#you best watch out Sam Vimes

[iamthedukeofurl]

Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

[marypsue]

Was talking with @seiya234 about Sam Vimes and the idea that seems to come up in some fan circles with some regularity that after his death, Vimes will become the 'God of Coppering' or in some other way some part of him will continue to protect the city/the Watch after his death. She mentioned that she thought the idea was kind of king-ish - the whole idea "that someone will keep swooping in and saving the day" - and that Vimes would haaaaaate that, and I agree.

However. It's true. Part of Sam Vimes will keep protecting Ankh-Morpork long after he dies.

It's the part of him he gave to Carrot, the part that Carrot uses to check himself every time he starts to get frustrated with the limitations of what he can do as a Watchman and wishes he could just - make people be better.

It's the part of him he gave to Angua, the quiet faith that of course the beast within can be brought to heel, of course it's never easy but it's always worth it.

It's the part of him he gave to A. E. Pessimal, a small dull man living a small dull life whose eyes were opened wide one terrifying night to how much of a difference one small dull man's small dull life can make to the great churning wheels of the world.

It's the part of him he gave to the grags and to Mr. Shine, the proof that the truth is worth digging for and worth hauling up into the light, that it's possible to look beyond hatred and mistrust.

It's the part of him he gave to William de Worde, the knowledge that nothing is really worth doing unless someone, somewhere, would really much rather you weren't doing it.

It's the part of him he gave to Reg Shoe, that keeps Reg believing in the necessity of fighting for a better world even when it seems absurd and impossible and foolish to try.

It's the part of him he gave to Sham Harga, who knows every now and then, a man just needs some burnt crispy bits.

It's the part of him he gave to any number of strangers in the street, a sense of what fairness and justice can look like, even in something as small as a night patrol.

It's the part of him he gave to Sybil, the very best part of himself.

And it's everything of himself that he gave to Young Sam, who has a chance now to make his own impressions on a thousand thousand lives.

It's not just A part of Sam Vimes that will linger after his death, protecting the city he loved and hated in equal parts, the city that was his. It's a thousand thousand parts, that he left behind sometimes aware, sometimes intentionally, sometimes without even realising. And it's not something inherent within Sam Vimes and Sam Vimes alone, not something special about him or that only he could do. It's what everyone does, leaves parts and pieces of themselves behind. A thousand thousand parts of Sam Vimes are still out there, still saving the city, little by little, in quiet unglamourous ways, day after day after day.

If anything can be saved by a part of someone who's gone, it's like this.

And I think Sam Vimes would be proud of that.

(And also swear about it quite a lot when he realises this also implies that technically he's a factor in the lives of crime that some of the many, many people he's arrested over his long career have gone on to lead, but alas. We don't get to choose ALL the ripples we make in the world.)

[marciaillust]

What discworld books have you read so far? I've been wanting to get into the series for a while but I never now where to start 🥺

My dear best friend is overseeing the whole process as I began reading the books as a part of a pact/challenge

They made me start with Going Postal as that would introduce me to "the most shaped guy out there that you'll love" and they were right I loved the guy and the book too. It's sorta a trilogy so I wanted to immediately go into the second book (Making Money) but I was forbidden from doing so as that includes Sam Vimes which is like a whole guy from the Nightwatch books, and my friend's big fav.

So then I was made to read Guards Guards. I didn't enjooooy GG all that much but later I was informed that Going Postal is Pratchett at his high point well into writing Discworld while GG is one of the first books in the series so he is still finding his footing there. But it did a great Job of introducing Sam Vimes, Carrot, Sybil the dragon lady and all the other Nightwatch characters.

While I'm not a fan of GG I think reading it was kinda necessary to properly enjoy the next Nightwatch book aka Men At Arms (I'm still doing my prep work for Making Money). Without reading GG I don't think Carrot growing up, or the conflict between Sam and Sybil, or the whole idea that the watch is getting new recruits would be anywhere as meaningful because how would you know what the status quo even was. I am really enjoying Men At Arms, I am currently mid-book! It came out like 4 years after GG so the writing style somewhat ripened in the meantime and resembles the quality of Going Postal (it has more pathos and new lovely freaks!!).

After I finish MAA I'll finally indulge in Making Money! And I've already set my eyes on Rising Steam (third book in the series). After that I might go back to the Nightwatch books but I've also been curious about the book with the Death's assistant, I am blanking on the name rn.

So that was my journey. I was told partially it was curated like that because it gives you the "potential blorbos" on a silver plate, as my friend knows I am no bookworm and I will require something to stick around for.

I am no expert on where to start either, I just know I am neck deep in the investment pool of Moist Von Lipwig

[millenianthemums]

btw if any of you out there who haven’t read Discworld go out and read one of the books and let me know a little bit about what you thought about it, i will draw a free commission for you. 100% serious. i feel so strongly about this.

btw i highly recommend NOT starting from the beginning. jump in wherever you want. my highest recommendations for places to start are:

- Wyrd Sisters, which i think is the first book with my favorite character, Granny Weatherwax. she is so funny and cool and swag and i love her.

- Guards! Guards!, which is the first Sam Vimes book, and has dragons in it!

- Reaper Man, which is about Death, my second favorite character, leaving to become a farmer and accidentally causing an apocalypse because no one’s dying anymore. Mort is the first book that’s about him but i unfortunately haven’t gotten to read that one yet.

-Night Watch, which is also about Vimes and involves time travel and is probably the best one i’ve read, but which might hit harder with context.

-The Last Hero, which was actually my very first Discworld book and is about the wizards, who are very fun. it’s a later book and honestly probably a very bad place to start but i feel obligated to mention it because if i hadn’t read the illustrated version when i was a wee child i never would have gotten as hooked on the series as i currently am. tbh if you can find the illustrated version you should definitely check it out, i remember it being breathtakingly beautiful.

[theinfiknight]

What if the characters of Discworld were Avatars of the 15 fears from the Magnus Archives?

Now, just a disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion of which character would best fit the bill. Regardless if you agree or disagree, feel absolutely free to do so either way. Also, obvious spoilers for the books excepting Shepherd's Crown and Raising Steam.

The Web:

This one is obvious and can be no one other than Lord Vetinari himself. An absolute master of subtle manipulation and long term planning, Vetinari is the perfect Avatar of the Web. He creates a reputation of pervasive fear and makes people believe that he could do away with them at a whim, despite him never once killing a single person who wasn't an irredeemable criminal of some sort, and even then usually giving them chances to redeem themselves first. This being the case, I'd say Lady Margolotta is also an Avatar, and the one who exposed Havelock to the Web in the first place.

The Hunt:

The most stereotypical aspect of the Hunt is manifested most by Wolfgang von Uberwald, the textbook Hunter who chases and kills for the thrill of it. Both Sam Vimes and Angua hear the call of the Blood, but both refuse to heed it, and so aren't Avatars. I'd argue that there's another Avatar of the Hunt fulfilling the other role, created by the Hunt to be the perpetually hunted, the never caught but ever pursued white stag/ golden doe, the one, though not only, Rincewind.

The Eye:

One Avatar is Jeannie and every Kelda before and after her. The Kelda sees everything and knows what has happened and what will. The alternate answer is Blind Io, given his literal eyeballs that float around and also that he's cognizant of everything that goes on in the Disc, and that everyone knows he's watching.

The Spiral:

The Elf Queen. The undisputed master of illusion and deception, creating false worlds that operate on her rules, trapping people in unreal dreams they cannot escape, making them see and believe what she wants them to see and believe. Bel Shamharoth is also a possible answer given how he distorts the senses and feeds on those he traps.

The Buried:

Albrecht Albrechtsson. Knockermen are undoubtedly Avatars of the Buried, with the complex stew of fear and reverence they feel for the underground, and Albrecht is the lowest among them. Agi Hammerthief is probably the only fully realised Avatar of the Buried, who dwells beneath the Disc where no one will ever reach him.

The Flesh:

The Igors and Nutt. The Igors for obvious reasons, their affinity for tinkering with bodies, and their indisputable understanding of the fact that meat is meat, and as such can be used for a lot more than its original intention. Nutt because he is a creation of said tinkering, flesh made warped, with a living engine of meat inside him.

The End:

Mort and Bill Door, and possibly every zombie. This really needs no explanation. Mort stepping into his Master's role is the textbook descent of a human into Avatarhood, developing strange powers and slowly becoming Other. I'm not counting Death because he is the personification of the thing and isn't human enough to qualify as an Avatar, and I'm not counting Susan because she never carried out the Duty.

The Slaughter:

Carcer, the Gonne, and Cohen the Barbarian. Carcer killed for the fun of it with no care for reasoning, consequence or morality. He WAS a one man slaughter by himself. Cohen's existence was also very similar to Carcer's, albeit he killed far more people and lived by a Code that ensured that though he mass murdered on the regular, he always did it with the same honesty as a man hunting for his next meal. As such perhaps Cohen was more an impersonal personification of the Slaughter like the Piper rather than an Avatar of it. The Gonne was more an a artifact that channeled the Slaughter into whoever held it, be it D'Eath, Cruces or even Vimes.

The Corruption:

Vorbis and the Cunning Man. Vorbis absolutely embodies the toxicity and insidious creeping infestation of the Corruption. He pollutes organisations and people, changing them and turning them into versions of himself, utilising extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics in order to do so, creating an atmosphere ripe with fear, desperation and despair. The Cunning Man is similar except his method of corruption is more direct than Vorbis's ie literally taking over the body of his victim while subtly influencing the minds of those around him when he's less corporeal. His presence is filth of the mind and stench of the soul, and incites disgust and fear among those aware of his true nature.

The Stranger:

I had some trouble with this but finally decided on Susan and Lu Tze. Although one would intuitively put Susan under The End, in practice the characteristics she actually exhibits line up more with the Stranger. She walks unseen among others, unknown in the places she passes through, never usually staying very long in one place unless that happens to be her dwelling at that time. Her presence unsettles people. She doesn't fit in among others and has always been set apart. She's too undead to be truly alive and too alive to be truly undead. The only people who really know her are Death and Time. To everyone else, she's a stranger they see sometimes.

And Lu Tze, of course, is just the Sweeper. No one knows the first thing about him apart from the fact that he happens to be there. He's a part of the background of whenever he is. If anyone ever truly Looked at him, and actually noticed what they saw, that he's in fact a stranger in their midst, the first words out of their mouths would be "I do not know you"

The Desolation:

Stratford, Spider the Rat King, and Ipslore the Red. Stratford was a motherfucker who would bleed every last drop before abandoning the corpse he created. This was a bastard who, wishing to cause Vimes as much pain as he could, chose to target his son rather than seek him out directly. A man after the Desolation's own heart. Spider was out for everything the humans had. It wanted their utter ruin and destruction and was well on its way to achieving it. And Ipslore attempted to destroy the whole world with his resentment, using and abusing his own son as his instrument to do so, and would have succeeded too, if it weren't for some idiot with a half brick in a sock.

The Extinction:

The Things from the Dungeon Dimensions. The Extinction is the end of the rule of Man and their replacement with the horrifying Other. And there's nothing that fits that description better than the Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, constantly seeking to bring about exactly what the Fear is.

The Lonely:

This was difficult to decide as well, but I believe the First Tooth Fairy might qualify. Living literally locked up in a bubble separate from the rest of reality, it lives apart from everyone and everything else, keeping alone for all eternity. Additionally, I believe that every living witch(with the exception of Nanny Ogg) carries a piece of the Lonely inside them. Its influence never goes away, and those who succumb to it are the ones who become cacklers.

The Vast:

Tiffany Aching and, funnily enough, a Simon once again. Tiffany's primary source of power is that she is, at her core, something far bigger than herself. She may be just Tiffany but she is also Land under Wave, the power and will of millions of years of life before her. At her most powerful she is aware of EVERYTHING, from the bones of the flint beneath the chalk to time itself to the stars being born in the distant sky. She is small but she is also Vast. And Simon sees the whole universe and truly understands what he's looking at. He sees and understands more than he can express and his knowledge of the Vast almost approaches comprehension.

The Dark:

The one, though once again not only, Samuel Vimes. There couldn't be any other answer here. The dark walks with him. He was born in it, moulded by it... By the time he saw the light it was nothing more than BLINDING. But yeah, he is most at peace in the true dark in the pissing rain on the cobbles, even before he was literally possessed by the living darkness itself. The dark aids him and talks to him. The dwarfs and the goblins may live in the dark, but Sam Vimes looked into the Abyss, and he wasn't the one who blinked.

