#discworld fanfic

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

#discworld #sam vimes #discworld au #nightwatch au #i literally drafted this post in December 2021 #and i know it was living in my head for years already at that point #i have more somewhere aging like cheese in the back of my mind #discworld fanfic #night watch #Let this be free from my mind #Perhaps someone else will write it #BE FREE ANCIENT AU OF MY SOUL #For all my obsession with discworld I have but this one (1) AU though it tears at me like the seam of a pair of pants #The songs I have permanently associated with this au are slightly bonkers by the way #My au #Seriously there's like two full novels worth of content up here. Sybyll running away from home and living as a commoner #To mirror Sam joining upper class in original timeline you see? #Some early discworld murder Wizard nonsense when they try to poke at the temporal anomaly and the universe goes brrrr #Eventually catching up with color of Magic city burning bs and vimes is mad as fuck #Weird year that never was protecting people during sourcery #And when we start catching up with where he left #Oh ho ho you can't to forward to something that doesn't exist but maybe you can go sideways to a place that's got a tear in it #A sam vimes shaped tear #And his pregnant wife from 30 years ago in the other trouser leg #AND that's not even mentioning how carcers trial got taken to a...higher court

[georgiacooked]

“Steal five dollars and you're a common thief. Steal thousands and you're either the government or a hero.” ― Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

#artists on tumblr #art #digital art #digital painting #discworld #moist von lipwig #ankh morpork #discworld fanfic #gnu terry pratchett #going postal #Q

[theygotlost]

okayyyyy ^_^

Transference

During the Ankh-Morpork Times' brief encounter with the Borogravian Ins-and-Outs, Otto takes an opportunity to offer some vampire-to-vampire insight... and reveal something unexpected.

G rated + 1,214 words

(Note about when this takes place: After encountering William and Otto, Polly and Jackrum escort them into the woods to talk with Blouse. As they're arriving at the camp Maladict is seen in his camouflage, and then not mentioned again for the rest of the scene. William launches into his conversation with Blouse, which goes on for some time. Otto is also absent from this part until he catches up with them after they've already been talking for a while. After taking Blouse's picture, Otto pulls Polly aside to warn her about Maladict's condition. Therefore this is the window of time in which Otto could have interacted with Maladict.)

The first thing Otto noticed when he saw the vampire among their ranks was that something was wrong. The lad had swayed as he emerged from the scenery, and the salute he gave the sergeant nearly threw him off balance. Any Black Ribboner would have found the harrowed, unfocused look in his eyes concerningly familiar. Otto watched him stumble uneasily, cursing, back into the foliage.

William’s routine was always the same when conducting interviews: ask questions first, shoot later. He had plenty of time until he was needed for the iconographs.

He found the corporal huddled up in a clearing a ways off from the track, rocking back and forth on his heels slightly. He didn’t look up when Otto approached. 

“Hello,” he tried tentatively. “My name is Otto Chriek. Vhat is your name, please?”

No reply.

“I vould like to talk to you…vun vampire to anozer, as it vere.”

Silence.

“I can see that you are suffering from ze early stages of vithdrawal. Vhat did you choose for your transference?"

Still nothing.

Otto removed his dark spectacles, placed them carefully in one of his innumerable vest pockets, and knelt down to face the huddled mass at eye level— or it would have been eye level, if Maladict wasn’t concentrating so hard on dirt and pine needles. His breathing was ragged, and now that he was up close, Otto could see the sweat beading on his face.

“Please listen to me,” said Otto gently. “Your regiment does not know vhat it is like, but I do. And I know zat it is difficult, and frightening. But you—”

“I’m not scared,” Maladict snapped. He was still looking at the ground. He spat his words between panting breaths. “And I…didn’t… ask for…your…advice.”

Otto pursed his pale lips. The young vampire was resistant, but he would be remiss if he didn’t try to bring it up.

“zere is… somezing else, no? Besides ze vithdrawal?” His tone was still gently coaxing, not accusatory, but Maladict narrowed his eyes in distrust all the same. “Somezing not even your lieutenant knows about—”

At once the crumpled mass of Maladict snapped up and made a lunge for Otto’s lapel.

“If you even think about exposing us in your paper of news, I’ll—” he stopped short when Otto caught his wrist effortlessly.

“You’ll vhat? Threaten humans all you like, but vhat could you do to anozer vampire?" He released his grip. "Don't vorry, nobody vill know. You have my vord.” His expression remained infuriatingly kind. Flames of humiliation flared in Maladict’s eyes before he collapsed back into his defeated huddle.

“The others all have their reasons,” he mumbled from between his knees. “They all joined up because they're after something. Shufti's looking for her lover, Polly's looking for her brother. And once they find them, they’ll just go back to their old lives. They won’t be men forever.” he swallowed. “But I’m not going back to that. Ever. I’d…I’d sooner die.”

“You don’t have to,” Otto replied plainly. He leaned closer, reducing his voice to barely above a whisper, and raised his eyebrows knowingly. “I didn’t.”

Very, very slowly, Maladict looked up.

“And neizer did Villiam,” added Otto with a smile.

“The writer man? Both of you are—”

“Just two simple men from Ankh-Morpork!” His face bore a look of pure innocence. “Ze more zat is vhat people expect to see, ze more zat is vhat ve become. And zen people see it even more, you see? It is like a… how do you call it… ‘feeding loop’?"

The regiment had tried so hard. Cropping their hair short, changing the way they walked, all the impolite bodily functions, and of course all that business with the socks, but Otto Chriek didn’t need any of it. The way he moved seemed so elegant, and anyone trying to describe his features would have been inclined to use the word “delicate”. He even wore his hair longer than any man Maladict had seen in Borogravia. Naturally, Nuggan had outlawed long hair on men decades, maybe even centuries ago. The sun was beginning its descent now, and the twilight gave his head a silky sheen. And yet Maladict couldn’t imagine any sensible person suspecting— no, he corrected himself— mistaking him for a woman. 

“You know, you should find your local Igor if you get ze chance. zey can vork some real vonders, I don’t mind telling you,” Otto added after a moment, absentmindedly brushing his chest. 

