Tag: Discworld

huinsutt99:

notbecauseofvictories:

Listen, I hear what you’re saying, but Young Sam being the deadly combo of his mother’s powerful Ladies Who Organize tendencies, and his father’s stubborn anti-authority pragmatism makes him an ideal community organizer. He’s cheerful and unflagging and drinks coffee at a rate that would impress even Maladict; he has a dartsboard in his office with an iconograph of Lord Downey II pinned to it, and when asked his response is invariably a chilly, “he knows what he did.” 

When you look deeply in his eyes you can see the abyss looking back. 

(It wants to know if you’ve signed that petition yet.)

#discworld#………look mostly I want a discworld novel about young vimes grappling with his own kind of guarding dark#a guarding dark that protects against a more slippery kind of dark; a waiting dark#cool and patient and careless; as in it doesn’t care about the blood or the death or the cost—it only seeks to further its own darkness#the kind of darkness that lingers in locked bank vaults and unsafe mines and private clubs; places where the darkness is a feature#rather than something to be guarded against#yes exactly I want sam vimes the second Kicks Off The Labor Movement#the Vimes Boots Theory of Wealth Inequality deserves nothing less#also I couldn’t figure out how to turn it into a joke#but the reason you can’t call it “grassroots” politics is because there isn’t any grass in ankh-morpork#“cobblestone level” politics is the closest they get  @notbecauseofvictories

Mrs. Earwig was popular among the younger witches, because if you did witchcraft her way, you could wear so much jewelry that you could barely walk.  Granny Weatherwax wasn’t popular with anyone much–

–except when they needed her.  When Death was standing by the cradle or the axe slipped in the woods and blood was soaking into the moss, you sent someone hurrying to the cold, gnarly little cottage in the clearing.  When all hope was gone, you called for Granny Weatherwax, because she was the best.

And she always came.  Always. But popular?  No.  Need is not the same as like.  Granny Weatherwax was for when things were serious.

Terry Pratchett, “Wintersmith” (via noirandcandycorn)

lordxeras:

people say “so and so character would get along” but do you ever imagine two characters from different fiction that, should they ever meet, would be a reason for everyone to duck and cover and pray for their lives because ALL HELL IS ABOUT TO BREAK LOOSE.

That’s Granny Weatherwax and McGonagall 

discworldtour:

The wizard known as Rincewind lurched into the room, white-faced, and stopped in front of the table.
“I do not wish to volunteer for this mission,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” said Lord Vetinari.
“I do not wish to volunteer, sir.”
“No one was asking you to.”
Rincewind wagged a weary finger. “Oh, but they will, sir, they will. Someone will say: hey, that Rincewind fella, he’s the adventurous sort, he knows the Horde, Cohen seems to like him, he knows all there is to know about cruel and unusual geography, he’d be just the job for something like this.” He sighed. “And then I’ll run away, and probably hide in a crate somewhere that’ll be loaded on to the flying machine in any case.”
“Will you?”
“Probably, sir. Or there’ll be a whole string of accidents that end up causing the same thing. Trust me, sir. I know how my life works. So I thought I’d better cut through the whole tedious business and come along and tell you I don’t wish to volunteer.”
“I think you’ve left out a logical step somewhere,” said the Patrician.
“No, sir. It’s very simple. I’m volunteering. I just don’t wish to. But, after all, when did that ever have anything to do with anything?”
“He’s got a point, you know,” said Ridcully. “He seems to come back from all sorts of–”
“You see?” Rincewind gave Lord Vetinari a jaded smile. “I’ve been living my life for a long time. I know how it works.”

– Rincewind volunteers but under protest |
Terry Pratchett, The Last Hero

discworldtour:

This wasn’t normal weather even for midwinter, and this was springtime. It was a challenge. Or perhaps it was just a game. It was hard to tell, with the Wintersmith.
Only it can’t be a game because the lambs are dying. I’m only just thirteen, and my father, and a lot of other people older than me, want me to do something. And I can’t. The Wintersmith has found me again. He is here now, and I’m too weak.
It would be easier if they were bullying me, but no, they’re begging. My father’s face is grey with worry and he’s begging. My father is begging me.
Oh no, he’s taking his hat off. He’s taking off his hat to speak to me!
They think magic comes free when I snap my fingers. But if I can’t do this for them, now, what good am I? I can’t let them see I’m afraid. Witches aren’t allowed to be afraid.
And this is my fault. I: I started all this. I must finish it.

– on responsibility |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith