SONG MEME 2 LOL

Note: So I was going to write this musical piece that featured Vetinari and Grace Speaker (OTP 4REALZ) singing a duet but that was hard so I did this instead.

Yeah, I know you're mad grateful, you're welcome, you're welcome.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm totally Terry Pratchett. No wait, wait. No beard, no hat, female, 22 years old, rarely wears black . . . MY GOD I'M NOT HIM AT ALL. These aren't my characters, please give me some time to weep and come to grips with that fact.

Song note: I used the 'Recently Played' playlist for this one, and just shuffled them randomly. I feel like this gives you a more accurate feel of the type of music I listen to. I fully expect wholehearted disappointment since it pretty much consists solely of Mika and Lady GaGa. Suck it, I listen to what I want.

"(571): next time the cops show up in riot gear we should probably leave

(703): and miss being on the news....no way"

- Texts From Last Night

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Mika – Grace Kelly

Grace couldn't imagine, really, that this was happening. She'd managed to make it to forty-five without ever having a serious, long-term relationship – sure, she'd dated around and been in relationships that might have become serious – and not only did she manage to wind up in one, she'd wound up in one with the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.

And they were fighting.

Really.

She crossed her arms as she spun her back to him. "Listen, if you're looking for some floozy to come around to anytime you're not busy with other, foreign, important floozies, then you'd best find yourself another woman, Havelock."

"Grace, that was almost forty years ago!" She could tell he was frustrated now, probably running his hands through his hair like he did when he couldn't figure out what to do at that very moment. "She's not anything more, I mean, she thinks she is, sure, but she's just, you know, what she is."

"So would you like me to be a b-total vampire that wears ugly sweaters? Would that be better for you?"

"You're going too far," he warned. She sniffed and stuck her nose skyward. He sighed. "Grace, I don't . . . I like you for everything you are. You don't have to change." There was a long pause.

"Leave."

"Grace . . ."

"Get out."

He made a frustrated noise, and she heard the telltale sound as he dropped his hands to his sides. "Grace, listen. I. Uh. I love you."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. She blinked. "What?"

"I'll be going. See you around."

"Havelock Vetinari, what did you say?" She spun around. He was watching her with a slight, lopsided smile. She felt a smile swim onto her face as well. "Get over here, you." He walked over and grabbed her around the waist.

"I shouldn't leave then?"

She kissed him. That was all the answer that needed given.

Mika – Lollipop

"What's it like not being married?" Young Sam asked one day. Drumknott blinked. "All the people my mum and dad socialize with are. Except you and Nobby and Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua and Lucky."

"So why don't you ask them?" Drumknott asked cautiously.

"Nobby says it's not appropriate for children, like, and that's not the kind of thing you ask Lucky and Carrot and Angua about."

Drumknott wasn't sure if he felt honored or insulted. "It's . . . different," he concluded.

"Duh."

"I've never much worried about it," he concluded. "You worry about it too much and it just gets you down. You start feeling like you're alone."

"Are you?"

"Only if you want to be."

Sam nodded and swung his legs off the side of the desk. "I want ice cream," he concluded, appearing to have given the matter all the thought he cared to. "D'you like chocolate?"

Drumknott smiled and tucked the file away. "I prefer tea," he said quietly. "But let's go to the kitchen and see what we can do about some ice cream, shall we?"

Train – Hey, Soul Sister

Moist loved watching Adora, and had done from the first day he'd met her. For a woman who had never been seen wearing anything in a primary color, and certainly never anything with even a hint of an interesting cut, she was the most memorable person he'd ever met – from the way her cigarettes smelled to the way she walked around the bank and the post office and the Golem Trust, slipping in and out of the crowd, pausing, checking, just standing – he just couldn't get her out of his head.

"What're you watching?" she asked, drifting over to stand beside him on the balcony, where he'd been overlooking the workings of the Post Office. And he looked over and there she was, every graceful, flowing inch and curve of her. She was still as beautiful as ever, even with the changes, and he had been surprised to find in himself that he was able to appreciate this different, new beauty; to take it in and revel in it and see it for what it was in all its complexity and terror and strength and wonder. He wrapped an arm around her hips. "You," he said, and kissed her. His hand slid up to her stomach and settled there, resting lightly on the ridge of the new curve, ever-growing these past months. "Both of you."