“We… do have…an Igor…” Maladict mumbled, still lost in thought. Otto was about to say how vonderful that was when the corporal sharply doubled— or, seeing that he was already rather doubled—  quadrupled over. “coffeeeee…” he groaned. 

“Oh, dear. Before all zat, you vill need to keep from…” he said it quietly and haltingly, as if it were a bad word he would get in trouble for, “...reverting. Have you been havink any hallucinations yet?”

Maladict groaned again. Otto thought he could hear a faint, bizarre wopwopwopwop noise coming from above the forest canopy.

“I’m sorry zat my associate and I do not have any coffee vith us, truly. Until you find some, try to focus on zings you can touch, zat you know are real. Try to find some apples, too. In my experience zey are better for sucking on zan zose cigarettes you have.”

If the young vampire was listening, he didn’t show it. Faintly, from beyond their little clearing, William’s voice floated through the trees. He sounded agitated about something. He usually was, come to think of it.

Otto stood up and replaced his spectacles. “I am sorry to leave you like zis, but I’m afraid I must get back to my vork. Please, remember vhat I’ve told you.”

Completely returned to his formless mass, Maladict was covering his ears and shaking his head. He mumbled something indistinct. Otto furrowed his brow, but he knew there was nothing else he could do. He stepped back out into the bracken.

—

Miraculously, Shufti produced a sack of apples as part of that night’s dinner, though Maladict had a sneaking suspicion of where she had got them. He bit into one frantically and inhaled the running juice. The iconographer man had been right: that tickling, buzzing, aching sensation deep in the roots of his teeth was reduced to a dull roar, if only for the moment. Polly gave him a concerned glance from her seat beside him on a fallen log.

“You… feeling any better, Mal?”

“Yeah. I think…yeah. I’m fine.”

He didn’t like the way she was still looking at him. He felt like a ticking bomb, and she was trying to figure out which wire to cut. “What?” he said, a little too roughly.

Polly looked away. “Nothing.” Otto Chriek’s voice rattled around her head. Find someone who vill. “Did you… get the chance to talk to that iconographer? The other vampire?” she asked eventually.

Maladict took another bite of his apple to delay answering. “...No.” She wouldn’t understand, he thought, and then hated himself for thinking it. “Why?”

“Well, he’s a Black Ribboner too. Maybe he could have helped you. You know, with your… problem.”

It took every muscle in Maladict’s face to hold back the tears. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Maybe he could.”

#got the nico seal of approval on this one already 👍 #discworld #monstrous regiment #discworld fanfic #otto chriek #maladict #polly perks #mine

[jayalaw]

Fanfic: If Death Note Happened in Discworld And Vimes Went Up Against Kira

@forthegothicheroine, thank you for this idea!

Let's be real, Terry wouldn't have pitted someone like Kira against Samuel Vimes because Kira and Death Note came out in the 2000s. We also don't have that many stories with supernatural killers that go after the guilty.   

But let's suppose what the Discworld novel would be...

Death finds himself working overtime. He gets annoyed when seeing random criminal getting offed, because it is more than usual. There are the usual plagues and wars and holiday depressions, but this doesn't fit the pattern. He knows that no plague causes just a heart attack. The hourglasses are rattling in his realm. It is a disturbance. 

Meanwhile the Thieves Guild and Assassins Guild send representatives to the Watch. They're here under truce. Someone has been killing off their licensed thieves and killers. The Assassins don't have proof, but only the "criminals" of the city have been targeted, the ones with licenses. Somehow the unlicensed ones and those that can hide in the Seam get away with their crimes. It is something political.

Vimes asks the obvious question: why not go to Vetinari? He handles the politics in the city. Because Vetinari would say it is a police matter. Someone is violating the law by committing murder, and refusing to answer for it. They can't figure out how, and know it's not the wizards at Unseen University doing experiments because it's not their style. Wizards are chaotic and frivolous. This is too orderly, too...cold. 

The guilds are scared. The heads wouldn't admit it, but Carrot, who is sitting in on the meeting, can sense it. He and Vimes note twitchy fingers that would rather be penciling in burglary dates or shooting targets. The guild heads are not scared of death itself, but that someone wants them all dead, and they don't know the reason. There has to be a reason. 

Vimes considers everyone in the Watch, and who may be best for the task force that he promises will investigate these deaths. He knows that magic exists; heck, they have a zombie on the Watch. Death also has had many near-Vimes experiences with the commander. Something is going on. If this is someone killing criminals, without letting them stand trial or respecting the laws that he fought to respect, it is someone that has no Inner Watchman. Vimes knows how easy it is to slip into justifying killing of the innocent. He has to uphold the Guarding Dark. 

Reg Shoe becomes head of the task force. Vimes reasons that if the killer decides to go for the cops, they can't kill someone who is already dead. Reg is an intimidating face, someone who has long refused to die. When the Times show up for a quote, Vimes uncharacteristically tells them that he will be leading the task force to investigate these killings. It's not a lie; he is the leader of the Watch, and he is in charge of Reg Shoe. Vimes also orders that Igor is put on the Task Force. 

Light Yagami in this world would be from another town, one where he has seen the dark side of broken justice systems. His father is the commander, who has maintained a consistent order. While Light wants to join his father on the side of the law, he does have a penchant for magic. So he attends Unseen University, on a scholarship that he earned with his studies. Classmates notice that he fills his dormitory with apples, more than a person can eat. He has a single, so no roommate can wonder why he's not sharing his cider experiments. 

Ankh-Morpork is Light's testing grounds. In this version, he is smart enough to not kill that many criminals on his home turf. Sure there were a few. After all, he didn't know if he was forfeiting his immortal soul. But now he knows that no one can trace the campaign back to him, ever. Plus, the common thieves and vandals are barely older than him. It doesn't feel sporting to go after petty theft when that person may still turn their life around. 

Susan is teaching at finishing school. She also reads the Times during her breaks. The newspaper has taken to reporting on arrests and society figures. She notices the large amounts of death reported. Susan's lip curls as she reads about heart attack after heart attack. Her grandfather will not be pleased. Sure enough, the raven and Death of Rats knock at the door. Death has Binky at the moment, so no horse rides for Susan this time. 

