#Bee can technically eat herself and survive like that

[f3ntime]

@ombrathefurry

Queen picked the vegan option of cannibalism with a gf that would probably beat the shit out of queen for being too close to bee

Also bestie almost killed Larry which is funny

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - deleted scene #1

you know you never stood a chance series

deleted scene #1: you don't have to go home

series masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 3.5k

Summary: set after the finale (like a few hours later lol) but before the epilogue. Joel catches a moderate but not life-threatening illness that forces you to tackle a subject you'd rather avoid.

Warnings: established relationship, angst, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, poor communication, p in v, illness, anxiety, avoidance of feelings, major life decisions

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you see Tommy’s smug face at dinner, you turn on the heel of your boot to leave.

“Where’re you going?” Ellie says, coming up behind you. “You eating outside?”

“Sure, yup, that’s it,” you say, clutching your tray with both hands.

“Cool! Joel, I’m going to eat outside too,” she calls over her shoulder.

You risk a glance to see Joel looking at the two of you, brows wrinkled. He shrugs, and Tommy shakes his head at you.

“Chicken,” he mouthes.

You flip him off and go find a patch of grass to picnic on.

Ellie talks while she eats, food occasionally spraying out of her rapid-fire mouth. You’re more than happy to sit quietly and listen, to hear about the other kids she’s met and the neat things she’s found in her new room.

Your fortune doesn’t last. Tommy comes out of the hall with his hands in his pockets, still smirking.

“Ellie, why don’t you go grab some dessert?” he says as he helps himself to a seat on the ground.

“No thanks,” she says, looking between you.

“It’s pie,” he says.

“No thanks,” she says again. She puts on a very unnerving fake smile made worse by her widened eyes.

“He’s trying to get you to leave—“ you start.

She interrupts. “I know. I wanna hear whatever it is.”

“He’s trying to get you to leave so he can ask me about grownup stuff.”

Her nose crinkles as she catches on. “Ugh,” she groans and hauls herself to her feet before going inside. She takes both of your empty trays with her, and you feel a little sting of pride, however misplaced.

“So,” Tommy grins. “Nothin’ between you ‘n my brother, huh?”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You look up, and the smugness is gone. “What all did he tell you?”

“Just that y’all had ‘some kinda situation’ back in Boston. And that you stayed over there last night.”

You snort and shake your head. “I guess ‘some kinda situation’ is about right. I didn’t want to tell you I was fuckin’ him for rent.”

His eyes widen. “Shit.”

“Yeah. And for food, before that. Didn’t want you to think I was a whore, I guess.” You’re sitting with your legs crossed, but it doesn’t stop your knee from bouncing as you look anywhere but Tommy.

“Hey, no,” he says, leaning forward. “Look, ain’t nothin’ wrong with surviving however you got to.”

You feel a wretched sting at the corner of your eyes. He was always so goddamn genuine, but it was still hard to accept his words at their value.

He scoots over and grabs your hand. “I mean it. I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“That why you don’t wanna move into their place?”

“What?”

“I was gonna offer to help move your stuff, but Joel said you told Ellie you were stayin’ put.”

“Do you need me to? To make room for someone?”

“No! No, you can stay. I just figured you’d want the company. And well, Joel said—“

You wait, but he pretends to be distracted by a honey bee.

“Joel said what?”

“Just, he thought you would. Since y’all lived together before, and you talked about it.”

You snort. “We talked about it? Is that what he calls our conversation from this morning?”

“I dunno. It’s Joel. You think he gave me all the details?”

“Fair. Nah, I’d like to stay on my own. Not that anyone asked me to do anything different.”

It’s then that Maria wanders out with Alé, setting her down to explore. She screws up her little face, ready to rage about being placed on her tummy before she realizes she’s somewhere fun.

Joel and Ellie come out a few moments later to find the three of you watching Alé intently. She’s given up on trying to eat the grass after several unsuccessful attempts. Her little fist would open and close, only to find herself empty-handed when she brought it to her mouth.

Now, however, she’s returned to frustration and is attempting to roll herself onto her back.

It’s not going well, but you’re all watching and encouraging her.

Ellie squats to peer down at her. “You’re like a big potato,” she says.

Joel wipes a hand down his face. “Ellie,” he warns.

“What?”

“Is that any way to talk to your cousin?”

She looks up at him, startled. “Uhh. I don’t know. I’ve never had a cousin before.” She regards Alé again. “You’re a strong potato. You can do it.”

Alé responds with a loud yell as she pushes again and then falls quiet as she finds herself flat on her back looking up at Ellie.

Her little audience cheers and claps, unfortunately startling her. Maria and Tommy shower her in praise, and you stand up, stepping back by Joel.

“You comin’ back to ours?” he says, not looking at you.

“No, not tonight.” You need the space. You’ve grown accustomed to being alone, found peace in it even, and the last two days have been a new kind of exhausting.

But you see the way his lips twitch into a scowl before he schools his face back to neutral.

“Mind walking me home?” you offer.

The tension falls just a fraction from his shoulders. “Course not,” he says. “You gotta lead the way, though.”

Tommy shoots you a look you don’t know how to interpret when you say goodnight.

“Are you going to be gross? Do I need to stay out of the house?” Ellie says far too loudly.

“Nah, you’re safe,” Joel says, shaking his head.

It’s weird. You hold hands on the walk back. It’s a quiet intimacy you’d never even considered to share with him before.

The warmth of his palm and cradle of his fingers are undeniably nice.

It’s also undeniably awkward. You stand on your porch, stiffly holding hands like he hasn’t been inside you a hundred times over.

You look up at him and appreciate the way the sunset falls across his back.

He brings his free hand up to cup the back of your head and gives you maybe the chastest kiss you’ve ever had. Certainly more than you ever thought him capable of. It kind of hurts your feelings, actually.

“What the hell was that?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You kissed me like I’m your grandma!”

He rolls his eyes to high heaven. “I was tryin’ to be respectful.”

“Gross. You know what? That was disrespectful. Kiss me proper, Miller.”

He’s more than happy to oblige, even though it results in the boner he was trying to avoid in the first place. He gets you pressed up against your front door with a handful of ass and your soft moans against his lips.

You break away when you hear a voice down the road and put your hand against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Guess I should get goin’,” he says. He doesn’t move, though.

You’re all too aware of the way his cock is straining against his jeans and you almost invite him in. How you manage to find the self-control not to, you’ll never know. But it feels important, somehow, that you sleep alone tonight.

“You wanna meet up for breakfast in the morning?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says. His hands rest on your hips as he steals one last kiss. “I’ll see ya then, sweetheart.”

You can’t seem to stomach the idea of watching him walk away, so you go inside.

He waits until he hears the deadbolt click before he heads for home.

Summer withers, and autumn sees you spending the night together a couple of times a week. Always you at theirs—you never ask him over to your place. It’s a silly line you’ve drawn, and even though you know you’re the one who put it there, you feel bitter on the cold nights alone.

Worse yet, you know you’re only doing it out of stubbornness. You made a big fucking deal out of it, and now you have to stick with it so it doesn’t look like you’re weak. Like you can’t be alone. Like you need him.

And also, no one has fucking asked you to do any differently, so. Whatever.

But it’s not like you don’t know that he wants to.

No, he hasn’t asked, but he may as well have. His clothes are kept to one side of the closet. There are three empty drawers in his dresser.

His books are crammed on the top half of the shelves in the living room, stacked askew in a way you knew had to drive him crazy. The fuck you quilt hangs over the back of the sofa, though it’s more often found wrapped around Ellie.

By the first snowfall, he keeps a toothbrush for you in the medicine cabinet beside his own. There’s a Joel-shaped indent in the left side of the mattress, betraying how the right stays vacant when you’re gone.

The list goes on. The coffee mug. The little tin of vaseline for your chapped lips on the nightstand. All the spaces where nothing sits, waiting.

But he doesn’t ask.

You haven’t seen Joel for two days. It’s weird. You’re not sure how to feel about it—you’re the one who wanted space, after all. But so far, you’ve at least met at the mess hall for a meal each day.

You’re walking home after working the breakfast shift on the third day when Ellie catches up with you. You’ve seen her around but haven’t wanted to ask after Joel, not wanting her to think you only talked to her for him.

She looks nervous, though. She’s fiddling with her sleeves and won’t look at you, so you come to a stop.

“What’s going on, kiddo?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Sure, that’s not suspicious or anything.” You’re trying not to be anxious, but her energy is rubbing off.

“Look, don’t get mad; I only agreed not to because it didn’t seem like a big deal, but now it seems like a big deal—”

“Are you in trouble? Is somebody making you uncomfortable?” A thousand bad scenarios have come to life in your mind, each increasingly ridiculous but horrifying. Maybe that’s why Joel’s missing. Maybe someone laid a hand on Ellie, and he killed them. You hope he did.

“What? No,” her scoff cuts through your panic. “Joel’s sick. He didn’t want you to come by and get sick, so he made me promise not to say anything. But he’s being stupid, and now he can barely walk to the bathroom without hacking up a lu—wait, where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going? I’m going to give your idiot father a piece of my mind,” you growl.

She jogs to catch up with you, but her face is red, and she won’t look at you again.

Your brain catches up with your tongue, and you pause. “Hey, I didn’t mean to be weird—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Let’s go. I wanna watch you yell at him.”

You don’t. Not right away, at least. He’s asleep when you get there, and honestly, it’s a little upsetting how unwell he looks. It kind of shakes the anger right out of you.

You promise Ellie you’ll wait for her to come home to yell at him.

The idea of climbing into bed with him is extremely tempting. Instead, you start to draw warm water for a bath and tidy up the things left behind in the wake of his deteriorating condition.