[tak-angina-jasne]

Sam Riegels characters could be discworld characters

okay maybe not exactly but they have something very similar to pratchett characters and i dont only mean the names

they all start as a joke, or rather - their life/enviroment/sth makes them a joke, but they still are real people, its easy to forget about that, but they know, or rather - author knows that and hes gonna remind you about it in the best (most emotional) way possible.

Nott? haha little goblin girl, drunk all the time, not taken seriously and you are laughing whole first episodes, but the more you watch the more *real* she feels and suddenly her being drunk is not so funny.

Scanlan is even better example of that

and its the same with vimes, all joke named characters cheri littlebottom and moist included, otto (funny vampire totally not making a joke out of himself because its better to be funny that scary), everyone, even fucking nobby nobbys

[alynnl]

@cakesandfail's post about Vetinari and Vimes got the gears in my head turning. (One can also point out my obsession with Ace Attorney for this plot bunny I'm about to share.)

The idea: What if there was another assassination attempt on Vetinari, and all the forged, circumstantial evidence points to Vimes?

Public opinion is split between those who only have an idea about who Vimes is and think "Of course he did it!" and those who actually know him arguing "Of course he was set up!"

Vimes gets arrested by Carrot, and he goes quietly. It's to show that even he is not above the law. Even the Commander of the Watch has someone who watches him. Carrot is overly polite about it but the arrest is very real.

Vimes has only one request, that Sybil and Young Sam are able to visit him so he can still read to his son every night. This request is granted without question because the accused have the right to see family, no matter the crime.

Carrot, Angua, Cheri, and a few other members of the Watch form their own investigation team to find out what really happened.

Vetinari is fighting for his life. It's touch and go at first but even in a state of fever he has moments of lucidity. In these moments he sends coded messages to Drumknott to give to the task force important information. (He just knows some members of the Watch will rally behind Vimes to find the truth.)

Vimes knows the best thing he can do is wait and see and he hates it. But he also trusts the rest of the Watch to do the right thing.

Things come to a head when Vimes's enemies (Lord Rust and others like him) call for him to be brought to the gallows, while Carrot and company argue with decisive evidence for his innocence. Neither side will budge.

A single voice, saying a single word "Silence." cuts through the crowd. It's none other than Vetinari, who has recovered. And who commends Carrot for his efforts, but points out there is one piece of evidence he's been missing. (It's been with Vetinari all along.)

It's a very specific device, not made by the Guild of Alchemists or Assassins, but by the Cunning Artificers. And every single forged piece of evidence is also linked to this one person, who has been getting people framed for different crimes left and right and profiting off the reward money that comes from turning them in. Vimes and Vetinari were on the verge of catching them, so they raised the stakes to their highest.

The artificer made a miscalculation. They didn't count on Vetinari's recovery or anyone coming to Vimes's defense.

Carrot arrests the artificer, and reads their charges as always. After they're taken away he releases Vimes and there is much cheering, and to everyone's surprise, confetti. Sybil and Young Sam go in for a family hug with Vimes and Vetinari slips away from the fanfare with Drumknott, completely unnoticed.

Carrot and the other watchmen approach Vimes and salute, welcoming him back. He returns the salute and wonders how they managed to pull everything off.

Carrot mentions offhandedly "We did what you would do, sir."

"You mean you called every one of those “clues” fake and every person of interest a suspicious bastard?”

“Well, I didn’t use that language, sir, but I couldn’t stop Angua once she got started.”

“Good on her, I think she’ll be up for a promotion.”

Later that night, long after the fanfare has died down and normal city life assumes, Vimes marches into Vetinari’s office without being summoned. Of course His Lordship is expecting the Commander and greets him with his trademark “Ah, Vimes.”

Vimes hits him with the “You knew” line he often does and Vetinari gives no indication of what he knew at all. Only that things worked out in the end “And isn’t that enough for you?”

This stops Vimes in his tracks because of course it’s enough. They’re both alive and because of that, Ankh Morpork as a whole will be safe. He knows that. He pauses, and then tries to get the last word in, saying that since the case is finally solved, he’s going to spend more time with his family since he missed a week with them as it is.

“Yes, I expect some time at home is long overdue.”

“And one more thing!”

Vimes hand Vetinari a get well card, making it very clear that it was Sybil’s idea, and she wrote it on some very expensive stationery but couldn’t get it to him until now. Vetinari receives it and asks Vimes to send his regards.

They finally part ways, with Vimes unsure of what their meeting really meant (feeling almost like Vetinari was in control even though he approached the Oblong Office first.)

Vetinari, in the meantime returns to a Thud board he’s been playing by correspondence. He makes a move and has Drumknott write down a Clacks code to send it. Drumknott comments that he made a rather daring move.

But sometimes a daring move is what it takes to win the game.

[daistea]

ooo, here’s another question! what helps you start out a piece of writing? like what makes you go ‘oh this is how i start’ cause i have that problem a lot, especially with writing fics! or just finding the right words to start with! 💚

Honestly, this is one of the hardest things. I think everybody struggles with it!

For me, I listen to music I associate with the character I’m writing about. Or I listen to songs that fit the vibes of what I wanna write.

I do something that gets my creativity flowing, like cooking or just pacing the house lol.

Another thing you can do is identify the themes of your fic! What’s going on beneath the words? What’s the vibe? Does your story center a certain emotion? You can start with an idea that describes/exemplifies your theme.

Good examples of this are:

A Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

The Call of Cthulhu. "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.“

Those openings give your reader a hint about what this story tackles! They set the over-arching theme.

Ooorrr you can state something shocking! I used to do this a lot. Some examples are

The Uglies. “The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit.” LOL it’s descriptive of the scene and instantly tells us what our narrator is like.

The Outsider. “Mother died today. Or maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure.” Instantly gives us insight into our narrators mental state.

- Another option is description! Whether that be description of a memory, or the present moment.

White Oleander. “The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I.”

Night Watch. “Sam Vimes sighed when he heard the scream, but he finished shaving before he did anything about it.”

Anyyywaaay there are options! My advice would be to identify your theme, what you’re trying to say or describe. Identify your tone, and your character’s emotional state or thoughts. The end result should build suspense, anticipation. It catches the reader and makes them curious to know more.

Or just steal a line from a song you like, as I often do 🤷‍♀️

[hobbitsetal]

Oooh yes I always enjoyed your faith media and art tag discussions

So one thing that I consider very important to art is its role in reflecting the world and in reflecting truth. In its various forms--poetry, song, prose (from fanfic to novels to essays), movies, tv shows, what have you--art has the gift of allowing us to feel seen and heard, or of allowing us to see and hear those who are different from us.

I have never been a nineteenth century aristocrat, but I know random facts about the French Revolution because I was obsessed with The Scarlet Pimpernel and with Rafael Sabatini's oeuvre as a teen. I've never been on a life-changing trip ala LOTR or Narnia or what have you (though visiting Ireland was really cool!), but I have traveled extensively through books.

The use of books and stories in developing empathy is a well documented one. Books allow us to identify with others and to gain insight into other ways of thinking and being.

Whether you want to explore the excesses of the early 20th century with Gatsby, the backwoods and Mississippi River and growth out of racism with Huckleberry Finn, or the drama and sly humor of the Georgian period with Jane Austen's characters, whether you want to struggle with Sam Vimes of Discworld, or learn to trust and grow with the Pevensies, media can help you do that.

Which brings me to the spicy take. Growing up and for many years thereafter, I met (and was taught to meet) any depiction of queer characters with disgust and outrage. When Shiro in the newer Voltron animated series was revealed to be gay, I and other Christian fans lamented what we perceived to be a disgusting corruption.

Since then, I've changed my views. Queer people exist. That is a fact of life and society. And if art is to reflect truth, art should reflect the reality that LGBTQ people exist and have existed for documented human existence.

Personally, I think the best art can include other people's points of views in a neutral way. There are queer people who consider themselves Christian, who seek to love and honor God and to care for their neighbors. There are Christians who believe being queer and Christian are mutually exclusive. Both of these views, and the range in between, deserve to be examined.

And there are plenty of stories in which Christianity simply isn't a factor, like Voltron. The story is concerned with other things, and deserves to be engaged with for those other things.

A prime example of this is the show The Dragon Prince on Netflix. The show contains multiple queer characters, and I know that fact alone is enough to turn many Christians away from ever watching it. But they are missing out on a truly beautiful story.

The core of The Dragon Prince is good versus evil. It is about good people struggling against their own potential to do harm as they fight a far greater evil. It's about seeking to bring peace to a suspicious and angry continent, about love and mercy triumphing over hate and violence.

It is, frankly, a show so soaked in Christian values that it is one of my favorite shows of all time, though it is not a Christian show.

And it contains queer characters.

Queer people, shockingly, are people. They are not a monolith, and their values run the gamut of other people's values. Too much of Christianity shuns them and others them. So there's my spicy take: Christians should consume media with queer characters and engage thoughtfully with the depictions and the values, rather than saying "ew LGBTQ" and closing their eyes.

Why do we believe what we believe? What are the implications of our beliefs? Why do others believe differently? And how can we engage those questions meaningfully unless we engage with the Other?

[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.

[curarems]

The properties of papadulapumofofopa

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationships: Samuel Vimes & Young Sam Vimes

Characters: Samuel Vimes, Young Sam Vimes, Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious | MUSE the Swamp Dragon (OC)

Words: 3608

Young Sam spends time at the Watchhouse. Sam Vimes², father-son bonding, because I am a sucker for those. All scientific ramblings in this are about 2% fact and 98% nonsense.

Read on AO3

_____________

The explosion gave them a pause.

A moment of silence followed during which everyone had a brief assessment of the situation. Then, the activity around the Watch House resumed.

It wasn’t that unusual of an occurrence, after all.

Vimes and Angua exchanged a look.

“I’ll go and check,” she told him.

Vimes nodded, then paused. An image projected itself in his mind – his office, the cold mug of coffee left on his desk.

The paperwork. He has been putting it off for the past few hours; surely a few more minutes would be fine.

“No, I’ll take care of it. Get Kipper and you two go and check out that robbery on Gleam Street.”

"Sir.”

Vimes took the steps to the forensic lab at a leisurely pace. He took out a cigar from his case; then thought better of it and put it back. Best not to go in with more fires.

As he got there, he noticed a thin trail of smoke coming from under the door.

Vimes gave that a thought, then another, then dismissed it altogether.

He opened the door.

He was momentarily blinded. He teared up, eyes stinging from the smoke.

Then the smell hit him.

Ankh-Morpork had a natural smell. Its citizens were proud of it. Invaders considered it enough of a deterrent to turn on their heels [1]. The river Ankh made its own contribution, being famous for being the only river that you could sometimes walk on without sinking in [2], as well as possibly the only chewable water on the Disc – and its stench in the summer was unforgettable, much to the lament of those whose olfactory cells simply gave up and refused to recover for months in fear of being exposed to it again. There was Foul Ole Ron, whose Smell had similar effects and announced its presence from two streets away. Sometimes he had that scruffy dog with him. That one carried his own stink.

[1] This resulted in several broken ankles due to the general nobility’s inability to give up their puffed-up sleeves and thighs and above all, heeled shoes in which some of them had yet to learn to walk, despite decades of trying. It was the Century of the Anchovy and ‘an modern cytie’, according to The Times and Vimes knew better than to imply men couldn’t wear heels or women couldn’t participate in a fight – however, they didn’t need to be utterly stupid about it. Besides, Vimes thought he deserved some kind of compensation for being made to wear those shoes on more than one occasion; and it didn’t count with nobs. He was allowed to ridicule nobs, though they did the job well enough even without any of his input.

[2] Without it being winter and frozen. Besides, even if the river Ankh was covered in ice, only a fool would consider using it for ice skating. Unfortunately for the Watch (who were responsible for dragging the fools out of the river) and for the doctors at Lady Sybil (who often ended up doing check-ups for said fools to make sure no body parts melted and no poisoning occurred) and fortunately for the citizens of Ankh-Morpork (who were not currently in the river)’s amusement, there were plenty such fools in the city.

If one combined all of these, with a pinch of Smell ala Nobbs, spoiled cheese and eggs and rotten fruits, one might get something similar to what was in the lab.

“Ye gods,” said Vimes once he stopped coughing. “Are you trying to outstink the Ankh?”

He was suddenly very glad that it was him who went in and not the werewolf with a sensitive nose.

“Thorry, thir,” the Watch Igor said with what would be a sheepish grin on any other face; one not crossed with stitches and pulled in all directions.