She is very vexed by this. The more that Susan uses her powers, the less human she becomes. But she senses a malice to these murders. 

Albert and Susan reconvene in Death's realm. With Death working overtime, he's barely had time to visit. Susan notices some haphazard cat beds. Albert explains that Death has been building stuff again, and thinking about pulling kittens out of time, so they will stay young and loved. Susan makes a mental note to visit more often, so that Grandfather is less lonely. 

What could be causing the theories? An instrument of a shinigami, Albert believes. Shinigami, or death "gods" as Albert explains, are only a concept. Some cultures do worship the dead, and they believe in gods to make them less scared of it. In the case of shinigami, they are meant to represent the fears that some people have of death, that it's a terrifying thing. If a wizard believes in a shinigami, then they come to life. And they may be able to work together, if a shinigami gives a wizard his tools. That would be quite a dangerous bargain. 

Susan remembers when someone stole Death's sword and tried stabbing her through the stomach. She shivers. Grandfather would never give such a powerful weapon to a mortal. There's no telling what they would do with it. Even when she borrowed Binky or used the sword, she was always very careful. 

Albert tells Susan that Death needs her in Ankh-Morpork. He needs human eyes on the ground, to find the shinigami and his tools. Susan protests that she has a job, and kids to watch. It's not like the world is ending. Albert indicates the rattling hourglasses. Maybe the world isn't ending, but it will suffer some cracks in reality. Susan returns to her job, pondering. She hopes that Grandfather is okay.  

This isn't a world of modern technology. Light has no access to television news or radio that would tell him who is a killer and who isn't. His father had been experimenting with adding photographs to arrest warrants. Photography is such a remarkable technology, one that allows you to see faces, even from a great distance away. And with newspapers, you can attach names to faces. 

In Ankh-Morpork, Ryuk tells Light about the shinigami eyes. He can find anyone's name and face. All he has to do is give up half his years on the Disc. Light smirks and says that he isn't giving up half his life when he plans to be ruling this Disc, with rules that will make life better for the commoners and enforce proper justice rather than compromises. Besides, he doesn't have to know who everyone is, just who is in jail or accused. The Thieves Guild has an open record, with names, and the Times likes to keep photos of them. He also knows that wizards are good at scrying and seer work. Light manages to make a crystal ball that allows him to watch over the city. He may not have names yet, but he does have faces. One name and face led to him getting the ledgers of the thieves in the Guild, as well as the assassins. It's a waiting game, in-between his studies and new job. Plus, Ryuk's love for apples keeps him on a leash. He has promised to kill Light last, when the game is over. Light has to keep entertaining him, but also knows when to withhold apples.  

The Times in the meantime is reporting on the murders, or as they're calling it, the "Hearts Epidemic". William De Worde is also seeking student correspondents from Unseen University. When Light Yagami volunteers, and shows interest in learning photography, it seems like a miracle. Light is charming, diligent and hardworking. His columns about the Unseen University happenings please all parties by hinting at the experiments going on, and discussing student life. The young journalist also knows his football. He reports accurate sports and stats. 

William gets wind of the Watch's theory that this is some supernatural killer. He asks for ideas from the newsroom about what moniker to give this killer, for an image that strikes both fear and fascination. Light keeps quiet, as the other journalists toss around ideas. They mention the killer may be a human, dwarf, elf, or even an Igor. Every Igor and Igorina worth their salt has experience working with the dead. Gaspode comes in with information; because Light cannot believe that a dog can talk despite having a shinigami next to him in the room, Gaspode senses all is not right. 

When Moida is chosen, from the Seam pronunciation of "Murder," Light very much wants to wince. He would have chosen something far more grandiose. But he is the new columnist, and it's better for no one to notice him. He also knows that the Watch has been asked to look for this series of killings, and investigate. 

Light has no plans to kill Samuel Vimes. The man is a father, with a loving wife and a young toddler. Plus, both father and son are named Sam Vimes, according to the society papers. He doesn't want to kill the child by accident when writing the name in the notebook. Light has some standards.

Ryuk pouts; Light is no fun. Light stands fast, however. Children are off-limits. and he has other ways to entertain the shinigami. 

Vimes is not pleased that this killer has been given a name or profile. He had just mentioned it was a task force. The Times always exaggerates, because they want people to buy stories. Still, it could be worse, and Moida gives the illusion that the killer may be from the Seam. Vimes considers if a poor person would be killing this many thieves and assassins; he dismisses the thought because the thieves leave the poor people alone, and no assassins go after those in the Seam. Still, it's a red fish, like in the books Young Sam has gotten into recently. Red fishes always point the reader in the wrong direction. 

Carrot sometimes checks in on Death as a witness. This time, he brings some material for the cat tree, scratchy material that will entertain furballs no matter how it's mangled. No one asks questions when he approaches the hospital's terminal wing with a carpet that has seen better days. Death may have mentioned his latest creative project the last time that Carrot talked with Death about another case, about the murder of a witch in the Seam. Carrot had remembered to bring Death's favorite blend of tea that time. Death is technically not supposed to offer this testimony. But he likes tea, and he is perturbed by this many deaths by heart attack. 

The game is on, to find this killer. Susan reads the news, and patrols the cities at night when she isn't teaching her kids, watching for thieves that suddenly drop dead. Light wishes to find out who in the Watch is investigating, and takes whatever information that William can squirrel out of Vimes. Vimes insists that he is the one in charge, and doesn't want a wizard near the station when William asks if the Unseen University is going to provide their input on the case. Deputizing the Librarian was a one-time necessity. 

Reg and Igor find the pattern: all of the criminals who were killed were on record. They were on the ledgers, and the assassin and thief in charge of each ledger are also dead. They didn't die of heart attacks, though; the assassin in question had slipped in a rain puddle and broke his neck. The thief had tried a burglary and got trapped by a suffocating chimney. 

The coppers consider this. It doesn't add up; assassins are trained to be careful. No thief employed by the guild would get caught in a broken chimney. Whoever is doing these killings is smart, and dangerous. They also aren't limited to heart attacks. 