She leaned into him, a ghost of a smile on her face. And he committed the scene to memory as he stood there and smiled, because he knew it would be one he'd want to relive one day, just in case he'd missed something the first time around.

Lady GaGa – Telephone

Susan rarely dreamed, mostly because even in sleep, she was in control enough to avoid the things, and her unusual heritage meant dreams, for her, were more than just creations of her subconscious. But for the past few months, a familiar face had leered at her, up out of the darkness, dark eye glinting in impossible light, and she would shut the dream off, tuck it away, and sleep until the morning.

"So rude of you to ignore me like that," he said finally one night, while a winter's snow settled on their hair. There was no feel to any of it – there couldn't be, because he was dead and she was dreaming – but he was speaking to her anyway, like he'd never gone. "Months I've been trying."

"Well you can keep at it, because I don't want to talk to you," she said haughtily, forcing the thought of him from her mind.

"But don't remember all the fun we had? I think that was the best Hogswatch I've ever had, right up until you killed me." He leaned in, and there was no breath on her face, no warmth. Images from the Hogswatch past swarmed and swam around them. Murder and fear and the end of the world and blood and teeth and Death. She shut her eyes.

"I am tired of these dreams," she ground out through grit teeth. "Leave."

"So much fun," he mused, though the world around them was ebbing away at the edges.

"I don't want to talk anymore," she snarled. And the dream snapped off. In her mind, Susan stood and watched and waited, and after long enough, she drifted back to sleep, dreamless.

Lady GaGa – Speechless

Glenda wasn't the type to cry, ever. Crying was for silly girls and children. But the way he'd looked at her, as they'd walked out of the valley, when she'd laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to tell him they'd come around, they'd see one day, and the way he'd snarled that no human knew, and apparently no orc did either, had so startled her and frightened her, that here she was. She leaned her elbows on her knees and blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief. She knew it must be hard for him – caught between two worlds – but she'd thought that even though she didn't understand, she might offer him valuable enough companionship and empathy in his isolation that he'd understand.

She became aware of his thin body next to her, sitting next to her. She just cried, and cried, and finally a skinny arm slipped around her shoulders and a chin rested on her head. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I spoke in anger." She slid her arms around his chest and cried into the rough shirt. "I don't know what else to say."

Through the sobs, she managed to smile, and put a finger to his lips. He watched her for a minute, and then shrugged, and pulled her back in, quietly holding her. "I don't either," she sniffed. And she settled into the curve of him and he held her, until they both fell asleep.

Mika – Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)

Vimes saw the way she looked at the other women at the parties and the balls. She was stable, a rock in the ever-heaving sea of his life, but he knew it bothered her, at least a little. The way she dressed, the way she ate, the way she held herself, all spoke to a slight fear, a reservation. But she'd never asked the question before today.

"Sam, dear?" She turned, just a touch of anxiety in her face. "Does this dress make me look fat?"

Vimes paused. "Sybil," he finally settled on, setting his face in an expression of both reproach and surprise, "what kind of question is that?"

"I don't know, the way it's cut around the waist . . ."

"Sybil dear," he said calmly, moving up to stand beside her in their full-length mirror, "you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Because the answer doesn't matter," he said, bewildered. "It doesn't matter what some dress makes you look like, I'm going to love everything about how you look." He gestured to their reflections. "Sybil, everything about you is beautiful."

"Answer the question, Sam," she said, turning to him, arms crossed.

Vimes swallowed. Evasive maneuvers had failed. "That dress was never my favorite," he finally muttered, completely honestly. Sybil beamed and pulled him into her warm embrace. Vimes blinked. "Really?"

"I can always count on you to be honest." She stood back and fussed with the bodice a little before waving her hands at the reflection. "I always hated this one too. I'll drop it off at the shonky shop tomorrow, no time to change tonight." She took his hand gently before turning her attention to straightening his tie. The she smiled warmly at him once before turning to the door. "Who cares what else anyone thinks? You're the only one that counts."