“Nevermind. What were you lot doing?”

Now that his vision somewhat cleared, he could see the state of the lab. There was a strange glowing green liquid splattered on the walls – was it flashing yellow at times? - and one of the desks was partly reduced to ashes. Cheery held a large vial in her hands with some unnaturally orange glittery liquid inside from which all the smoke was coming from. His son was shuffling his feet behind her.

“Trying out this new substance!” Cheery’s face brightened. “They are calling it papadulopulopofomopa, discovered in the Agatean empire. We just got our first samples. The properties seem to be all over the place, but we think it’s mostly affecting the respiratory system–”

“Really,” said Vimes, whose nose was still working only thanks to being a born and bred Morporkian.

“– and skeletal muscles, specifically as a myorelaxant, though it did give Igor brief hallucinations and we haven’t figured out why yet.”

“We were testing out what it does in reaction with sodium and potassium,” Young Sam told him sheepishly, but he was grinning.

“And what have you discovered?”

Young Sam shrugged. The small dragon sleeping on his shoulders almost fell off, but he steadied him in time. “Boom?”

Vimes rubbed his eyes.

“Right.”

The lad was covered in soot. The helmet on his head leaned sideways. The lab cloak was beyond saving, what with being purple – and Vimes didn’t want to know how he managed that colour, it being white the last time he saw it. The safety goggles and shield were almost comically large on his face.

He made a quick decision.

“Come on, Sam, you better clean up before showing up like this at school, or your mother will have my head[3]. When do you need to be there?”

[3] Vimes, on the other hand, would be delighted at the prospect of his son scandalizing all those rich folks Sam went to school with.

“Uh,” Young Sam glanced at the clock. “I still have a few hours. I only have afternoon classes today.”

Young Sam, at the age of fifteen, was a proud student of Assassin’s Guild School. Vimes protested, but Sybil put her foot down about ‘good education’ and ‘tradition’ and the Patrician, blast that bastard, gave him a glowing recommendation at his old school; possibly just to spite Vimes, but possibly because he liked Young Sam. It was only a small comfort that Young Sam had no intention of joining the Black Syllabus and seemed more interested in sneaking into the Watch’s forensic laboratory and helping out every saturday at the Free Hospital, where he had a tendency to tail Mossy Lawn like a very persistent shadow.

“Do you need help with cleaning?” the boy asked Cheery and Igor.

“No, go ahead,” Cheery said.

“I wanth to tetht that green liquid,” Igor said.

Vimes looked at the wall. “As long as it doesn’t crumble the Yard, go ahead.”

He took Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious [4] from his son. Young Sam took off the cloak and threw it in the bin, as well as the ruined gloves, putting away the rest of his equipment. They left the lab together.

[4] Or MUSE for short, as both Sam Vimeses tended to call that mustard yellow lump of a dragon. Vimes the Elder didn't see what was so inspiring about him, but who was he to judge.

The smell had spread through the hallways, though it didn’t seem to reach the busier areas yet.

The dragon huffed in its sleep. This close, the smell of the dragon was mixing up with the smell from the lab. Vimes was close to tearing up again.

He snorted.

“They explode at the slightest excitement, but sleep through an explosion.”

The corners of Young Sam’s lips tugged upwards, then widened into another grin as MUSE’s eyes slowly opened. Vimes readjusted his hold on him, carefully placing that mustard-coloured chemical factory over to hang from his shoulder.

“Isn’t he the sweetest thing?” Young Sam cooed as he tickled the dragon’s belly.

“If you insist.”

Young Sam took after his father in colouring, the wiry figure and thin face, though his nose was unbroken and his features slightly softer from his Ramkin side. He had the same unfortunate ears, though they didn’t stick out as much as Vimes’s had when he was his age. The smile was all Sybil, the lucky lad, as was the height – he already towered over his father, and gods, he had grown up so fast, where did all that time go? He thought of the baby whose biggest interest was whether he could fit his foot into his mouth and whether his hand was bigger than his father’s, and where was his cow; and really, with all the interest the boy had shown in collecting poo, Vimes should have known how letting Cheery take him to the forensic lab would end up.

He looked at the boy - he was now scratching the top of MUSE’s head. Gods, soon he would start shaving.

He had also inherited his mother’s obsession with dragons.

“What is he even doing here?” Vimes asked.

“He didn’t want to let go of me in the morning,” Young Sam told him. “He’s a softie. Mom said I shouldn’t be spoiling him so much, but aren’t you adorable, yes, there, no, don’t eat my finger, good boy, but he’s no bother, he’s just lonely.”

His son leaned across his shoulder to kiss the dragon’s head.

Vimes privately thought the small thing was rather ugly. Not Errol ugly, but certainly more so than the average swamp dragon ugly.

Young Sam thought the world of it.

“Don’t make him explode on me, Sammy.”

“Sure thing, dad.”

They reached the showers. Unsurprisingly, they were empty. Watchmen weren't known for their hygiene, even less so for showering this early in the day.

As they stopped, Young Sam frowned.

"Are you wearing Washpot's boots?"

Vimes looked at his boots. “Of course not. Go on. I’ll take MUSE to my office.” And start doing the goddamn paperwork.

“Can you keep him until lunch? I can go and grab us something to eat.”

Vimes thought about his BLT, minus the B.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Young Sam smiled and leaned down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

When did he get so big? The warm tingling on his cheek stayed for a while.

It had been remarked that the Commander’s office at Pseudopolis Yard was swimming in papers. This was, in fact, untrue – A. E. Pessimal was very punctilious about organizing and having papers thrown around just wouldn’t do. Unfortunately for A. E., Commander Vimes’s opinion on the matter differed greatly. In a manner of trying to compromise, they’ve settled on piles in shapes that suited A. E.’s methodical mind, as well as setting up the piles based on their urgency, but which nonetheless had Commander’s messy signature in form of not being separated in any other way – that is, context, author, date of origin, or anything.

There was also the fact that the piles were endless.

A person remarking that the office was swimming in papers would be incorrect. A far more accurate description would be saying that the piles, now stacked on the floor in an attempt to find the desk, reached all the way up to the ceiling[5] and formed a paper wall. It was meticulously organized in a way that made the piles straighter than Vimes would have thought possible, which only served to reinforce the image of a genuine wall.

[5] Much to Vimes’s annoyance. He was not a tall man and to reach the top piles, he had taken to standing on a chair. As much as it would ease his life, he had refused a ladder. A man had his pride.

Vimes took another report from one of the piles on his desk. The misplacement of vowels and switching of c’s and k’s was a nice touch, revealing the author as a watchman before he even started reading.

Getting through all that rubbish people brought him was impossible. Some of the complaints would get him a migraine if he wasn’t so used to them. The spelling could speed up a man’s balding. Filling in all the forms, requests, writing his own reports. But it had to be done. He knew what the Watch was like before; he knew how easy it was to misuse the power it gave. He barely even knew his own Watchmen anymore. Gods, how many even were there? The number was high in the hundreds; not to mention the Sammies, who regularly shipped paperwork to his desk too. It was better to keep track. The reports were buried in the pile-wall, to be seen who knows when, but they were there.

He missed the days his job was less paperwork and more patrolling. But... He was getting older. His knees and back weren't what they used to be. And his responsibilities went far beyond the Watch these days. He thought of Sybil's and Young Sam's identical smiles, and chased away the ideas of daily chases after criminals.

The paperwork, harrowing as it was, made him feel somewhat useful.

The next report’s commas decided to try tango, which meant Carrot. He blinked in an attempt to chase away the incoming headache. He would need to look into the traffic reports today; after yesterday’s busy roads, there were far too many of them.

He paused, then turned around. He stared. He grinned.

Where there used to be a pile A. E. classified as ‘not too important’, which Vimes knew meant ‘people complaining about the sun shining too bright and The Times not posting their funny vegetable’, was now nothing.

“Well done, boy,” he told MUSE.

The dragon chewed through the last bits of paper.

“Hello, Sam.”

The lad waved cheerfully with his free hand as he closed the door with his foot. He had changed into his black clothes for school, which Vimes wasn’t the biggest fan of – they were assassin robes, damn it – but could tolerate, on the account of Young Sam liking them. The smell from the lab wasn’t clinging to him anymore. His hair looked as though a rabbit made its home in there.

“Hi, dad!”

He deposited the takeaway box on the desk, dragged a chair from the corner of the room and dropped in; arms crossed, legs stretched.

“What did you bring?”

Young Sam only grinned. Vimes raised his eyebrow.

“Come on, open it. I already ate on the way.”

Vimes carefully did so.

“I clacksed mom [6] if I could,” Young Sam continued. “And she said yes, so there you go. She says you still have to eat your BLT, though.”

[6] The new disorganizers – what was it, mark 9? 10? 11? Vimes lost track – had a quite advanced clacks function, allowing messages to be delivered quickly even without a clacks tower. Vimes still wasn’t sure how to use them, nor did he want to find out.

The words barely registered in his head at first, him being so captivated by the content of the box. Then, once he fully digested their meaning, an idea started forming-

“She says you are not to feed it to Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious either.”

The idea died.

“You wouldn't have to tell her,” he tried.

“Sorry, dad. Mom’s orders.”

“Right.” He glanced back at the box, then looked at Young Sam. “Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits?”

His son winked mischievously.

“Straight from Harga’s."

Suddenly, even the BLT seemed bearable.

“When did you say your school starts?” he asked as he took the first bite. He savoured the taste. Gods, it's been ages since he had the good stuff - he could feel that Harga hadn't cleaned the chippers in years. Just as he liked it. He would need to get Young Sam something in return. The lad was a gift, always.

“Not until half past two and I have only two classes. It’s exam season and everyone is busy, so the schedule is lighter than usual for the next few days.”

Vimes signed a report he’d been reading – that is, skimming through mindlessly and wishing for its end.

“You’ll be hanging around then?”

Young Sam’s eyes brightened. “Yes, I plan to go to Igor and Cheery again tomorrow. I ran into Cheery when she was leaving on a patrol just as I was going to your office and she say they might have discovered the reason for the violent reaction of papadulopulopofomopa with sodium and potassium. It was rather perplexing, you see – sodium and potassium are fine with each other, and individually neither of them reacted with papadulopulopofomopa, though we expected them to, but the second they were added together?” He threw his hands around. “Boom. So we were rather confused. But Cheery and Igor have a few theories now and we think some of them might work, so we are going to look at it together tomorrow after my morning class,” he paused. “We still don’t know why after the explosion the liquid started flashing green and yellow, though. Evidently, it even switched to purple at some point when they were cleaning up.”

“Goodness,” said Vimes who hadn’t understood a word.

“Yes!” his son nodded enthusiastically. “And I was thinking about the properties of it and it makes no sense! Bronchoconstriction and myorelaxant are pretty straightforward and I think we may figure out how papadulopulopofomopa causes hallucinations, but we also noticed some more minor effects that I have no clue where they are coming from.”

“Papamodopopafa,” Vimes repeated.

MUSE climbed his leg up to his lap.

“Papadulopulopofomopa,” Young Sam corrected him.

“Papadupulofopapa.”

“Papadulopulopofomopa.”

Vimes suspected the way he said it in italics was Carrot’s influence.

“Papadupopolo... Mafamapa?”

“Papadulopulopofomopa.”

“Papadulomofo– Hey!” he swatted the dragon on its head. “Those are my Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits!”

MUSE obliviously swallowed his bite.

“You can share,” Young Sam suggested innocently.

Vimes sent him a look of sheer betrayal. The lad burst out laughing.

“My own son,” he shook his head in disbelief.

Young Sam laughed harder.

Vimes relented, grunting. Then– “MUSE, stop eating that!”

He detangled the dragon’s claws from his breeches and put him down on the floor. He threateningly pointed his finger.

The dragon watched him with an expression of utter bafflement and empty-headedness. Young Sam had tears in his eyes, but he was slowly calming down.

“You,” said Vimes, “stay there. No climbing up my leg. No flying onto the desk. No eating my food without permission. Got it?” The dragon remained unresponsive. “Good. Now,” he turned to Young Sam. “You were saying – papadulapupafapa?”

Young Sam erupted into a new round of laughter. Vimes resisted the tugging at the corners of his lips, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Dad!” he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. The laughter slowly receded.

What followed next happened too fast. Young Sam reaching for his father’s mug, hoping to chase away the sudden dryness in his throat; Vimes’s eyes widening; Vimes’s loud "Don’t!” coming half a second too late. Young Sam started coughing.