It has to be magic. And there are few witches in Ankh-Morpork, with none having a body count. Their suspect is at Unseen University. Most likely a student from this year, because the killings only started with the term. 

Now we can't go into every particular shenanigan that Terry would write here. Or this fic would never end. But a game of cat-and-mouse would start, as Carrot also makes inquiries at the university, and he is willing to talk to the press when needed. Moida alas cannot infiltrate the task force, even if he asked his dad for help. Sam Vimes does not believe in connections to get on the force, unless he has absolutely no choice. This time he has a choice. Light has to rely on his scrying since Ryuk refuses to help. Apple bribes and blackmail do not push Ryuk that far. 

It comes out that Moida can't kill more than a few members of the watch; Carrot has a dwarf name and a human name, and Moida only knows his human name. Plus, Carrot and his family often misspell their last name. All of those spellings -- and none-- are correct. There are only so many variations that Moida can try to write. If only he knew that Discworld narrative causality protected Carrot. The same goes for Reg Shoe and Igor-- Reg's heart has long since stopped a while ago. And trying to kill an Igor, when they are all named Igor? Good luck with that. The Death Note has no effect on any of tPlan Bhree men.

Moida goes for Plan B: the werewolf. Everyone is certain it is that watchman Nobby Nobbs. Werewolves are easy to manipulate with the power of scent and suggestion. So he writes Nobby Nobbs's name in the notebook, imagining a great beast that will do his bidding. If all goes well, the werewolf will get the names of the folk on the task force who are mortal with only one name, and all the information that the Watch has on Moida. Then the beast will rampage through the city, and has to get shot. 

Moida is smart, but he got the wrong person. And the Death Note cannot make impossible deaths happen.

When Nobby collapses on patrol, Susan notices because she is also patrolling. She realizes that there is magic, and manipulates time to try and save Nobby's heart. It doesn't work, and Grandfather appears. It's time for Nobby Nobbs's reaping.  

"It's not fair!" Susan bursts out. "He was just...walking! Doing his duty!" Why would the murderer go after him?"

 "That's what I want to know," Nobby Nobbs says, scratching his head. "Not saying I have a strong heart, but it's supposed to be stronger stuff than this." 

Susan sees the magic trail on the body. It's faint, but it leads her to Gaspode. Gaspode tells the strange lady that if she has a good meal for him, he will be a good boy and tell her what he has noticed. She asked what he thinks of children's biscuits. He loves them, especially warmed by the fire. 

The Watch is morose without Nobby Nobs; coppers expected to die saving people, or putting out fires. Vimes arranges a pension for Nobbs's girlfriend, and his family. Reg makes sure to tend the man's funeral. Now it's personal; Moida went after one of them. 

There is also one unfortunate side effect of getting rid of the Thieves Guild: burglary increases, almost as it to spite Light's idea of justice. Less trained assassins who were unable to train with the guild are trying their hands at botched killing. The Watch has to work hard to protect the innocent, and to ensure Vimes has time to spend with young Sam. Ryuk can't help but rub it in that Light's campaign for a world with more order and less crime has only caused more chaos, that he is spreading fear that he cannot control. Light insists that it's part of his plan. It's not like Ryuk has noticed anyone following him, like when Ryuk spotted the dog Gaspode begging Light for treats. Light did feed the dog but told him to clear off; he had studies. 

Gaspode is a dog of his word; he leads Susan to where the magic scent trail ends, at an Unseen University's dormitory. The biscuit crumbs on his snout, he confides that he smells the same magic at the Times. Confused, Susan thinks that no journalist at the times is skilled in magic and the vampire there likes photography more. Gaspode mentions that a wizard student joined the staff, before he goes to play with some drunken students that are delighted on seeing a "puppy". 

Ryuk spots Susan first. She realizes what he is, but cannot see his weapon, and they are both invisible. He presses a finger to his lips, indicating Light studying at his desk. Susan considers, for Nobby Nobbs. She can sense the magic rushing out of him, the ones that is making the hourglasses rattle. Susan swears she can see the bolts dancing through the air, past the windows. More deaths, more criminals dying by heart attack. 

Bingo; Susan has found their killer, and his shinigami. But she doesn't know the weapon or how to confiscate it. Even if this boy left for classes, he could take the weapon with him, no matter how she searched his dormitory. Ryuk could easily rat her out; she knows that look of mischief. He has been letting all this chaos happen, with no remorse. Grandfather was never that careless. 

Susan sighs. She will have to miss classes again tomorrow. Albert will know about shinigami weapons, in Death's realm. 

Of course, Susan is not the only informant who has spotted these issues; Gaspode has not returned to the Times yet. He reports his findings to Angua, while asking if she's still going to marry Carrot. Angua shoos him away but considers. 

Angua and Vimes debate: they have the word of one informant, and no murder weapon or motive. From what Vimes can see in university transcripts and the Times, Light is a bright young man. He seems genuinely concerned with the welfare of others. They could try arresting him, but the proof is not strong enough. If they are wrong, the Watch will have betrayed its code. 

Vimes decides on his riskiest plan: invite Light to the Watch house and properly interview him for being a copper on the Task Force as he wished. Identify him for any tells, and see if Angua can smell the magic on him, or the Moida murder trails. It could be really dangerous, having a killer right in that space. 

Sybil fortunately has a more sensible option: meet with Light for tea in a public place. She can watch Young Sam, and her husband won't be risking the Watch's lives. The Patrician has a particular teahouse where he likes to go with Mr. Fusspot. They love dogs there.

Light is so surprised that Vimes has changed his mind, and considers the Watch is onto him. It was bad luck that the Death Note didn't work on the werewolf. He has a pocket-watch where he keeps pages of the Death Note. Ryuk may snigger that he's willing to kill a child, but Light has other plans. 

Angua is the perfect watchdog for Vimes, lying down for a seeming nap under the table. She notes the pocketwatch doesn't match those of typical wizards, and her ears do not hear any ticking. Perhaps that is the weapon. Light clutches it. 

Susan is also there; Gaspode had come to inform her, in exchange for biscuits, where the boy would be the next day. She needed to know, after she and Albert concocted a plan. 

The chaos emerges when Vimes asks Light what his father thinks of Moida. Soichiro Yagami, according to Light, believes that Moida is a spoiled teenager, affluent who does not care about other people. He has been disgusted by the sheer amount of death. Light knows that this lie will hold because it is based in truth. He also has plans for an alibi: more deaths during this outing, spread out into the Seam. Only a few names from scrying, but they would be enough. 

Vimes admits that the loss of Nobby Nobbs has been hard. Moida went after a good man, and for seemingly no reason. Light seethes internally, thinking how a good man was against his campaign for true justice. But he asks what Vimes thinks of Moida.

The Commander doesn't have to wait; he chooses his words. He says that he has seen good men die for the wrong reasons, and bad men live to an old age. But when you have the power to kill someone that cannot fight back, and you slaughter them anyway, you are evil. No inner watchman can save you.

Angua does not bite, even in werewolf form. But when Light under the table slips paper out of the pocketwatch, she doesn't have to think, just grab it with her teeth and pull. She hears laughter and witnesses the shinigami, as well as the stern woman who appears in the tea shop screaming "Albert, NOW!" 

Somehow, they all end up in Death's realm. Death is there, looking at the hourglasses. Albert has finished the summoning ritual, the reverse of the one that he used to summon Death. 

"THIS IS UNFORTUNATE," Death says, looking at Light. "YOU HAVE BEEN CAUSING ME A LOT OF TROUBLE."

Ryuk cackles and Light glares back. 

"I'm doing you a favor," he says. "I'm making a world based on justice." 

Angua has the pocketwatch in her teeth, the proof. She doesn't dare change back. The shinigami is eyeing her with fascination. She can now smell him. 

"A world where criminals fear an early death is not justice; it creates a reign of terror," Susan says. "You had the power of someone's life in your hands, and chose to take it, over and over again. Like a child frying ants with a piece of glass." 

"Your father would be disappointed in you," Vimes remarks, thinking of Young Sam. He will have to do all he can to ensure his son never becomes a killer. Sam is still in his poo phase, so that had to be a good sign. 

Light of course has another trump card: his other notebook pages, that he has hidden on his person. He attempts to write in them, for Sam Vimes. He knows that name, and he will finally kill this man. What does it matter if he kills the child with the father? Soichiro would understand, this need for a new world. His father would want one that dominates justice. 

This time he doesn't make it that far; Susan whacks him with the haphazard cat tree that had ladders floating in the middle. The scratchy carpet leaves marks on Light's face.

"I WORKED VERY HARD ON THAT TREE," Death declares. 

"I can tell," Susan panted. "It still is holding up when knocking down a killer." 

Light has carpet fibers stuck in his cheeks. He cannot believe that he got taken down by a cat tree. Susan confiscates the rest of the notebook pages. She observes them, the names written, and figures it out. 

"Even if you had written something down, it wouldn't have worked," Susan says. "You can't die in Death's realm. That's why Albert and I brought him here." 

"We need those, Miss Death," Vimes says. "It's evidence." 

"I'm not Death," Susan says. "He is."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm family. But you should touch these pages."

When Vimes does, he sees the shinigami. He blinks and stares at Ryuk, who waves. 

"The shinigami," Albert says.

"A GOD OF DEATH THAT IS FEARED," Death explains. 

There is probably going to be some argument about who has jurisdiction over Moida and Ryuk, and Death calling out Ryuk for abusing his powers. He says that death is meant to be a part of life, and manipulating those events out of boredom is very beyond the pale. Ryuk says that he is no different from other shinigami, and that he has never had to pay consequences for his behavior. Death reminds Ryuk that shinigami, unlike other manifestations of death, can also cease to exist if they break rules about how to save humans. And he has Ryuk's hourglass in his hand. 

Vimes insists that the death god and Light need to be booked. They have proof that he killed the guild members and those that held their ledgers. Death retorts that they are too dangerous to go back to the Disc. Light has tasted the power of a god. And they have not just violated mortal laws but also established rules of their world. Light may try to grab an extra scythe or hold hourglasses hostage to save himself, but Susan and Albert take care of him. 

Somehow it ends with Light and Ryuk being trapped in their hourglasses, and Vimes reluctantly makes Death a deputized member of the Watch, since Death can be everywhere, while acknowledging that Light will face justice outside of Ankh-Morpork's jurisdiction. They have a larger pocket space so it's not inhumane, but they are prisons. Ryuk can no longer have his fun and is dealing with boredom, while Light has time to think about the consequences of his actions. The Unseen University accepts his involuntary withdrawal, because expulsions are rare and embarrassing for all parties involved. Vimes can think about if he wants to break the news to Soichiro, from one copper to another.

Vetinari isn't surprised by all this. There is always an upstart that thinks they can rule better than him. The Assassins and Thieves Guild start to rebuild, though it is going to be a while before all the burglaries and botched assassinations die down. And as Susan put it in Death's realm, Light may claim that he is a god, but he is a boy, like boys who fry ants and wasps with glass. She meets many children like him in her governess and schooling days. 

Everyone is still mourning Nobby Nobbs. He was a good copper. Angua visits his grave, apologizing for making him a target. Reg tends the grave. 

So Light would get his ass kicked on the Disc, while causing lasting consequences. But he doesn't die, as he feared. He and Ryuk face something much worse: an eternity of boredom, while knowing someone is watching them.

#discworld #death note #discworld fanfic #samuel vimes #angua von uberwald #susan sto helit #Discworld Death #Light Yagami #Ryuk #fandom #Discworld Albert

[ross-hollander]

What would Discworld have been like if it was "as expected"?

So a big point in DW is that things aren't as the classic tropes would have them, it's a fantasy world "gone wrong"- the dwarves aren't all surly and manly, the elves weren't actually enchanting and benevolent, the revolution was inglorious and ineffective, etc.

But I've been thinking, what would have happened if it stayed on track? Things seem to go off course circa, really, Guards! Guards!. Before then- mostly the Rincewind books -the world is played pretty straight.

