Rem if the sleepers will be okay... There's simply no time to explain he isn't responsible. All the dominos are being set up in Vash's little head. Nai is the one to knock them down.

And then Rem and Nai wearing identical expressions. It's not surprising that even after her death she's his most enduring ideological opponent. Every time I watch it's just more obvious how enormous the effect she had on Nai was, and how he hates it. (By the way, I keep hearing that Rem told Nai to protect Vash - but as far as I can tell that's a conclusion Nai came to on his own without Rem's intervention? Rem said she'd protect the twins herself and didn't anticipate the crash. Did I miss something?)

I've talked extensively about this part, but to recap: feelings. And look, Rem's got purple eyes! Apart from the colour motif (purple = red + blue, so it represents the unity of humanity and the Plants that was her dream) she would have had to get gene-modded for them, which is a fun detail. Rem, of all people, was a little bit vain. I dunno, I find that endearing.

"Real people don't look like that./Real people aren't such caricatures." More of Orange's composition choices making me foam at the mouth.

We don't know how long Vash has been dangling there, but I doubt it was less time than it would take for a human to die of deprivation or exposure. I really don't think Vash actually needs to eat or drink, nor does he hate being a Plant - it's himself that he hates, as a person. If anything Knives is the one in denial that he's just as human? I don't know.

Anyway personally I like to think that the reporters really are caught up in all this nonsense by sheer happenstance. No one's pulling their strings; they're out to write a meaningless gossip piece and Meryl is taking it too seriously. It's worth noting that focused pursuit of the "dangerous fugitive" (read: Vash) is apparently pretty recent, not to mention unusual.

...I'm guessing my girl doesn't play a lot of poker. Meryl's faces. <3

I've said it before, but the show doesn't cheat. Roberto doesn't pull his conclusions out of his ass; he tallies up incongruities and puts them together into insights. He's obviously experienced, but I think of Sam Vimes, a recovering alcoholic, complaining there aren't meetings you can attend for being a suspicious bastard. Roberto drinks because, too often, his suspicions have been proven right. (I suspect Roberto also suffers from a state of being naturally knurd i.e. he's short of sobriety in the opposite direction to being drunk, and has to down a few before he's on par with the rest of us. But I also think his tolerance is good and he plays up drunken mannerisms when it suits him.)

Huh, the man looks good in a tie. I wonder how recent that photo is.

Anyway, Roberto sees Vash's big honkin' gun, but Vash insists he's "not a fighter". He notes aloud that Vash doesn't look like a Plant engineer and Vash dodges explaining. Then he sees this face Vash is making, and it's scared. He's sweating. This is before the MPs barge in, so it's something about the Plant he's afraid of.

Right, thinks Roberto, we'll tuck that nugget of info away, along with how that piece in his holster sure ain't no damn novelty backscratcher. And when an opportunity arises to test the insight, Roberto takes it.

Uh, never mind what I said about cheating. (Although this is an animation cheat, not a narrative one.) I love that they didn't even pretend like he was maybe hiding it somewhere. Also hilarious, though more darkly so, is the complaint that this turn is "bad writing" because the captain was professional, as if he didn't beat the shit out of a suspect in the process of surrendering, stick his gun in random faces, and agree to a duel with deadly weapons against a bounty head he's meant to bring in alive because some random drunk asshole made slightly mean comments.

("Are you are a man, or a yellow-bellied baby who needs his mommy?" Background info implies the captain has reason to be sensitive about the accusation he's hiding behind his parents. I wonder if the dub writers knew?)

Meanwhile Vash is unwilling to fight until his opponent does something absolutely batshit that imperils everyone around him. He's also bizarrely calm about a cluster of missiles being launched and heading right for him. Roberto's right that he isn't afraid of the MPs.

"A fight should be a show!/We've got an audience, we might as well give them a show!" <- Orange says you're goddamn right about that, crazy captain dude. And it's exactly what they did.

Dweeb. <3 He probably left his ammo behind in his bag on purpose, but didn't expect the captain to do something so recklessly violent and suddenly realised he hasn't had time to restock any of his aces in the hole. Nevertheless, I suspect he's still playing up how hard he's freaking out here. The helpless and pathetic act is very much an act; it's only when he's faced with Knives that it isn't.

It's so sweet that Rosa knows him well enough to have faith he'd pull it off with a single bullet. She put a lot of trust in him. I like to think she kept a stock on hand. She also meant it when she said "a friend of Vash's is a friend of mine," so Meryl makes the throw. And she makes it good. Which all helps what's coming to be more devastating, naturally.

LOL at how clearly this is an animation/particle flex, but it's celebratory too, like fireworks on opening night. Over a decade since Vash did his thing on our screens. Here he is returning with a bang!

Wow, I somehow completely and utterly failed to realise Meryl and Roberto's conversation with Vash about Knives takes place the next day until this time around. Of course they would have had to wait until the captain was conscious enough to ride out of town. All the details I pick up and "the sun is setting" or maybe "unconscious people can't ride birds" missed me entirely. What I'm saying is that I'm very smart.

Hi Zazie!

I don't expect an answer to this question, but I have to wonder. Did Zazie wait to report to Knives until now to be absolutely certain it was Vash after seeing him draw that exact gun and do something impossible? Or does Zazie have some awareness of the fourth wall, knew when they'd cut away to show Knives, and acted so as to achieve a "speak of the devil" effect when Vash finally mentioned his full name?

Regardless, I really like the dub, but it's a shame they couldn't keep the ambiguity of whether Knives is talking about Vash or the red Plant when he says he'll rescue [someone] from the "parasites".

I do like the impression he's talking to the Plant husks (even if it's probably really Zazie he's talking to). My man's always open to constructive criticism when his interlocuter isn't capable of making any.

@tristampparty

[lamuradex]

Discworld Fanfic: The Other Trouser Leg

Based on Jingo, it tells the story of the other Vimes.

Wordcount: 3065

In Jingo, Sam Vimes' Dis-Organiser begins to malfunction, getting confused and giving him the schedule of the Vimes who stayed behind in Ankh-Morpork. He hears the horrors of what could have been. He hears as the Dis-Organiser reports the deaths of his men.

But, in theory, another Vimes would have gotten his schedule. A Vimes who was having a much worse day.

Please enjoy this tragic fanfiction.

The Other Trouser Leg

Vimes wandered down the street, puffing on a cigar. It wasn’t his usual walk. And even if it was, it hadn’t been for a while. The ceremonial truncheon in his belt saw to that. But someone needed to make sure this all didn’t go to-

Bingley-Bingley-Beep

Vimes groaned. “What is it now, you blasted thing?” he swore as he pulled out the Dis-organiser.

“6:34am Meeting with 71-Hour Ahmed in ruins of Tacticum,” the demon wittered, though it sounded unsure of itself.

“What are you on about?” Vimes stared at it. “I’ve never even heard of Tacticum, and why would I be meeting with that madman Ahmed?”

“Um… I don’t know…” the demon confessed, then went back inside the box.

Vimes put it away and got back to what he was doing. Organising the supplies to build defences. Someone had to, and Vetinari was gone, Lord Rust was abroad, thankfully, so there was only The Watch Regiment left to oversee things.

Captain Carrot, meanwhile, had essentially left by himself to get Angua. He’d come back to inform everyone of the mission, unlike any other valiant rescue in history, but Vimes had let him go. He’d wanted to follow. He’d been moments from sodding this whole war effort and leaving. But someone reminded him he was needed here. He was Commander of the Watch, and both Sybil and Carrot said he needed to delegate more.

So he had. Carrot would rescue Angua. Meanwhile he’d stay and look after Ankh-Morpork.

The decision didn’t sit right though. He should have been in the thick of it. Going after his corporal. Going after that bastard Ahmed. And the damned Dis-Organiser hadn’t been working all day. Less than usual. It was like it was giving him someone else’s appointments.

It was strange too, because Nobby and Colon had gone missing. So, with all his best men down, though best felt like an odd term, he had to take up the command himself.

So much for delegation.

“Alright!” he yelled to Detritus, who was carrying an entire cart of lumber rather than pulling it. “You, put the wood over there. We can make barricades along the roads.”

“And what should we be doing, sir?” said the smooth voice of Constable Visit beside him.