“The Watch House coffee,” Vimes told him drily. “I know you don’t like that stuff.”

“No one likes the Watch coffee, dad! Why do you even have it here?”

“I like it.” he said.

Young Sam, in an attempt to get the taste out of his mouth, took a quick bite from the Crunchy Bits.

Vimes didn’t have the heart to stop him.

“Nice, good strong flavour,” Young Sam said approvingly [7].

[7] Young Sam, unlike his father, didn’t consider Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits to be the pinnacle of culinary efforts. He could, however, appreciate anything that could rid him of the famous taste of the Watch coffee.

Vimes grunted. He finished what remained of his Crunchy Bits, ignoring the look MUSE kept sending him. Vimes heard of puppy eyes, but in his private opinion, dragons and Young Sam were far better at them than puppies ever were. For example, MUSE was using award-worthy ones right now.

“I should get going,” Young Sam told him later as he stood up. “I don’t want to be late for class.”

Vimes mindlessly nodded, absorbed in a report which achieved astounding grammatical feats. Then he frowned.

“Not like that, you aren’t.”

Young Sam blinked. “Like what?”

“Lean down"

Vimes got up from his chair and crossed over to his son. Young Sam did as he was told, though confusion stayed on his face.

“Your hair,” Vimes explained as he tried to tame it into a reasonable shape. “That’s a bird’s nest you have right there.”

“As you say, dad.”

He let him straighten up, then fixed his collar. The lad had no right be that tall. He patted him on the shoulder. “There you go. Good luck.”

“Thanks, dad. I’ll be home by six.” Young Sam gave a rather cheerful lazy salute as he left.

The smile on Vimes’s face looked like that of someone looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses.

“Washpot, are those my dad’s boots?”

Constable Visit-The-Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets look down at his boots, good quality and sturdy, then back at Young Sam.

The boy’s eyes were twinkling.

“I don’t know what you mean. May I interest you in Omnianism?

Young Sam winked at him as he walked out of the building.

“Papodulopopufoma,” said Vimes.

Sybil looked at her husband, who was resting against her side with his eyes closed, and frowned.

“Papadupokopata,” he tried again.

“Sam, what are you on about?”

“Just something Young Sam mentioned today.”

Sybil gave it a thought, nodded to herself and went back to sleep. That was all right, then.

[teejaystumbles]

Ten Books To Know Me

Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

No one asked, but @landwriter said go ahead anyone who wants and I wanted to sit down and think about this (instead of doing my work lol), so. (Dalek voice: Procrastinate!)

I am bad at remembering - things. Like, in general. and my English isn't good enough to properly do this. So I cannot give good overviews of these books. There are enough ways to find out more about them. All I can do is jot down what has stuck with me. That alone gives an insight into my mind I guess.

The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin One of the latest books I've read and one that has really made an impression. The exploration of the concept of humans as a non-gendered species, only taking on a sex for procreation, is wonderful to read and still so valid to think about. I would love to see us get to an evolutionary point like that. The story itself isn't even about that as much as it is an arctic rescue mission, and about friendship and love that transcends gender assumptions.

Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

"Montag looked at the river. We'll go that way. He looked at the old railroad tracks. Or we'll go that way. Or we'll walk on the highways now, and we'll have time to put things into ourselves. And some day, after it sets in us a long time, it'll come out of our hands and our mouths. And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right. We'll just start walking today and see the world and the way the world walks around and talks, the way it really looks. (...) I'll hold on to the world tight some day. I've got one finger on it now; that's a beginning."

I read this book in my late teens and I have bookmarked that page and I have reread it when I felt lost and I want to put it on the flag of every teenage generation to come. Shout it from the rooftops. Put it on my fucking grave with the addition "they tried as best as they could". brb, crying shivering breathing in a bag

Guards! Guards! - Terry Prattchet Prattchet's books were among the first I read every one I could find in our library in my teen years. Now I own them all. I could add every watch book to this, because Sam Vimes' struggle to become a decent person and be better than his own prejudices, pulling himself from the literal gutter - that man is a symbol and will always be one of my favourite fictional characters. Also, tumblr made me ship him with Vetinary and I am not looking back.

City of Bones - Martha Wells Underrated fiction that has all the good things, adventure, absolutely awesome world building, great characters, again human evolutionary advancement that simply collapses pre-conceived sexual stereotypes - love it and want to reread it now I've been thinking about it.

Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell Bit long that I read it but the way the stories of several people transcend lifetimes and lifes is simply magnificent. I also loved his book Ghostwritten for similar reasons.

The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams One of the first book series I ever read, probably, started in my young teens, probably at first read the graphic novel my dad owned when I was 12 or sth and then the books. It has definitely shaped my sense of humor. I'll never forget how I did a book presentation on it in school and was very confused when the jaguar in the toilet and the descendent of Genghis Khan jokes fell flat - while I was struggling to even read it aloud without laughing. Philistines.

Steppenwolf - Hermann Hesse Another book that shaped my teenage self because I felt known. It is about a man who is unhappy because he feels he does not belong - he is of two natures, one sophisticated and one wild, untamed. Perfect for adolescents. I got bad marks in German class because the way I was writing essays had become too much like 1920's German and lots of words and phrases aren't used anymore lol

The Crystal World - J.G. Ballard I could add every other story or book by this man because I feel like they all have a certain tone - a kind of fatal sense of the inevitability of change, often not for the better, but the protagonist feels compelled to seek that change anyway. (Suddenly Morpheus feels) Something about it makes me ache and yearn, like these characters, because he writes from a mindset that is slipping into insanity quite masterfully I'd say.

The Stars My Destination/Tiger! Tiger! - Alfred Bester Absolutely made an impact with how a completely unlikable character, who makes his way through the world and universe without remorse and kindness, can achieve the highest form of meditative stance needed to space-travel. I don't remember much of the plot but that bit stuck. He's awful and you made him awful and then he goes and surpasses all of you anyway, despite being a brute and idiot. (A bit of Hob Gadling energy, if he wasn't as nice)

The Never-Ending Story - Michael Ende I could put Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter here, but this was the fantasy book I read before those and therefore it has shaped me more I guess. The beauty, and utter importance of imagination, the escape into a fantasy world to fix all real-world problems. Adventure, friendship, overcoming of fear, finding what really matters. There's a lot in this book that will never get old.

Now I feel like I bared my soul. You're welcome.

[thisblogisboundforglory-blog]

Best Opening Line Ever

Just dropping in to remind everybody that the best opening line of any novel, ever, was written by Diane Duane and it goes like this:

"DO YOU REMEMBER," said Leonard McCoy, "when I stole your cadaver?"

((Duane, Diane. Doctor's Orders (Star Trek: The Original Series Book 50) (p. 1). Pocket Books/Star Trek.))

Honorable Mentions:

"All this happened, more or less."

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

"In the beginning, there was nothing. Which exploded."

Sir Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

"Sam Vimes sighed when he heard the scream, but he finished shaving before he did anything about it."

Sir Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

"Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun."

Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

And one more that is not an opening line, but an entire chapter:

“Nothing much else happened, all the rest of that night.”

Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

[j-hawthorn]

Quiet in a Storm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ll be fine-’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Darling-’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Havelock-’

‘He’ll pull through. I know it.’

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

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

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

[forthegothicheroine]

How other great detectives would solve the “Kira” murders

Requested by @libraryoftheancients . A series I do sometimes. Since the whole premise of Death Note rests on Light knowing a victim’s name and face, each of these detectives is going to have to either find a way to deal with that or else not ping Light as a threat until it’s too late.

Sam Vimes: Vimes makes a broadcast on whatever magical version of tv there is in the Discworld, saying :”Attention, citizens of Ahnk-Morpork and/or Japan. I am Sam Vimes. No point in hiding it, since I am unfortunately a public figure. The Watch is seeking information on the murderer known as Kira from local Shinigami. If you are a shinigami and provide us what turns out to be vital information leading to their capture, we will fast-track you into a steady job on the force. Why not. Non-shinigami may also offer information, of course.” Now the story is about Light vs Ryuk scemes!

Columbo: As has been noted, Columbo does not ever reveal his first name on the show, so I think he’d be especially suspicious of this kid for wanting to know it so badly. A big question here is, how does Light read cross-culturally, not to mention cross-decades? The reason this is important is because a lot depends on whether Columbo’s first impression of him is as a nice kid or as a preppy monster. I will tip the scales towards Columbo’s favor at the end, if only because Light is exactly the kind of guy he can bait into questions of “Hypothetically, why do you think the killer would have done this?”

Dale Cooper: No time for crime solving, I have too many questions. Are shinigami part of the Black Lodge? The White Lodge? Has Ryuk visited Dale Cooper in his sleep to give him cryptic messages? Did Light kill Laura Palmer as absurdly over-punishment for dealing cocaine and maybe running over that one guy from Fire Walk With Me? Will the Black Lodge let Light kill Cooper before his time? Will Ryuk refuse to kill Cooper because he has a greater destiny? After all their mutual scheming, will Cooper just catch him because Laura finally gets sick of waiting and whispers the answer to him? Is Laura now a shinigami? Is Misa going to fixate on Cooper and then be correctly told that what she really needs is a friend? If Light does kill Cooper, will a random adolescent prodigy from Blue Rose with prematurely white hair solve it for him?

Philip Marlowe: Marlowe appreciates a rambling plot. He has lots of rambling plots, strung together from short story installments that don’t really work as a coherent whole. He may be suspicious at first of Misa since he has so many female villains and she would strike him as a very unhinged show biz type, but it’s possible that they have a drunken confrontation where he sees how wounded she is, and whatever else she may be, she’s not an evil mastermind. He doesn’t have a good relationship with police, so he won’t be too charmed by dutiful cop’s son Light. He’ll think back to the Duchess of Malfi, and think of how a murderer trying to enforce justice on other murderers is always doomed to failure. Light could kill him if he wanted to, so Marlowe’s best chance is if Light decides it’s better to keep him around, distracting everybody. Maybe Marlowe comes to his conclusion by wondering why, the longer the investigation went on without finding anything, the higher Light grows as an investigator.

Miss Marple: She’s definitely going to fall beneath his notice! Just an old woman with old-fashioned sensibilities. The cops like and indulge her, and they just naturally tell her everything while eating her home baked scones. She reads newspapers and circles the date any particular arrests were reported relative to the time the criminals dies. I don’t know that she would ever really believe Light had supernatural power, though she might come up with theories about undetectable poison. I think she would figure out it was probably Light, but she wouldn’t accuse him until she could solve that one unsolvable problem. I don’t know if she’d catch him, but it’s possible she could influence the papers or police departments to change the way they dealt with accused criminals and ruin Light’s day.

Hercule Poirot: Look, Poirot already went through this business during The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Any new non-Hastings guy who shows up to be his new crime-solving buddy is guilty.

Sam Spade: I think this may be seriously above his paygrade, but I kind of want him to win here so he could give him some closing insult to the extent of “Aww, you look so sad that I’m not really a criminal!” If Humphrey Bogart is playing him here so he can repeat his brilliant alleged ad-lib, he can say that the Death Note is such stuff as dreams are made on.

Phryne Fisher: Light would definitely think of her as a dimwit and a potential pawn. She would think of him as a young man without a shred of fun in his entire soul. I don’t think either of them would succeed in seducing the other. He would definitely try and get her to catch the wrong person and distract everyone and get humiliated, but Phryne (who is hinted in the show to have been a former agent in the war, unless I imagined that) would figure out those supposed Kiras were getting orders from someone else, even if they themselves wouldn’t know who. Assuming she can keep Light thinking she’s a useful distraction for long enough to catch him in a tangle of lies, she might win. Otherwise she dies.

Kinsey Milhone: I can see her and Light getting kind of genuinely friendly, at least for a while. They have similarly strong beliefs about morality, and she has a lot of compassion for teenagers, but I think ultimately she will have to realize that his version of friendship and morality are both extremely surface level. She’s a former insurance investigator, her whole job was catching fakers. I like the idea of her finding out about shinigami, because that would result in a fun inner monologue about the meaning of existence. If she’s another detective he would think he could use to distract everyone rather than just kill, she might be willing to believe in a Death Note and catch him. She would reflect afterwards that death will get all of us someday, but that doesn’t mean we have to make it easy for them.

Sam and Peter: “On this season of Japanese Vandal, we’ve somehow gotten roped into solving actual murders. This is all because of Light Yagami, who had recently graduated. Here’s footage of him wandering the school ground and talking to someone who is not there but appears to be very tall. He’s a cop’s son, so he’s allowed to do that.”

[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.