So post-G!G!, Ankh-Morpork has all the pieces you'd expect for a standard epic: the secret heir, the tyrant lord, the Watch too lazy or too crooked, and headed by the descendant of the former regicide to boot, the Guilds cutthroat and greedy.

Obviously, you'd have King Carrot fighting against the Patrician, but I think it might have been a sort of figurehead position. Old Vimes starts the rebellion, pushing Carrot as the new leader, and then tries to have him assassinated to make for some kind of throneless authority or police state. (Moist would be a post-revolutionary grifter working as a parasite off of Carrot's new kingdom.)

The whole war with Klatch would go through, and probably rely on the Ramptops dwarves coming to the city's aid (a la Rohirrim or other heroic reinforcements in fantasy), and then the Ankh-Morpork-Ramptops league would battle the 'Dwarves-for-the-Dwarves' isolationists in Uberwald.

#discworld #gnu terry pratchett #carrot ironfoundersson #sam vimes #havelock vetinari #moist von lipwig #discworld fanfic

[magpiesketchins]

New fic!

Gen rated, set post Going Postal, just over 3k words.

Moist Von Lipwig meets Sam Vimes for the first time face to face, they get to know each other a little better. Bastard recognises bastard.

Basically a self induldent double character study that I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Vimes had some fun lines in this one 👀

#Discworld #discworld fanfic #moist von lipwig #sam vimes #going postal #gnu terry pratchett #my fic

[sparkly-angell]

Yall Discworld fandom I need you guys to check out this fic right here

It's a Samuel Vimes/Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari romance story but it's also a murder mystery. The fic manages to mix all these aspects seemingly into a story that has a really close caliber as the guards books (i had to stop reading fifth elephant to focus on the fic, yes, I was mixing both stories)

Here's the summary:

It began with a quiet confession from Lord Vetinari, and Lady Sybil making a decision about what to do with it. Vimes is exhausted, and at once frightened by and drawn to the changes that the two are introducing to his life. But then dwarfs around the city begin to go mad and hallucinate themselves into a violent frenzy, and a brutal murder is committed in the pouring rain. Maybe, just maybe, Vimes can figure it all out before the madness and the rage gets him too.

It's explicit, it's kinky, it's about finding yourself and loving/accepting yourself, but also there are some weird fucking things going around Ankh-Morpork that are unrelated... Until they aren't anymore.

The characters are all So In Character, they are well thought and they have their own depths and motivations, it's beautifully done.

Putting the Commander to Bed should be a must read between Jingo and Fifth Elephant. It's all I'm saying.

#discworld #putting the commander to bed #ptctb #fanfic #discworld fanfic #fic rec #samuel vimes #sybil ramkin #havelock vetinari #its just #i cant stress enough how good this one is

[asongaboutpirates]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes Characters: Havelock Vetinari, Samuel Vimes Additional Tags: Fluff, Nightmares, Knives, Cuddling & Snuggling, Love Confessions, Established Relationship, cautiously rated T for some imaginary stabbing, but it's actually mostly fluff Summary:

Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, didn‘t usually dream…

Happy ides of march!

#discworld fanfic #vetvimes #samuel vimes #havelock vetinari #vimes x vetinari #🔪🔪🔪🔪 #ides of march

[firstofficerrose]

It is a time of edges

The Querulous Megapode has reached the end of it's long race. It's been a long Year, and not always a good one, but it's run it's course, and can rest now. Before it settles down to build a nest somewhere in Klatch, though, it has one thing to do.

...

The cottage is scrupulously clean; it doesn't do to welcome the new year with the debris of the old one lying around. Not everyone agrees on that point*, but it's always done for her. The cottage is clean, and quiet, and Granny Weatherwax is waiting.

...

As the sun sinks behind the mountains for the last time in the Megapode's very own Year, the Querulous Megapode picks it's way across the track to the cottage. Along the way, it meets a Moribund Aardvark, and they have the sort of discussion that only Years can have. Together, they make their way to the cottage, and before either one can rap on the door, it swings open.

Granny Weatherwax stands in the door with her pointy hat and her plumbline-straight spine. The Megapode, panting a little from the exertion of getting here, bows a bit.

"Took you long enough," she says. The Megapode fluffs it's feathers defensively. Granny Weatherwax regards it, then turns to the Aardvark. She takes a deep breath and carefully does not roll her eyes.

"Blessings," she intones, "Upon This Year. Now git."

And they do.

...

*At Tir Nani Ogg down the mountain, the party was really just getting started. Scumble and shrapnel would be all over the place tomorrow for the battalion of daughters-in-law to clean up, but for now, Nanny was doing a jig on top of the table and inventing new verses for The Hedgehog Song.

#discworld #happy new year #year of the moribund aardvark #granny weatherwax #discworld fanfic

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Chapters: 44/44 Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lord Downey/Havelock Vetinari, Downey/Others Additional Tags: let your dad die energy drink is a direct inspiration for my restarting this story, everything is a poison, it's the dose that matters, Family Issues, Period-Typical Homophobia, Classism, AM is an early modern city, and so the values/social norms reflect that, Not Beta Read, We Die Like Men, Downey POV, Significant Age Difference, between downey and one of his past Decisions, like. Significant., it's very very May-December, typical sex acts you'd expect in this sort of thing:, Anal, Fingering, Blow Jobs, etc. - Freeform, some slurs show up in a sibling fight, there's potential dub-con - depending on where one's personal line is drawn Series: Part 3 of coveting desperate things Summary:

It is early days of this thing called a ReLaTiOnShIp(?) between Downey and Vetinari--all very new, Vetinari would like to note that emotions are a bug and not feature. Downey is here to smoke a lot of cigarettes and be dramatic about things. However, the untimely murder of Downey's brother-in-law puts a bit of a wrench in things, made worse by the announcement that his (estranged) father may or may not be dying soon. All deeply inconvenient for everyone involved. There are parallels of past and present because families are a sticky business, always, and things that happened thirty years ago have a strange ability to cycle back through your life.

--- 

When Downey enters the soft, dark space of Vetinari’s bedroom the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork looks at him and then stops being the Patrician. Downey watches him stop being Patrician. For this moment of time, at least. It is like watching a man disrobe. There is this strange, ephemeral, fleeting vulnerability and Downey wonders what must his own face be like to prompt such a response from a man as glacial as Vetinari.

Downey says, ‘I don’t do that.’

‘What is it that you don’t do?’

‘I’m alright.’ Downey stands, still, in the doorway of the secret passage he enters through because they cannot be obvious about anything. They’ll never be able to be obvious about anything. Even in death they’ll keep their secrets, this thing between them being a large one. Amos will be buried in the family plot and when Annette dies, she will be buried next to him. Downey will be buried at the Assassins’ Guild. Vetinari will be buried somewhere. Downey doesn’t know what arrangements he has made.

‘Drink?’ Vetinari asks.

‘Please.’

‘What is it that you don’t do?’

‘Whatever you were preparing for,’ Downey accepts the whiskey. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t weep on you. I won’t sully the sheets or anything.’

Vetinari’s mouth thins but he says nothing on that, only motions to the edge of the bed for Downey to sit on since there is only one chair in the room and it is the desk chair, currently occupied by a stack of books. Vetinari had been reading in a dressing gown, sitting atop of the sheets on account of the heat.

‘Well,’ Downey sighs, sinking against a bedpost. ‘He’s dead.’

Well - it is done. Thus, Always (2.0) is completed. 

Thank you all so much for coming on this incredibly long, sometimes slow, ride! It means a lot and I hope everyone had fun along the way. Everything after this are epilogues and appendixes! Including a letter from Joss telling us who was in that file Downey filched for him.

(gotta say, big shout-out to ahufflepuffhobbit who listened to me talk about Jocelyn and Downey non-stop for like ten months straight.)

(also big shout-out to dellevigne who kindly lets me go !!!!!!!!! about Downey at them from time to time.)

(also also big shout-out to squadron-of-damned who is why I restarted Thus Always in the first place.)

thank you all! <3 <3 <3

#discworld #thus always the redux #writing #lord downey #vetinari #downlock #discworld fanfic #downey x vetinari #vetinari x downey #thus always

[lady-k-here-as-well]

illustrations for @asgardiancoroner and her incredible work on ao3

love it so much 💔❤️

#discworld #havelock vetinari #samuel vimes #vetvimes #vimes x vetinari #discworld fanart #discworld fanfic #sam vimes as john keel #young havelock vetinari #the glorious 25th of may #gnu terry pratchett #lord vetinari #sam vimes #night watch book #night watch

[autisticfiend]

Our Plans For (After) Life

Havelock is older than him. What it means is hard to think about.

A G-rated Drumknott/Vetinari double drabble. Lots of non-sexual intimacy and a pillow talk about death.

Read on AO3.

#fiend's posts #fiendish fics #discworld #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #drumknott #rufus drumknott #vetinari #havelock vetinari #lord vetinari #discworld fanfiction #discworld fanfic #drumknott x vetinari #vetinari/drumknott #drumknott/vetinari #vetinari x drumknott #vetiknott #vetinari and drumknott

[theygotlost]

ok fuck it idc here it is. I wrote 90% of this at 3 am last week when I couldnt sleep. just a little thang I had to get out

Living Not in Vein

William realizes he has more in common with Otto than he thought.

G rated + 759 words

They found Otto crumpled in a heap on the cobbles of the Street of Cunning Artificers. The frames of his dark glasses lay scattered among a mess of his equipment, all stomped out of shape. He groaned when Sacharissa knelt down and turned him over.

"His skin is ice cold! That's bad, isn't it? Is he dying?"

"Er, I think he's always like that, Sacharissa."

"Oh. Right." 

Otto was struggling to sit up.

"What happened? Are you alright?" She knew it was a silly question.

"Some men," Otto mumbled, "five or six... I could have dealt with zhem if my hands vere not so full... and if zhey had not brought so much... garlic..." He reached up gently to touch his neck, and that was when William noticed the band of suspiciously garlic bulb-sized welts.

"Oh, Otto..." Sacharissa breathed.

"I vill be fine," Otto declared as the pair helped him shakily to his feet. He forced a befanged smile, but it was more of a grimace. "No vorries!"

Supporting his weight, the three began their trudge back toward Gleam Street.

"But this is a violent crime! We should report it to the Watch!" said Sacharissa.

"And write a story," suggested William.

"Zhere is no story," Otto sighed. "It is not ze first time. Or second. Or third. And it vill not be ze last. It is not news. Just olds."

An uncomfortable silence descended. Dog bites man, William recalled. Man attacks vampire.

"Do you know vhat ze vorst part of it is?" Otto added quietly.

"What?" asked Sacharissa, her throat drying up.

"Otto—"

Otto struggled to get out his next words. "Ze vorst part is vhen I feel ze... urges rising up inside... vhen I have to sing my songs just to keep from givink in... all I can zhink is... zhose men are right."

"I am a monster!" he snapped. "I am dangerous! Zhat is simply ze truth! Oh, sometimes being on ze vagon is so hard, so hard...." He buried his face in his hands.

"Then why do it?" William heard himself ask.

"William!" Sacharissa hissed.

Otto looked up in surprise. "Vhat do you mean?"

There was no stopping him now. "Why not be a blo— a B-word-sucking creature of the night, if that's your nature? Why not be true to yourself? All this effort to deny who you are, and what for?" It was a question that had been weighing on William's mind for quite a while.

Sure, joining the Temperance League was pretty much the only way a vampire could simmer acceptably in the Ankh-Morpork melting pot, but William failed to see what they got out of it. Back in Uberwald— at least it was said, his internal editor added— the most powerful vampires lived in castles with twisted black spires and lorded over villages of terrified peasants who sacrificed their crops, or their firstborns, or a steady supply of virgins, or whatever. He made a mental note to send a clacks inquiry to the office of Lady Margolotta later to do some fact-checking.

Otto looked hurt. "A vampire is vhat I am, not who I am," he said, as if William was stupid for missing something so obvious.