“Keep fighting to a minimum before the actual fighting starts,” Vimes commanded. “People might not be happy we’re blocking up their streets. And you, Littlebottom.” He looked around, then looked down.

“Yes, sir?” she answered.

“Make sure the barricades are being built. We put some of the dwarves on it, but you know how ornery they can get.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed and hurried off.

Everything was going to plan… and that worried Vimes a little.

* * *

The barricades and many other defences were built. Fences and walls and barriers. It all looked a bit ramshackle, it was Ankh-Morpork workmanship after all, but hopefully it would hold.

Vimes wasn’t massively hopeful. All the same, men and women milled about, weapons readied, as Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler went about selling sausages to the troops. Some of them were even nervous enough to buy one.

Bingley-Bingley-Beep

Vimes groaned, but took out the Dis-Organiser anyway. “What is it now?”

“7:00am. Charging the armies of Klatch and Ankh-Morpork,” the demon said, stuttering slightly.

“But we’re Ankh Morpork. Why would we be charging ourselves?” Vimes asked, hoping to make the demon see sense.

It didn’t. The imp merely flapped its mouth a moment, scrunched up its lips, then gave up and vanished.

“Bloody thing,” Vimes cursed.

“Commander!” came a cry from the docks.

Vimes hurried down, not quite running, not quite strolling. It didn’t do to show how nervous he was. He even lit a cigar to show how casual he was being. Remarkably, it wasn’t an attack. A boat had pulled up to a jetty by the river gate. A boat with two occupants.

“Good morning, Commander Vimes,” Captain Carrot greeted brightly, stepping off the boat. “How goes everything here?”

“Captain?” Vimes stared in befuddlement. “What are you doing back?”

“Oh, mission accomplished, sir,” he said officially. Behind him, Angua stepped off the boat.

“But… how?” Vimes spluttered. “She was on 71-Hour Ahmed’s ship, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, sir. But when I got to Klatch, she was waiting by the shoreline. Says a metal spike poked through the bottom of the boat, she broke free, then she swam to shore. Ahmed’s people never came after her.”

“Wish he had, the little…” Angua trailed off, rubbing a red band on her neck.

“Well… Impressive, Captain. And you too, Corporal,” Vimes floundered.

“Thank you, sir,” the pair answered.

“Now, if we can just tighten up everything, we might be-”

“Sir?” Captain Carrot held up a hand politely.

“What is it, Captain?”

“We might have been spotted as we left Klatch,” Carrot said worriedly. He pointed out to sea. “It seems they might have followed us.”

Vimes followed his finger. He stared out to sea. The cigar fell from his mouth.

The horizon looked like a small forest. One in winter without a single leaf, as a field of masts poked up over the horizon. Hundreds of them.

* * *

Bingley-Bingley-Beep

“Everyone, fall back! Get to Sator Square! Shore up the defences!” Vimes yelled.

“7:48am. Meet with Prince Cadram and Lord Rust.”

“Just shut up, you daft thing!” 

It had all gone wrong. It had all gone wrong so quickly.

The boats had arrived on mass, with Morpork’s own navy having left with Lord Rust. Nets had been put up to stop them at the river gate, but the Klatchians cut straight through. The people of Ankh-Morpork were used to a scrap, but that was mostly broken bottles in taverns. Actual organised fighting was outside their comfort zone, and it showed. People ran, abandoned their posts. Others got stuck in, and immediately killed. The Klatchians were organised. With a shout of Klatchian words, presumably “For Prince Cadram” or some such, they were in the ports, in the streets, and cutting down anyone in their path. Vimes had been forced back with everyone else, fighting his way up Peach Pie Street with a sword and his ceremonial truncheon. The Dis-Organiser had also taken that moment to say he should be fighting enemy soldiers alongside 71-Hour Ahmed, so now he was sure it was broken.

But every armed man had met the Klatchians at the river gate. Now every armed man was falling back, with Vimes desperately trying to hold everything together.

Sator Square was a good gathering place, but it wasn’t exactly a defensible position. Too many entrances, too many paths, too many rooftops. But as soldier and civilian alike ran for their lives, it was still a good place for everyone to gather.

There weren’t as many people as there should have been.

“Alright everyone, we can hold our ground,” Vimes called to everyone. “Carrot, Angua, make sure there’s a man on every road in. Warn us if anyone’s coming. Detritus? If you hear someone call out, open fire. That should scare them.”

There was a clang as Detritus saluted, then he hefted his siege bow into the best spot.

“Everyone else! Build up those barricades. We need a way out, so suggestions are welcome.”

He had run this way hoping for a better way out. Perhaps to head into the Unseen University. Unfortunately the gates were sealed. Locked, bolted, and likely enchanted. Wizards didn’t do war, and that may have been a good thing. The palace was the next best bet, but that was some distance. Then there was the Watch House, but it would be a bit cramped with so many. But in terms of buildings they could defend…

Bingley-Bingley-Beep

“Thing to do today: Arrest Enemy Armies.”

“Enemy sighted!”

THWACK

Detritus had done as instructed, and fired a bolt like an oar down a road. The Klatchian at the other end would have been pinned to the wall, if the arrow had stopped. It was likely two streets over by now, even as Detritus reloaded.

“Fall back!�� Vimes yelled. The Watch House it would have to be.

A crowd of terrified people, and rightfully nervous soldiers, and even more anxious guards all hurtled across town. Klatchian patrols surged along parallel streets, the sights of scimitars and turbans down most alleys. Vimes stopped at the Watch House door, and funnelled people inside. A few civilians, though most kept running. Some of the soldiers, though many were dead. Each of The Watch fled inside, some dragging injured people with them. Detritus was last, firing one last bolt up the street, and taking out eight men with one shot. Once the troll was in, Vimes closed the door and barred it.

This wasn’t a plan, hiding in the Watch House. They should be out there helping. But they’d really be out there dying. He counted off his corporals, his sergeants, his captain. Still no sign of Nobby or Colon, but there wasn’t time to worry. He just had to hope they were safe.

He even hoped Nobby was safe. It was an odd realisation.

He got back to the problem at hand. The enemy were literally at the door. Part of him cried out that they shouldn’t have an enemy. That Klatch was no better than them. But this thinking wasn’t helpful right now. He stressed for a plan. He needed a plan.

The wood of the front door began to bend, as shoulders battered it from the other side.

“Dorfl!” he called out. “Hold that door shut!”

“Yes, Commander,” the golem appeared, pressing his clay body against the door.

“Cheery?” Vimes beckoned.

“Yes, sir?” the dwarf emerged from a side room, axe in hand.

“Anything alchemical we can use? Burning, acid, lightning if you can make it.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” She darted into her lab, which was an old latrine.

“Carrot?”

“Yes, sir,” the Captain was helping some civilians who’d followed them in.

“You’re one of our best fighters. Any weapons you can find. Arm everyone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Angua-”

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. Force ceasefire of Klatchian War.”

“Would you shut up?!”

CRASH!

There was a smashing sound. The sound of masonry. Brick and stone and-

BOOM!

The door to the alchemy lab exploded, the wall behind it demolished. A small shape, axe still in her hand, launched through the door and landed with an unpleasant crunch at Vimes’ feet. There was a dent in her helmet like a hammer had hit it.

“Sir…” she gasped, as the last air left her lungs.

“Cheery!” Angua screamed.

“You make big mistake!” Detritus roared. As he charged, three Klatchians came through the broken door. One of them was about half the troll’s size and wielding a sledge hammer.

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. Welcome Vetinari for peace talks.”

“Detritus, wait!” Vimes yelled. But it was too late.

Detritus charged and grabbed the two men to either side. The one in the middle leapt clear. He then reeled back his sledgehammer and brought it down on Detritus’s skull.

“NO!”

Bits of stone fell like shrapnel to the floor, as Detritus collapsed onto the last man, crushing him. But there were more. A dozen more, all pouring through the gap.

“Upstairs now! Everyone!” Vimes yelled.

Everyone sprinted up the stairs. Surging past him, he counted them off as they passed. In the lobby, he saw Reg Shoe struggling to help Dorfl with the front door, only to get pinned to the wall with a scimitar, which barely seemed to inconvenience the man. Constable Visit came sprinting, a sword in one hand and pamphlets in the other. An arrow whistled past his ear and embedded in the stairs, with Visit veering to avoid it. He missed the stairs and wound up around the corner… where there were more Klatchians.