Lady GaGa – So Happy I Could Die

Gray robes, gray mist, gray feelings and a gray world. But now this . . . This. The way smells drifted lazily through the air and into her nose, the way her clothes felt against her skin, the way colors sizzled their paths across the back of her eyes and seared a trail into her brain, and taste. The chemicals, the spark, the sizzle of the reaction and the punch of the flavor.

Dark brown, hard yet smooth and warm to the touch, a sound that went chock when you broke it open, and the taste. It swam through the nose and across her tongue and it tasted like the color red, felt like silk as she swallowed.

Myra LeJean floated into the sea of chocolate, the ocean of sensation, and breathed and laughed until it swallowed her in everything that it was.

Lady GaGa – Teeth

The dark-haired Morporkian had done something no one had dared do in over five hundred years. He met her, he'd shaken her hand, they'd exchanged pleasantries and then, over dinner, while his companions spoke of politics and the sights they'd seen as he sat quietly by, observing, he turned to her, smirked, and then flashed his teeth.

It was a gesture that couldn't be ignored.

That had been five hours ago. Now she was naked, hovering on her hands and knees over him, and he was laying there in bed, dressed, like he'd not expected it, except for the cheeky expression, the way he lay there with his hands cradling his head.

"Show me your teeth," she challenged him.

"Show me control," he countered, as she leaned down toward his neck. "Show me your will." She watched him, and he cocked an eyebrow. "Bet you can't." And she got up and dressed.

That had been four hours ago. He'd slept, or pretended to, and she had sat in the chair at the desk and read the rather boring book he'd left there, and not his journal, which he'd left underneath it, until he yawned and stretched. "Very good," he'd noted, upon sitting up. She turned to him.

"Now show me your teeth again, boy, if you dare."

He ran his tongue over their ridges and points, eyebrow raised. Her own fangs lengthened. "Now show me control again, if you think you've got what it takes," he said.

In the end, she did.

Lady GaGa – Alejandro

Sergeant Angua arched her neck and back and closed her eyes and thought about sex. It was hard not to, given the current situation. Carrot inhaled sharply as she twisted her hips ever so slightly to the left. Her mouth gaped open, lips slightly curled into a smile, but so slightly as to be undetectable. "Angua," he breathed, leaning down with the next rock of his hips, his strong arms on either side of her, his breath warm on her face and neck.

"Shh," she breathed, running her hand across his short-cropped hair. "Don't say my name."

He grunted with the motion and nipped her ear. "You prefer Delphine?"

"Shhh," she shushed him again and ran her hands down his back. "Don't say my name."

She'd never liked it when people used her name during. It felt too much like love.

Lady GaGa – Bad Romance

The city loved her citizens, and loved everything they gave. She loved the stink and the money and the blood and the love and the hate and the towering buildings and sweeping roads and architecture, hideous and elegant alike, because in the end, she knew it was all for her. The newspaper's flashbulbs, the brawls, the babies born and the marriage vows said, they were all for her some way or another. And she drank it all in every day, and held it close because all of it, every step and dollar, was a tribute to her, a prayer, a temple in her honor constructed on faith and belief and hope.

There were those that she held closer, and she clung to them, and they lived and died in her embrace. They may have loved her, they may have hated her, but in the end they devoted themselves to her; they were her priests and her paupers, her lords and liars. And this one – this one was the best of all.

Ankh-Morpork held on to Havelock Vetinari – her favorite son, her man of the hour – because he loved her and hated her at the same time, for everything that she was, and devoted himself to her anyway.

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OH HAY SERIES OF HIDEOUSLY MEDIOCRE RAMBLES.

Hey Discworld, do you like turtles? That's cool. You know what else you might like? Reviews. I know I do! Please leave some at the door on your way out, it's the only thing that keeps me from drunk texting my friends at 2 am about my gin-inspired culinary creations, and you don't want to be responsible for that, do you? Yeah, totally didn't think so.