"The difference being?"

"Who am I? I am an iconographer. Capturing ze light and shadows, zhat is my craft, my purpose! It is everyzhing! It is vhy I came to Ankh-Morpork in ze first place, yes? Ze people back in Schüschein zhink I am stealink zheir souls vith my cursed magic box."

“I suppose that—”

“Who are you, Villiam? I ask you zhis. Do you say, 'I am ze son of Lord de Vorde'?"

"No! I—"

"But it is just how you vere born, no? You cannot deny it?"

William felt the cobbles beneath him turn to quicksand. Otto was giving him the phosphorescent stare that only a vampire could give. "Well, yes, but—"

"So you understand."

For once, William de Worde was at a loss for words. He settled on tensing his jaw resentfully instead. 

Sacharissa, feeling out of place in all this, politely cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should be getting back now,” she said lamely.

For the rest of the journey, William stewed on the comments from the vampire leaning on his shoulder. The mere thought of his own father was making his skin crawl more than usual. Perhaps I really have been stupid, he reflected. What you are and who you are… they’re both true, aren’t they? But perhaps, for just a moment, the Truth can leave its boots off and relax. 

#ok *runs away forever #discworld #discworld fanfic #otto chriek #william de worde #sacharissa cripslock #mine

[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.

#Like brainrot this took root in my brain #I wrote it in a single day #I'm sorry #The bit in Jingo where it reports their deaths is chilling #This was too big an idea for me not to do it #Again I'm sorry. But I'm also kind of proud. #discworld #gnu terry pratchett #writeblr #lamura dex writes! #discworld fanfic #sam vimes #angua von uberwald #carrot ironfoundersson #Sergeant Detritus #cheery littlebottom #jingo #This is a lot of tags #fanfic

[helenvader]

I wish there was more Rufus/Havelock art. They are so sweet together.

I ship Havelock with Sam, too, but those two have a totally different dynamics. :-)

So, at least I can share my two favourite Rufus/Havelock fanfics. ♥️

#discworld fanfic #havelock vetinari #rufus drumknott

[headcanonsandmore]

Connection

Summary:  Angua and Cheery enjoy some rare down-time during a diplomatic mission to Sto Lat.

                        Read on FFN.                               Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~

‘Well, that was an interesting day.’

Angua groaned into the mattress she had just collapsed onto. For the life of her, she could not understand why Vetinari kept sending Mr Vimes on these diplomatic missions around the Sto Plains, but she sure was getting sick of being part of the security detail every time.

Of course, she’d never mention this to Mr Vimes himself. He knew how good she was at her job, and she had no intention of letting him down. It was just… did these things always have to happen in the run-up to a full moon?

She could hear Cheery taking her heeled boots off and climbing onto the bed next to Angua.

Sighing, Angua turned her head to look up at her friend.

‘“Interesting” is one word for it,’ she muttered.

Cheery chuckled, her beard twitching.

‘Sto Lat has a fascinating history,’ she said, grinning down at Angua. ‘And the locals are very friendly.’

‘I wish their diet was a bit more friendly,’ Angua sighed, adjusting her weight to lay on her side, using her elbow to keep her head up. ‘I swear, why does everything round here have to include cabbages?’

Cheery smiled.

‘Full moon is coming round, isn’t it.’

‘Yeah,’ Angua said. ‘Vetinari always sends us on these things at the worst possible time. It won’t look good for Ankh-Morpork if one of its sergeants ends up guzzling down an entire henhouse.’

‘But you never do eat that much,’ Cheery said, sweetly. ‘And you always go back to leave money the next day.’

Angua felt herself blushing.

‘You’re just saying that to be nice,’ she mumbled, turning onto her other side.

‘You know fully well I’m not,’ Cheery replied. ‘I’m being honest and straightforward, like any dwarf would.’

‘Yeah, and you being cute as a button whilst doing it certainly doesn’t hurt, does it?’

Cheery’s smile grew wider. Angua didn’t even have to look; she knew.

‘You think I’m cute, Angua?’

‘Of course I bloody well do, don’t I?’ Angua said, feeling immensely embarrassed. ‘You don’t have to rub it in.’

‘Well, I think you’re cute too, Angua,’ Cheery said, laying down next to her friend. She wrapped her arms around Angua’s middle and gave her a hug. ‘And -oh- is that new shampoo?’

‘It’s the same dog shampoo I always use,’ mumbled the mortified Angua. ‘It’s the only stuff that works on me.’

‘Angua…’ Cheery said, softly. ‘Why are you so insistent that you aren’t cute?’

‘Werewolves aren’t cute.’

‘Well, in that case, dwarfs aren’t normally cute but I manage okay. Or are you willing to take back the compliment you gave me?’

‘No…’ Angua sighed. ‘It’s just a… wossname… psychological thing. If I was cute, I’d be a dog, not a wolf.’

‘Wolfs can be cute. I’m sure Carrot thinks you’re cute.’

Angua sighed. He did, that was true. Well, he had mentioned it a couple of times. Never when they were on duty, of course. But he had mentioned it. Which was pretty unusual for Carrot.

‘Okay, fine,’ Angua said, turning to lie on her back. ‘I will begrudgingly accept that I’m cute,’

‘Great!’ Cheery replied. She stretched out a hand. ‘So… truce?’

‘Truce,’ Angua said, before smiling and shaking the proffered hand. ‘Thanks, Cheery.’

Cheery returned the smile, before cuddling closer into Angua’s side. Angua had to admit, she liked it more than she would ever admit. She liked Cheery a lot. They were best friends, after all. Yes, their friendship might have raised a few eyebrows in the past, but this was the new century*

Angua smiled to herself. For now, at least, she could relax.

 *As to what century it was, the historians hadn’t made up their minds yet. This is the inclination of all historians throughout the multiverse at any given point.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you enjoyed my first drabble about Discworld! I haven't for the characters of this series much, but hopefully I've done the characters justice.

#discworld #discworld fanfiction #discworld fanfic #angua von uberwald #cheery littlebottom #cherie littlebottom #fluff #platonic fluff