“Sirs, have you considered leaving your false religions and accepting the love and care of Om?” Vimes heard him say.

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. Watch Captain Carrot’s Football Match between Klatch and Ankh Morpork.”

There was a gurgling gasp.

He’d been trying to convert them to the end. Vimes could almost respect that.

“Dorfl!” he yelled to the golem.

Dorfl answered, moving away from the door to follow. This proved a mistake, as the door collapsed and three men with hammers followed the golem in.

“Behind you!”

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. Meet with Sergeant Colon and Betty.”

The hammers came down and took off Dorfl’s arm. He kept fighting, but two hammers took out a leg. As he balanced, the three hammers synchronised and met either side of his ceramic skull.

“Blast it all!” Vimes swore and sprinted upstairs, Klatchians hurrying towards him.

He hurried up a flight and found Carrot and Angua waiting. They had a large table, and bookcase, and pushed them down the moment Vimes was past. The furniture hurtled down and crushed three Klatchians on their way up.

“Where now, sir?” Carrot asked, somehow not sounding panicked.

“I… I don’t know. Up. Out my office window,” Vimes guessed. It had all gone so wrong.

They sprinted to the top floor, and towards Vimes’ office. Below, the bookcase had been made short work of, and the table thrown aside. Footsteps were running up behind them, and as they rounded a landing, a stray arrow flew up from below. It caught Angua across the arm, sizzling as it did.

“Silver! Bloody silver!” she swore. “71-Hour Ahmed had it too. They’ve done their research.”

“You two, get in there. I’ll hold them off,” Carrot said calmly. In the confusion he’d picked up Cheery’s axe, which while usually quite the faux pas in dwarf circles, didn’t seem to bother him too much here. He’d also drawn his sword, wielding both, standing wide across the corridor.

“Captain! Don’t be a fool!” Vimes ordered.

The footsteps were getting closer. Carrot tensed and readied.

“Captain!”

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. Return home to Ankh-Morpork,” the demon chimed like a death knell.

Vimes’ heart sank. He could see the horrible pattern unfolding around him. Carrot turned, gave him one last nod, and then charged at his approaching enemy, screaming like a dwarf.

“Carrot!” Angua leapt towards him, only to find Vimes’ arm around her waist, dragging her into the office. She struggled, but he threw her in, then bolted and barred the door with a chair.

“We need to go,” Vimes growled, marching to the window.

“But Carrot-”

“He’s dead. They’re all dead,” Vimes hissed. “They’re all dead because of that damned island. Because of this damned war. Because of-”

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. To do today-”

“AND YOU CAN SHUT UP AND ALL!” He hurled the Dis-Organiser at the wall, its case splintering against the brickwork.

He marched to the window and looked down. There were soldiers all over the yard, the street, and every one of them had gathered around the building. There was no way out. He looked back into the office, where Angua was on the floor. She looked like she should be weeping, but she was just staring at the door.

“That stupid, stupid, hero of a man,” she cursed him, eyes filling with tears. “Always having to do the right thing.”

Vimes slammed his hands into his desk. No way out. No hope. No survival. And then his eye landed on the Dis-Organiser. The broken, confused, annoying little…

Like a parting cloud, like the eye of the storm, he remembered. He’d been in this room. He’d had a choice to make. And after that, the Dis-Organiser had been wrong. Something about that moment. That choice.

He nearly didn’t stay. What if he’d have gone instead of staying?

They might still be alive.

Vimes breathed a sigh. In a way, being doomed felt quite liberating. No way of changing it, no more worries, no more reason to panic. There was just whatever life he had left to live.

But he did still have responsibilities.

“Angua,” he addressed, pulling her off the floor.

She couldn’t answer.

“I need you to get out of here. Find Sybil. Find Vetinari. Find anyone really, make sure they’re okay.”

“What about you? I can fight?” she tried to rally. She failed.

“With silver in their weapons, you’re as mortal as me. But you’re faster than me. You can get out that window and get away. I need you to find them, Angua. Maybe there’s hope yet.”

Angua went to argue, but couldn’t. She just looked him sadly in the eye.

“But what about you?” she finally said.

Vimes nodded. He looked over to the broken device on the floor.

“Dis-Organiser?” he beckoned.

“Y-Y-Yes, Insert New User Here?”

“To Do List.”

“Please enter To Do List.”

“To Do Today: Die.”

The machine gave a little affirming beep then fell silent.

Angua just nodded. As Vimes approached the door, there was a noise, and when he looked back there was a wolf at the window. With its jaws it threw open the window and leapt out onto the sill, and then along until it could jump to another house. Arrows flew up at it, but none met their mark.

Vimes turned back to the door. The wood buckled. Vimes readied his weapons. Finally, in a surge of splinters and blades, Vimes met his enemy.

“Bingley-Bingley-Beep. To Do Today: Arrest Vetinari.”

COMMANDER VIMES?

Vimes looked around. There was a body on the floor at his feet.

“How did I survive that?” he wondered.

YOU DIDN’T.

Vimes looked up. He looked up into hollow sockets and tiny blue pinpricks.

“Oh. I see.”

I BELIEVE THAT YOU DO.

“I guess that’s it then,” he accepted. “Tell me, are Sybil and Vetinari alright? Nobby and Colon?”

THAT ISN’T REALLY MY DEPARTMENT, MR VIMES.

“No. I suppose it isn’t, is it… But that means you haven’t seen them recently?” Vimes said hopefully.

NO, BUT THIS HAS BEEN QUITE A BUSY DAY. I WOULD LIKELY STILL REMEMBER THEM THOUGH.

“That’s good. That’s good,” Vimes sighed, as his form began to fade. “And what about that other Vimes? The one the Dis-Organiser was talking about?”

TIME AND SPACE ARE QUITE ODD, COMMANDER. WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN BUT WASN’T. AT LEAST NOT HERE.

“But is he alive?”

OH, I BELIEVE SO.

“And he ended the war?”

IN A SENSE, YES.

“And did he live happily? With Sybil?”

IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO JUDGE, BUT I THINK SO.

“That’s good,” Vimes accepted. “That’s good too.”

Finally, his form faded, and Death moved on to the next person in the building.

[allofmystudentsrunaway]

🙌🦉

oh a hard one..let me think..i have written a lot of words!...erm..probably this star trek discovery shortfic/precoda: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550987/chapters/44038816

Michael sat very still hands flat on her thighs and tried to meditate, it was almost impossible to concentrate. The dull light of Proxima Centurii tinted her cell rust red, blood everywhere she looked; On her hands, on her face and in her eyes when she caught her reflected gaze. Every twelve hours the prison rotated away from the small star and then she slept. If you could call the tangle of nightmares sleep, it certainly wasn’t restful. Despair is insidious, a snake that winds it’s way into the mind and chokes out all other thought. At first she had tried to pull herself from it’s grasp. She had done the work they asked of her, mixed with the other prisoners tried to make her atonement mean something. It didn’t work. The others knew what she was, the guards didn’t bother to protect her and now this was her life. Her Life, watching an insignificant star slip past the window and waiting for the night terrors to come and claim her. “I deserve this” She reminded herself, it wasn’t martyrdom or histrionics, it was simply the truth. She had caused death, so many deaths. Friends she loved had died because of her actions, if anything her punishment was too merciful. Starfleet had no idea what to do with her. She was a mutineer, the first ever. The powers that be couldn’t make her walk the plank, even so they had buried her anyway. So she let herself be choked by the snake, suffocated in her own guilt and over and over her mind showed her Philippa’s face as T’kuvma thrust his blade through her heart. Michael dwelled on that image, held it before her eyes and burned it into her soul. The sun was slipping away as the station turned into night, Michael lay down. She lay straight arms and legs rigid, not wanting to sleep but knowing she couldn’t prevent it. The lights snapped off and left her alone in the darkness with only the cold stars for company. "Where fear walked, anger was its companion." Sarek whispered in her ear. She blinked back tears, night was the only time she allowed herself to cry. It was dangerous during the long hours of daylight, when a guard might see and take exception to her grief. “I do not need Surak’s Analects now.” She told her imagined Father. “I think you tell yourself falsehoods to comfort yourself. There is no logic in that” Michael turned over and curled herself up tightly. Sarek had said that to her when she was nothing more than a frightened child. "To each joy its celebration; to each sorrow, its observance." Her father towered over her, Vulcan face implacable, even so his voice hinted at compassion. Michael realised she was dreaming, she knew if she looked around she was see her Mother Amanda. “I remember this day.” It was the day she had first gone to the learning centre, She recalled Spock reaching out for her hand as they walked to their parents shuttle. “Michael, my daughter you cannot exist in the past, you must live in the now” “How?” she begged. The lights in her call flashed on dragging her from her dream, she sat up blinking and confused. One of the Guards, Ensign Galus was stood inside her cell brandishing a phaser rifle. “You, Burnham get up you are being transferred to Tellun, pack your things.”

As for your other question there probably isn't just one author that inspires me. i've always loved telling stories and i'm a fairly eclectic reader. I quite happily ping between genres, i do think 'you need to read in order to write', and by that i mean read widely and out of your comfort zone.

Though it has to be said Terry Pratchett is my comfort Author, i've re-read the discworld books a lot. i just love the way his characters feel like real people, he had the ability to make you care about say, Sam Vimes or Nanny Ogg, while at the same time highlighting gut wrenching truths about humanity. i would say he probably influenced my writing style. i still miss him.

[jabbage]

My Favourite Fanfics

2022 was the year I discovered fanfiction that I enjoyed reading, and I thought I'd share my mountain of fics that really stood out to me!

Jeeves and Wooster

Green Ice - Jeeves and Wooster & Lord Peter Wimsey

I'm hesitant to explain why I like this fic so much. It was 'spoiled' for me before I read it, and I wonder what the experience would have been like if I hadn't known where it was going ahead of time. So, perhaps I'll just say that it uses Bertie Wooster's position as possible unreliable narrator to add a really interesting dimension to his character and explore an aspect of note about the Jeeves and Wooster universe, and does so within a rip-roaring mystery which feels very authentic. AND Peter Wimsey is in it!

The War of the Worlds and All That - Jeeves and Wooster

In which Jeeves and Wooster thwart an alien invasion. Which is an utterly bonkers idea, somehow pulled off because said invasion hinges around the exact kind of dilemma which is entirely commonplace in Bertie Wooster's life. I was absolutely hooting with laughter throughout this whole thing.

Sherlock Holmes

The Craven Hive - Meticulously researched and textually deep historical pastiche with some absolutely beautiful character moments. Dr Watson returns from his war service and decides to assist in the treatment of shellshocked soliders. Of course when danger is at hand, he has to call in his old friend...

The Unsinkable Ship - Another meticulously researched piece. Holmes and Watson end up on board the Titanic. Much of the work is the pair going around exploring the ship, talking to each other and their fellow passengers (often real people), and dealing with navigating retirement together. They have such an old married couple vibe in this. Oh, and then the ship gets struck by an iceberg.

The Afterlife of Dr John H Watson - Good grief thing thing is absolute exquisite torture and I've read it I don't know how many times. Has entirely changed how I read 'The Blanched Soldier' and 'The Lion's Mane'. I get very very bored at 'kissy stuff' in stories, but the pivotal kiss in this GOT ME BAD.

The Taste of Truth - Delicious dark fantasy. If Neil Gaiman had written it, it would have won a Nebula.

Grit in the Sensor - Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century - Ok ok just hear me out on this one.... Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century is a very fun but silly Saturday Morning Cartoon which had a wealth of absolutely dynamite sci-fi concepts bubbling below the surface which it didn't ever address. One of these is that there is a robot who appears to have gained sentience by reading Watson's work. This fic unpacks that concept in a beautiful heartfelt way. It's narrated from Robot Watson's point of view, which leads to a delightful mixture of 19th century patois with machine logic.

Fullmetal Alchemist

Of Skulls and Secrets - I really enjoy it when people bring in the very bonkers real life history of alchemy into FMA stories, and this piece honestly feels like it could have been an extra chapter or OVA.

FMA Beyond - I don't know what to tell you. It's like Hiromu Arakawa wrote and illustrated more Fullmetal Alchemist. I got tingles when I started reading it. It gets Al right, which is always important to me :D

Others

Ciel D'Oro - The Name of the Rose

I can't believe somebody wrote a very decent sequel to The Name of the Rose and it's on Ao3 and you can read it for free.

Mister Vimes'd Go Spare - Discworld

If you were to tell me that this was actually written by Terry Pratchett, I would believe you. In my heart, this is what happened to Sam Vimes in the end.

A Man from the Stars - Doctor Who

Officially set my mind to rest about poor Joan Redfern.

Sing Down the Stars - The Chronicles of Narnia

Very beautiful reflection on Rilian from The Silver Chair ***

That's it for now! I'm sure I'll keep adding to this as I read more stuff :D

[badwasabi]

How not to use "idly" and "absently".

​ A lot of writers - including me - misuse the words "idly" and "absently". Don't be one of them.

Absently

"Absently" means "not paying attention". Lots of people use it to tell the reader that someone is not paying attention.

"What's wrong with that?" you say. It's lazy. It's telling, not showing. It means you don't have to describe what's going on. You're going "They're not paying attention! Take my word for it!" Lady Sybil: I'll tell Willikins to pack winter clothes. It'll be pretty cold up there at this time of year. Sam Vimes: Yes. That's a good idea. Lady Sybil: We'll have to host a party ourselves, I expect, so we ought to take a cartload of typical Ankh-Morpork food. Show the flag, you know. Do you think I should take a cook along? Sam Vimes: Yes dear. That would be a good idea. No one outside the city knows how to make a knuckle sandwich properly. Lady Sybil: Do you think we ought to take the alligator with us? Sam Vimes: Yes, that might be advisable.... What alligator? In this sequence, from The Fifth Elephant, Vimes is clearly listening and responding absently. Pratchett didn't have to outright say it. Heck, it's clear just from the dialogue. So how do you do it? Well, if the absent person's interjections are about the same length and rhythm, that's a good sign. There's the classic gag where someone says something outrageous (EG the alligator) and the absent person responds on autopilot before it registers. And, of course, there's the popular use of "absently" as a generic placeholder word, even when someone is clearly paying attention. Idly >As the bucket fell, Vashti looked up. It was blue, she noted idly, just before the water hit her face. A lot of the time, people use the term idly to describe an active action or thought, something that isn't actually being done in idleness.

a) You just finished binge-watching something on Netflix. You already Tweeted about it. Or posted it on your Wall. Or Tumblr. Or all of the above. So you're sitting around, nothing to do, and you decide to check out the next show on your list. b) You're binge-watching something on Netflix, while liveposting your reactions and making dinner. Oh, and you're FaceTiming with your friend Monica, who's simul-watching it with you. Which one of those is being done "idly", instead of actively? The first one? The first one. Notice how I didn't have to explain? But isn't there another meaning for "idle"?" Like, "without being worth anything"? Basically. Question is, how does the POV character - assuming it's not Ye Olde Omnipresent Narrator - know that whatever X is doing is worthless? Once again, show the evidence and let the reader decide. And personally, I suspect most people aren't using the "worthless" meaning. Or thinking about it at all. When was the last time you actually thought of yourself as "idle"? Or doing something "idly"? Or "absently"? Don't remember. There you go. Just like "absently", "idly" is often used as, like, a generic filler word, uh, y'know?

Good hunting. Bonus Content

"We have to find this guy," Alice replied. She absently looked at the pictures on the wa- "Why did you do that?" Ian asked. "Do what?" "Not you, the narrator. Why did you say she looked at the pictures 'absently'?" ...Because she did? "No she didn't. Alice, you wanted to know what was in those pictures, right?" Alice nodded. "Right. So that means I wasn't absent-minded, and I was paying attention." "Exactly! So it wasn't 'absently'!" Oh, come now, you're just being pedantic. Ian frowned, and idly drummed his fingers on the table. "Meaning is important. You can't just throw filler words in-wha-you did it again!" No I didn't! "You said 'idly'! I had a purpose! I was drumming my hands on the table because that helps me think! And I sure wasn't being lazy!" Alright, smart guy, what would you use it for? "Well...if I was sitting on my bed tossing a ball into the air to kill time, that would be 'idly'." Alice spoke up. "I'm reading an email, and I'm playing with a pen in my off-hand. That would be 'absently', since I wouldn't be paying attention." "And besides," Ian said, "there are better ways to show a reader that someone's idle or absent than just saying so. Imagine we were watching a movie or show; what signs would there be?" "That ball example was good," Alice said. "But would we really need to say you were playing with the ball 'idly'?" "Good point." I see. Well, time to end this tutorial, since you only exist for the purposes of it. "Mmm hm," Ian said absently. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, don't-"

[beesandwasps]

And for all that, there are people out there who read those books (the first quote is from Jingo, it’s Sam Vimes thinking about the pro-war madness that grips the city, the second is from Carpe Jugulum, a dialog between Granny Weatherwax and Pastor Oates.) and nodded along with them and felt virtuous for siding with the Good Guys, and then now side with Israel when they commit genocide against the Palestinians, or who went into exactly the pro-war mentality post 9/11 that Jingo was very obviously based on, or who are actively gleeful when the Russians who are being thrown onto the battlefield by Putin with no training or equipment are mowed down mercilessly because obviously we shouldn’t have any sympathy for the Enemies Of Our State no matter what is happening to them.

I was just thinking about that this morning, actually — there’s a passage in one of the early Sam Vimes books where he is thinking about how, no matter how evil kings may demonstrably have been, there are always people who want a king, says something along the lines of “whoever had designed humans had left in a major flaw — the tendency to bend at the knees”. That’s a very clever phrasing, but as flaws go, a much more commonly demonstrated one is our persistent inability to see a flaw in ourselves that we recognize in others.

For that matter, I think a more recent section of text is more relevant to the current situation, and possibly to all current situations. It comes from Snuff, the second to last mainline Discworld book before Pratchett died (to reduce the length I am cutting out some digressions):

“[…] Truthfully, my mother was found as a child when she was three and raised by goblins in Uberwald. Until she was about eleven — and I say about because she was never quite certain about the passage of time — she pretty much thought and acted like a goblin and picked up their language, which is insanely difficult to learn if you’re not brought up to it. She ate with them, had her own plot in the mushroom farm and was very highly thought of among them for the way she looked after the rat farm. She once told me that until she met my father, all her best recollections were of those years in the goblin cave.” Miss Beedle stirred her coffee and continued. “And she also told me her worse recollections, the ones that haunted her nightmares and, I might say, haunt mine now: of one day after some nearby humans had found out that there was a golden-haired, pink-cheeked human girl running around underground with evil, treacherous brutes who, as everybody knows, eat babies. Well, she screamed and fought as they tried to take her away, especially since people who she had thought of as family were being slaughtered around her.” [...] “All slaughtered, for no reason. It happens. Everybody knows they’re a worthless people, don’t they? I tell you, commander, it’s true that some of the most terrible things in the world are done by people who think, genuinely think, that they’re doing it for the best, especially if there is some god involved. Well, it took a lot of those things, and quite a lot of time, to convince a little girl that she wasn’t one of the nasty goblins anymore and was really one of the human beings who were not nasty at all, becauase one day they were certain she would understand that all this terrible business with the bucket of cold water and the beatings every time she spoke in the goblin tongue, or started absentmindedly to sing a goblin song, was in her best interest. Fortunately, although she probably didn’t think so at the time, she was strong and clever and she learned: learned to be a good girl, learned to wear proper dresses and eat with a knife and fork and kneel down to pray her thanks for all that she was receiving, including the beatings. And she learned not to be a goblin so successfully that they allowed her to work in the garden, where she vaulted over the wall. They never broke her, and she said to me that there would always be some goblin in her. I never met my father. According to my mother he was a decent and hardworking man, and a considerate and understanding one too, I suspect.” Miss Beedle stood up and brushed her dress, as if trying to remove the crumbs of history. Standing there, in the chintzy room with the harp in it, she said, “I don’t know who those people were who killed the goblins and beat my mother, but if I ever found out I would slaughter them without a thought, because good people have no business being so bad. Goodness is about what you do. Not what you pray to.”

Good people have no business being so bad, and goodness is about what you do.

[thedungeonmother]

I posted 1,686 times in 2022

That's 398 more posts than 2021!

265 posts created (16%)

1,421 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@incorrect-dnd-classes

@incorrect-frozen-quotes

@incorrectmarvelquote

@writing-prompt-s

@dragons-homebrew-hoard

I tagged 243 of my posts in 2022

#royal road - 71 posts

#writing - 58 posts

#discworld - 56 posts

#live reading - 39 posts

#original fiction - 31 posts

#wip - 28 posts

#shaynen - 27 posts

#black as ice - 24 posts

#dnd story - 20 posts

#the truth - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 63 characters

#know anyone who works for coffee and three hot cheetos an hour?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

18 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

#4

“I knew you’d come up with something, Sam. You go all slow and cold and that means something really dreadful’s going to happen. I wasn’t frightened.”

“Really? I was scared shi—stiff,” said Vimes.

- The Fifth Elephant, Discworld #24

A cinema wins worthy moment of pure trust. You love to see it.

23 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

#3

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Someone in Uberwald seems to be taking an interest in him lately. And now he’s dead. I would not dream of telling the Watch their job, of course.” He watched Colon carefully to see if this had sunk in.

“I said that it is entirely up to you to choose what to investigate in this bustling city,” he prompted.

Colon was lost in unfamiliar country without a map.

“Thank you, sah!” he barked.

Vetinari sighed. “And now, Acting Captain, I’m sure there’s much that needs your attention.”

“Sah! I’ve got plans to—”

“I meant, do not let me detain you.”

“Oh, that’s all right, sir, I’ve got plenty of time—”

“Goodbye, Acting Captain Colon.”

-The Fifth Elephant, Discworld #24

I'm snickering so hard. I work customer service and I've definitely spoken to people like this and it's so funny.

36 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#2

“I sometimes crumble to dust. But zat which does not kill us makes us stronk.”

-The Truth, Discworld #25

STRONK.

I'm such an adult.

39 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“Then you can look the other way! I didn’t ask you to follow me! Do you think I’m proud of this? I’ve got a brother who’s a sheepdog!”

“A champion sheepdog,” said Carrot earnestly.

- The Fifth Elephant, Discworld #24

I love how he never uses sarcasm, even though that's something I would absolutely say sarcastically.

103 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ijustkindalikebooks]

I recently finished reading all of the books in the Discworld series, the expansive series written by Terry Pratchett that follows a range of characters that live on the same disc? (This was never completely clear, but I assume so?) Our main leads being Sam Vimes, Tiffany Aching, Rincewind and Moist Von Lipwig.

Probably one of the greatest fantasy series of all time, Discworld is makes you cry, makes you laugh, makes you think, and it makes you kind of mad, but all in all, it is a very human experience on a world that is completely incredible (and has a monkey for a librarian, and is there anything better than that?).

These are my favourite books from the series.

Going Postal (book 33) - Moist Von Lipwig is a conman who is then moved into running the Postal Service by Lord Vetinari and what a job to get to be honest. This story is funny and I was laughing out loud several times. The characters are fantastic especially those that work in the post office and it makes for an incredible introduction to the character of Von Lipwig who truly is a great lead character and it makes sense why Pratchett used him in more books.

Monstrous Regiment (book 31) - Truly the story of war? what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Monstrous Regiment is the story of Polly Perks who is looking for her brother on the frontline and ends up in Vimes' monstrous regiment. The characters are endearing and funny, the plot moves fast and really allows you to invest in everyone in the story and leaves you thinking and that for me is truly the sign of a good book.

Mort (book 4) - I loved this book so much and really appreciated the incredible plot, the amazing characters particularly that of Death. Mort is the apprentice of death and it makes for a good life, freedom to the horse, board and a wage, and it makes for a pretty good adventure too. I wasn't sure if I wasn't going to continue the series at this point, but this one made me keep going and I am so glad I did.

Witches Abroad (book 12) - Granny Weatherwax is probably one of the best characters in this series, and this book is so good. The plot is to stop a happy ending of a prince ending up with a servant girl it really does make for a funny and also a thought provoking read. The quote from Granny Weatherwax in this book:

“Listen, happy endings is fine if they turn out happy,” said Granny, glaring at the sky. “But you can’t make ’em for other people. Like the only way you could make a happy marriage is by cuttin’ their heads off as soon as they say ‘I do’, yes? You can’t make happiness…” Granny Weatherwax stared at the distant city. “All you can do,” she said, “is make an ending.”

Witches Abroad is iconic.

Night Watch (book 29) - I do feel as the series goes on, the better it gets and Night Watch is definitely one of those books where you are left with an incredible array of characters, a story that pulls you in and a way in to a series that you will never want to end. Vimes is probably one of my favourite characters in a series ever, this book is one of the reasons why.

Also this quote is from Night Watch Men At Arms and it's spot on:

“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of okay for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles. But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet. This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socio-economic unfairness.”

To take this series apart is a difficult one, even if they can be read separately. I really appreciate how connected these books feel and the different perspectives we get. I like the spotlight we get on people's lives as we move through the series and how even in the maddest of moments there's a moment you can relate to.

I loved reading this series, and it bookslumped me when I finished it, so I hope if you're going to do this and read them all I highly recommend some books to reread you love to save yourself.

GNU Terry Pratchett.

Vee xo.

[datsderbunnyblog]

Discworld’s Best Autistic Power Moves

Vimes pretending not to understand things

Carrot pretending not to understand things

Vetinari pretending not to understand things (Going Postal)

"If you stick a broom up my arse I could probably sweep the floor, too," said a voice. Moist realized it was his. His brain was a mess. It had come as a shock to him that the afterlife was this one. Lord Vetinari gave him a long, long look. "Well, if you wish," he said, and turned to a hovering clerk. "Drumknott, does the housekeeper have a store cupboard on this floor, do you know?"

Drumknott joining in with Vetinari pretending not to understand things (Going Postal)

"Oh, yes, my lord," said the clerk. "Shall I--"

Vetinari asking for warning when Moist is joking (Going Postal)

“Oh, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized,’ said Lord Vetinari, turning back to Moist. ‘Do tell me if you feel obliged to make another one, will you?’

That time Vetinari demanded a stim toy (The Science of Discworld IV)

“Lord Vetinari looked around and said, ‘Shouldn’t I have a gavel? You know, one of those things judges bang on the table. I feel quite naked without one.’

A gavel was acquired from somewhere at speed and handed to his Lordship, who banged it once or twice in a kind of happiness.”

[See also: Vetinari playing with Leonard’s post-it note in Men At Arms, Vetinari playing with the ice in his inkwell in The Truth]

Vimes keeping his office really cold

Vetinari keeping his office really cold

Carrot taking advantage of the fact that his literal thinking is common knowledge (please see: every single book Carrot appears in)

Sybil deploying Sarcasm™️ (The Fifth Elephant)

‘I think I recognize the type, yes,’ said Sybil, with an irony that failed to register with Sam Vimes until some days later.

The entire concept of the Thieves’ Guild is the single most autistic thing I’ve ever heard in my life

“Crime was always with us, he reasoned, and therefore, if you were going to have crime, it at least should be organised crime... That way, everyone could plan ahead, said Lord Vetinari, and part of the uncertainty had been removed from the chaos that is life.”

Sybil knitting and darning and cooking, despite being the richest woman in the city, because it’s What Good Wives Are Supposed To Do

Sybil getting angry at Serafine von Uberwald because she was Rude (The Fifth Elephant)

“Sybil strode towards the Baroness and grabbed her. ‘You never answered a single letter! All those years I wrote to you!’

The Baroness stared at her in amazement, as people so often did when struck with Sybil’s non sequiturs.”

Vetinari and Vimes developing a whole system of non-verbal communication (Thud!)

“He gave Vetinari the look which said: if you take this any further I will have to lie.

Vetinari returned one which said: I know.

‘You yourself are not too badly injured?’ the Patrician said aloud.

‘Just a few scratches, sir,’ said Vimes.

Vetinari gave him a look which said: broken ribs, I’m certain of it.

Vimes returned one which said: nothing.”

Vetinari and Vimes also using Very Blunt verbal communication in the same conversation (Thud!)

“’What would you do if I asked you an outright question, Vimes?’

‘I’d tell you a downright lie, sir.’

‘Then I will not do so,’ said Vetinari, smiling faintly.

‘Thank you, sir. Nor will I.’”

William de Worde very carefully rephrasing things so that he’s Not Technically Lying (The Truth)

Drumknott standing up to Vetinari on the matter of paperclips (Unseen Academicals)

"’I was wondering if I could just add something, sir,’ said the secretary solemnly.

‘The floor is yours, Drumknott.’

‘I would not like it thought that I do not buy my own paperclips, sir. I enjoy owning my own paperclips. It means that they are mine. I thought it helpful I should tell you that in a measured and non-confrontational way.’

Vetinari looked at the ceiling for a few moments and then said: ‘Thank you for your frankness. I shall consider the record straightened and the matter closed.’

‘Thank you, sir.’”

Throw the book at him, Carrot. (Guards! Guards!)

(More to be added as they occur to me, in my usual chaotic way, please do feel free to add your own. ADHD Edition coming soon, stay tuned!)

[klinefelterrible]

Sam and Sybil wedding pics BUT BEING RE-DONE LATER AFTER NIGHT WATCH OKAY

At the dragon shed

At the dragon shed when one dragon shows flame

Same, but with all of them except one

Same, but with all of them including the flameless one from before doing something crazy like setting a wedding bouquet on fire

In front of The House

In front of Pseudopolis Yard

Same, but with the Watchmen

Same, but with All Of The Watchmen

Same, but only with Nobby (Sam standing aside and talking to Carrot and Angua)

Close-up to Sam with his cigar

Close-up to Sybil with happy tears in her eyes after Nobby said something

Close-up to Sam again after Sybil repeated what Nobby said

Close-up to Sam trying to cheer up afterwards

Some snapshots in the City

In front of Patrician's Palace

In front of Patrician's Palace with the Patrician

Same, but with Havelock smiling terrifyingly

Same, but with Vimes trying to smile after Havelock gave him the look

Same, but after Sybil patted their backs so hard they bent

Somehow Moist happened there so a picture with Moist in his golden suit and cap

Sam holding Moist's jacket and demanding his brass knuckles being given back while it's Vetinari who shows them modestly on his fist

Adora Belle smoking

Adora Belle smoking but with a light-hearted look on her face while talking to Sybil about the similarity of dragon and tobacco smokes

Sam looking at his cigar dropped and somehow smashed during Moist being Moist

Sam trying a cigarette from Adora Belle

Sam's face grey

Sam's face green

Sam's face when he tries to reconstruct his cigar from the ground

Sybil's face when she remembers Sam left his silver cigar box in the dragon shed

Beautifully smiling Angua after finding cigar box in their carriage

All of them: Vetinari, Sybil, Angua, Carrot, Adora, Moist and Sam stand in front of the Palace and put the finger on their noses, Sam looking suspicious but happy with a cigar box in his hand and Sybil's hand in the other

Some random pictures of people switching places

Face of Sam after hearing a report that one Dwarf-woman Watchman tells Carrot about some crime, in the background Sybil's face

Sam's look on his face when he realizes he's not going there because Sybil and why is everyone looking at me like that

Sam Vimes looks at his cigar when everyone tries not to smile and Sybil says something (If You Really Think Some Robbery Is More Important)

Sam holding Sybil's hand in various different locations, including Burning Building Of The Most Recent Robbery

+

Polite pictures with the baby Sam, taken a day later, without a ceremony:

Sam and Sybil and Young Sam in front of the House,

Same but in front of Pseudopolis Yard

Same but with the Watchmen all gathered around and looking polished (Nobby in his usuals, I'm afraid)

Same but with Angua as a dog (she was just back from patrol and Carrot asked if she's okay with it and woof yes she was, woof woof)

Same but with Moist at the Post Office, holding a baby and Adora's First Time With No Cigarette

Close-up to baby Sam holding her cigarette

Sam and Sybil laughing

Baby crying

People just standing there randomly while the baby is crying

People standing there while the baby stopped crying, visibly relieved

Baby playing with Angua's fur while Sam smokes cigar, sitting on the Palace stairs while they wait for Vetinari

Apparently Vetinari was there with them since they arrived but Sam was so occupied mentally just watching the kid playing with a werewolf he forgot to turn his ears on

Polite pictures with Vetinari

Sam with Young Sam

Sam with Sybil and Young Sam

Picture of a finger in front of camera

Four different pictures of Nobby photobombing the location

Twelve pictures of random from different parts of town with Vetinari standing somewhere as it was his usual place to be, like by the fish stand, next to a gargoyle on the Unseen University's door, sitting on a fountain on Sator, in the window of the Pseudopolis Yard, playing with Young Sam while Sam coughs when trying to smoke Adora's cigarette, sitting in the Vimes' carriage while they exit it...

Some of them made it to the album. Some of them made it to The Official Album. The rest is in the Wedding Box, always by the Sybil's side of the bed.

I NEED vimes & sybil stupid wedding photos. I love stupid weird wedding photos ok

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

[burnsopale]

🏝 Share your favorite description of a setting.

I got two requests for this one, so here's a whole fic! After reading Night Watch, I was thinking about who, other than Vetinari, might recognise Keel in the present...

Title: Recognition Characters: Sam Vimes, Fred Colon, Reg Shoe Words: 700 Summary: The Watch House of Treacle Mine Road is rebuilt.

There was a tremendous cheer as the lamp was lit for the first time, creating a pool of golden light that pushed the settling twilight back from the brand new stoop. The band struck up a march, and people began to mill around to get their sausages and beer, laughing and chatting.

Vimes stood looking up at the rebuilt Watch house of Treacle Mine Road. It had been his workplace for many, many years after the revolution, and yet it was that fateful week that seemed to rise in his vision now. The air was heavy with the scent of lilacs (Was it a coincidence that it had taken a year to finish the rebuilding? It was hard to tell with Vetinari). He half expected the old ghosts to come walking out of the open door. The bricks and timber were new, but what do you know, they’d managed to make the doorframe crooked this time too.

“Eh, Reg?” said Fred behind him. “You alright, man?”

Vimes turned to look, and met Reginald Shoe’s shocked, wide-open eyes. Two tears ran down the zombie’s cheeks, unnoticed. He was staring straight at Vimes.

“S-sergeant?” Reg stammered, voice raw with confused emotion.

And Vimes realised that the scenery had conspired against him. Framed against the old Watch house, with the lilacs blooming in the darkening yard and the lamp shining over the door, he was himself a ghost, and Reg, who was connected to the past by a body that had stood still since his death, recognised him.

Vimes glanced at Colon, but he didn’t look to be picking up anything, thankfully. Just to be sure, though, Vimes grabbed Reg by the arm and pulled him some distance away. “Now, Reg, this isn’t-”

Reg’s eyes kept darting up and down him until Vimes feared they would pop out of their sockets. “You-! How can you be-?”

“I know what it looks like-”

But then Reg looked up at him and drew a sobbing breath, and big fat tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes and grimaced as the weeping took him, his shoulders shaking, and what could Vimes do? Not lie, that was for sure.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said. “I get that it’s confusing.”

“I thought I was back.” Oh, how much horror could be contained in five short words.

Vimes grimaced; he knew the feeling. “It was the incident up at the university, when we were chasing Carcer. I’ll explain it some other time, but you don’t have to worry about it, Reg; I’m Sam Vimes. Always have been.”

Reg wiped his grey cheeks with shaking hands. “And you let me into the Watch, even knowing how I ...” He sniffed. “I just hope I make a better watchman than I did a revolutionary.”

Vimes patted him awkwardly on the back. “You do, Reg. Already do.”

“You were right, back then.” He sounded ashamed. “What did we win? I should have gone for the hardboiled egg.”

“No!” Vimes grabbed his shoulders, made the man meet his eyes. “It isn’t wrong to fight for change, Reg. Alright, so Snapcase was more of the same, but ...” He looked around to make sure the Patrician was nowhere around to hear. “Then we got Vetinari. Change did come.”

“But not because of me,” Reg said, smiling through his tears.

“Then you start today. We may not be dying under a paranoid psychopath anymore, but we’ve got plenty to do. We’ve got crimes to stop, lives to save, and you’re a watchman now, Reg, so it’s your job.”

Reg sniffed again, took a breath, stepped back and saluted. “Yes, Sir.”

“And for the love of all things buried, don’t tell anyone. Not Fred, not Nobby, no one. They don’t need to know.”

Reg nodded.

Vimes cleared his throat. “Now come on, you old sop, let’s go see what it looks like inside.”

They picked up Fred and Carrot and Angua and Cheery on the way, and Fred took Reg off Vimes’ hands and lent the man a hankie.

“Aye,” Fred said, patting Reg’s back and getting misty-eyed himself. “It gets you like that.”

Yes, it does, thought Vimes, as he stepped across the threshold into their new old Watch house.

[mbrainspaz]

Upsetting things about The Watch BBC— A ‘live-blogged’ List (where I genuinely try not to be picky about the books)

Ep1

- what the holy hellish post-apocalyptic grunge punk garbage?!

- The way Vimes’ face moves and the way he says words

- Carcer???? Keel?????? VIMES?!!!?!?

- 80’s style foam troll costume is a costume, also wtf is that silhouette? God-awful design

- Troll walking sfx sound like an intern bashing their head against a desk

- Vetinari lives in a futuristic concrete parking garage for some reason

- Crime is legal yeah we get it

- Carrot “ 🙄 I’m not a dwarf” Ironfoundersson

- Alchemists are dealing Slab now

- Wait this is still a flashback.

- So yeah Carcer and Vimes were gang buddies

- “you’re the captain now” 😂

- Knurd. SAY KNURD DAMN YOU

- Why... why is Cheery tall

- Vimes is really wearing a metric ton of eyeliner isn’t he

- Magic mirror on the wall who is the dorkiest of them all

- So we’re giving carcer (the insane serial killer) sympathetic motives I guess

- Imps are rather large

- Carrot’s dwarf family dumped him too jeeze

- “never trust an alchemist” ??? Okay??

- Carrot’s emotional moment is making me uncomfortable

- “we come in all sizes down there” uuuuh so there’s literally nothing special about Carrot being such a tall dwarf cool cool cool cool cool cool

- Angua gets locked up to wolf out

- So.... Sybil is trying to undermine vetinari...?

- Are the crime guilds of Ankh-Morpork something this show is trying to resolve????

- Scratch that it seems to be the #1 issue the show is setting out to resolve. Rascim and other meaningful social justice themes who?

- Still a flashback

- Cheery sees ghosts

- Oh so Carcer time traveled to this future and is stock-piling slab. Cool cool cool cool cool coo—

- “what happened to you?!” Uh, you two know each other from somewhere?

- Carrot can’t button a shirt

- Enemies to lovers? Yeah that’s what this needed.

- “‘carcer was kinder to me” I hate this so much

- “slab” “never touch that stuff” no shit ‘cause it’s a TROLL DRUG

- Stop shaking that poor dragon around dear god its neck is broken

- What

- Dragons live in street lamps and Sybil is liberating them

- Sure Vimes you’ve got 1 Minute why not tell Sybil about your deepest personal trauma. What a dork.

- Are those supposed to be goblins or gnolls. Why are they cyborgs

- There’s a desert outside ankh-morpork

- “Arrest me! PLEASE SAM! PLEASE” - Carcer “mm nah” -Vimes

- Aren’t dragons supposed to be like... cat sized? Not just fancy geckos with wings?

- Oh great he found the book. Just sitting there. On the street.

- Honestly I’m on Carcer’s side here lads. Vimes is a rat. I’m siding with the insane serial killer. Yayyyyy

Ep2

- “I saw him fall” — you let him fall my dude. Why

- “did you hear what I said gurl”

- How fast is Detritus suddenly

- They’re shooting arrows at a troll Vimes. A TROLL. you can chill

- Oh wait he’s dead. Arrows. at a troll.

- Wait is Detritus seriously dead

- WTF

- “i can’t believe he’s gone” ME NEITHER BITCH HE WAS A TROLL THAT GOT SHOT WITH ARROWS

- The whole ‘she’s lady ramkin’ bit only works if you know her from the books and then it’s just disappointing

- AAAAAAGH Why is every plot from every book in the watch series happening at once?!?!?

- Just thinking about how Vimes is about 50 years old in The Fifth Elephant. On this timeline he’ll be bout 78.

- How old is Sybil? Maybe 32?

- CARCER summoned the dragon????

- Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool

- “and you call yourselves The Watch?!” Yes please do not. But also lady, you knew there were 4 of them and you’re basically Batman don’t act surprised.

- “only one virgin I know of”— what from the official virgin registry?!?!

- Also WHAT?! ONE VIRGIN??? IN THE WHOLE CITY?? ? 😂

- Who are these people and why are they meeting on top of a foggy parking garage

- Uh... Mustrum Ridcully?

- My gods these characters are dull. Fancy costume design is a poor substitute for personality.

- Lindljfdinglsnkdnv what is happening there was a bit about the high energy magic building and swears and wait what Ridcully can’t swear?!? YEAH SURE I GUESS

- what is this whole exposition dump about Ridcully and his ‘inventions’?!

- Dude where is his wizard hat. I am shook

- ANYWAY

- Back to Vimes’ past as an immoral douche

- nvm back to the royal parking garage

- Why is Vetinari wasting time on Vimes while he’s such a useless bum? she’s treating him like she knows he’s gonna be a duke one day

- Gods why does Vimes move like that. Gives me the heebie-jeebies

- Ridcully invented iconographs???? AND the dragon-torturing streetlights??? What like there are no other people in the whole city who could’ve done that? We’re really just gonna pin everything on the only wizard dude who seems to exist

- Sybil and Ridcully are arch-enemies then too I guess

- Oh the goblin things are communists for comedy value

- And they work for Carcer... for some... reason???

- carrot is so serious but not in the right way

- “‘just a cleaner” — sweetheart you look like you oughta be escaping a prison planet in Doctor Who wtf

- “‘round world” yooooo.... you realize nobody’s even explained that this is supposedly discworld yet right

- Ridcully is giving me the worst vibes and I hate it

- Oh my gods RIDCULLY IS THE INSANE SERIAL KILLER

- Weeee Carrot’s solved ... something? I’m lost

- Oh no

- What the f**k was that

- You know if they’d halved the eyeliner budget maybe they could’ve afforded 🦧

- “you didn’t bring goodboy with ya” — uh... how do you know? He’s a pocket sized accessory

- Ah nevermind Sybil and Ridcully are chums. why wouldn’t she be chummy with the dude who invented the dragon streetlights that torture dragons that she became a vigilante to rescue. My b

- Ook? More like “OOF.” That design genuinely hurts to look at with my eyeballs.

- cheery and Angua suddenly have ... chemistry ?! Honestly I’m not not here for it

- And then “you’re terrified of the dark” slapped me in the face like a fish.

- Yep. Cheery the tall dwarf is afraid of the dark ... for some... reason?

- Aaaaaand yep capn’ space prison is working for Carcer because of course she is!

- Because there are 10 people in this whole city and half of them work for Carcer and the other half are either ghosts in Cheery’s head or automatons invented by KNOWN SERIAL KILLER Mustrum Ridcully

- What did Carcer call the space prison lady?

- Oh no

- Noooooooooo

- No this is too much.

- So

- Let me sum up

- carcer was a wily gang leader who was looking after a bunch of kids who just wanted to survive on the rough streets on angie-morpurge including SAM VIMES and ... WONSE?! (WHO IS A GRUNGY EX-CON CLEANING LADY INSTEAD OF HAVELOCK’S SECRETARY FOR SOME REASON?!) until Carcer was betrayed by Vimes and accidentally shot sgt. Keel which naturally caused Vimes to chase him onto a roof where Vimes let him fall to his death except instead he got zapped by magic time lighting which caused him to appear in the future where he decided to buy troll drugs, haunt Vimes, and summon a freaking dragon (in that order).

- Yeah yeah. Makes perfect sense.

- Moving on

- Why are we breaking in to the library?

- Oh well at least we’re all here together now

- Serves you right for hiring a cleaner who looks like a gritty space ex-con my guy

- “carcer needs to burn the whole city down” “why?” Uh—yeh

- Will somebody please make Vimes stop moving. His torso, his face—everything. Stop it

- Stop

- Please gods

- My head. It hurts.

- They’re doing exposition but it just hurts.

- Oh good the goblin assassins are here with arrows

- What are these camera movements and why are they LOUD?!

- I think I blinked and missed most of angua’s character arc but good for her I guess

- WHY DOES VIMES MOVE LIKE THAT

- So angua did what?

- Aw Carcer. what a bro. What a sweetheart. I hope things go well for him.

- WHY DOES VETINARI BELIEVE IN VIMES?!

- What is the point of Vimes in this?! He has no moral compass. No wit. No soul. He’s just a drunk coward doing a bad Jim Carrey impression that makes me want to die

- Wait was that an edit or did I have a stroke

- Uh... so they are setting up Cheery and Angua as lovers then. Still not hating it, just... ya know... the whole angua and carrot thing? Kind of a big deal? We’re not gonna like... no? Okay.

- “we’re actually quite good at this aren’t we” —NO

- “i wouldn’t be seen dead wearing that” — we’re really just plucking lines from random discworld characters and chucking them into the script randomly aren’t we

- No no, let’s hear Sybil’s tragic backstory about how the watch done her wrong here we goooo-oh? Nope never mind there she goes she left

- Whoop there it is. It’s assigned reading.

- “Join me, Wonse. Join THE DARK SIDE OF THE FORCE” - Carcer

- HOLD UP

- CARCER JOINED SOME MESSED-UP VERSION OF THE TIME TRAVELING MONKS?!?!?

- THE MONKS (or whoever they’re supposed to be he mumbled and I didn’t catch it) ARE TRYING TO DESTROY REALITY?!?!?

- What

- The

- ———-

[skyriderwednesday]

The consequences of promising not to tell your wife that the patrician has been turned into a penguin...

“I do wish you would tell me exactly what you’ve done to your wrist, Sam,” Sybil said for the hundredth time. “I’ve said,” Vimes insisted as they came up the steps into the embassy. “I don’t know what I’ve done to it.” Sybil gave him a look and picked up his hand. “Half of your hand is purple, dear. You must have some idea,” she prodded it. Resisting the urge to curse, he yanked his hand away from her. “Sybil, that hurts!” “Darling, if your wrist is broken…” “My wrist isn’t broken, and I don’t know what I’ve done to it. Just… trust me please.” Sybil hummed, “I worry sometimes, Sam.” Vimes sighed and pinched his nose. “Yes, I know you do… but not right now, alright?”

[j-hawthorn]

An Afternoon Vignette

Vimes sat on the kitchen floor. With his back against the exposed brick he peered into a large metal tub. Inside, curled in a tight ball, was a dragon. He blinked dozily up at him, smoke curling from his large, and lopsided, nostrils.

'Wow,' Vimes said softly, reaching in to give the dragon a scratch. 'You're so ugly.'

'Samuel,' Sybil tutted from the bench, turning to waggle a thick glove clad finger. 'You shouldn't kick a dragon when he's down.'

He chuckled, 'I'm only telling the truth. He is ugly-'

'They understand what you're saying-'

Vimes grinned, 'Ugly-'

'Sam!'

'Stinkiest man alive-'

'I'm warning you!'

'Horrible, nasty little stinker,' He snorted, gently rubbing the creatures ears. The dragon yawned, and elongated his neck, making a sound very close to a purr. Sybil blocked out the light. Sam beamed up at her as innocent as a lamb.

She thrust out a hand, clutching a fizzing beaker, 'Here, get that down his gullet then, if you're going to pick on him.'

'...Fine, but give me the gloves,' Vimes chuckled. 'Surely you want me to keep my hands.'

'I could take or leave them,' She huffed, playfully nudging his knee with her foot.

With surprisingly little fuss Vimes got the dragon to slurp the concoction. Green smoke plumed from those nostrils, then the thing gave a flameless burp and settle back down to nap. 

Sam got to his feet with a groan. He pulled off the gloves, and waggled his fingers at his wife, ‘Still got em.’ 

‘Delightful,’ Sybil snickered, rolling her eyes. ‘Pop the beaker in the sink, there’s a lamb, and I’ll go update his booklet - oh! Samuel Vimes, really!’ She batted his hands away, laughing, cheeks bright pink. ‘You cheeky sod!’