It’s not much. Even sick, Joel is relatively neat. Also, it’s pretty obvious that he’s been living in the same sweats and tee for the last three days. You make sure to set a clean outfit and warm socks on the bathroom counter.

With Ellie bringing dinner from the mess later, you don’t have much to do other than brew tea. The kettle’s on when you hear a groan from upstairs.

He’s heaved himself to sitting when you crack the door open.

“Ellie, I told you to stay out. I don’t want to get you sick.” His voice is crackling and raspy.

You push it open, scowling. “Well, you didn’t tell me shit, so.”

The glower is there immediately. “I’m tellin’ you now, then. Get out.”

“Nope. You lost that chance. Now you’re gonna suck it up and get taken care of.” You start stripping the sweaty sheets off his bed while he’s still sitting on it. “Go on and get in the bath.”

“I’m just gonna lay back down for a bit,” he mumbles.

You press the back of your hand against his forehead, followed by your lips. “You’re burning up. Get in the tub.”

But when you stand, his head follows, and you let him rest against your stomach for a minute, carding your hand through his damp hair.

“C’mon,” you urge, tugging at his hand. He lets you lead him into the bathroom, a marker of how sick he really must be.

The kettle hollers while he’s stripping down, and he’s settled once you return with the tea.

“I don’t want any shitty leaf water right now,” he grumps.

“Too bad! It has honey and lemon, and your throat’s seen better days.”

He accepts the cup, but he’s scowling.

“Y’know, you’re not very scary, butt ass naked in a tub with an owl on your mug,” you remark, sitting on the floor and leaning against the cabinet so you can see him.

“You shouldn’t be here. You’re going to get sick. Did Ellie squeal?”

“Joel, I haven’t seen you in three days. Did you think I wasn’t going to get worried?”

His scowl pouts. “I didn’t mean to worry ya.”

“Yeah, well, you did. So. Don’t do that again.” You purse your lips and look at your tea.

“Hey,” he says, water sloshing as he shifts to get a better look at you. “You don’t gotta do… all this,” he says, gesturing to the mug and the bedroom, where you’ve tucked clean sheets onto his mattress.

“I know.”

He’s loathe to admit it, but the bath did help. Worse yet, the tea helped. He feels a little more human in clean clothes, but you still refuse his help cleaning up.

When you’re done, however, you peel back the blanket and crawl into bed with him. So maybe it’s not all bad, he thinks.

At least, until Ellie gets home and you properly scold him.

He’s asleep more than he’s awake, so you stay. You toss and turn and check on him about a hundred times. If the fever would break, you’d feel better. Except no, you wouldn’t, because that cough that’s settled in his chest scares you far more than you’d like to admit.

You’re not privy to the medical stock in Jackson, but you have a bad feeling that an old man with pneumonia wouldn’t be high on the list for antibiotics.

Not that you think he’d accept them, anyway. He’d be too worried about using up something a kid might need. Or anyone else. He doesn’t seem to realize anyone would put him first.

You and Ellie just might let the town burn for him. (But when you think of Alé, you kind of get it.)

Anyway. When he’s awake, he’s groggy, but you manage to convince him to eat. Never much at once, so you make sure it’s soup or oatmeal. Something soft and packed with nutrients.

On the third day of your stay, he starts to come ‘round the mend. The fever breaks. He starts to stay awake for longer than a couple of hours.

You set him up with what you can and return to your life, but you can’t make yourself go home at night. It’s just because of the damn cough, you tell yourself. You just need to keep an eye on it.

A couple of nights later, he’s awake when you peel the covers back and slide in behind him, arm curling around his waist. You press a kiss to the nape of his neck, nestling in as he rewards you with a contented hum. He lets you hold him for a minute, basking in the embrace before he rolls onto his back.

You’re clinging to him a little too tight.

“Rough patrol?” He says.

You shake your head where it’s buried in his tee. “Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

“Don’t like you havin’ to handle anything,” he grumbles. He knows, both because he’s been told repeatedly and because he’s seen you handle the weapon, that you can protect yourself now.

It doesn’t mean he likes it.

“I was with Tommy. We were fine.” You yawn. It has to be past two now, what with shift change come midnight and then all the cleanup after.

He slips his arm under you so he can tug you closer, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. You press a kiss in the thicket of hair at the center of his chest, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to this. He hopes not—he doesn’t ever want to take it for granted.

You yawn again, eyes watering, but your exhaustion is betrayed by the way your hips press against his thigh.

“What do you need, darlin’? Want me to lick your pussy until you fall asleep?”

“Can I ride you?” you counteroffer.

He groans, cock twitching to attention. “Of course, pretty girl.”

He helps you straddle him and reaches to peel the old t-shirt off your body so he can admire your tits in the moonlight. And the way your face goes soft when you see how he’s looking at you.

You waste no time, shifting around until you’ve got his cock in your hand and are settling atop it. You moan in tandem as he spreads you, the broad tip of him easily pressing through the slick.

“Needy tonight, huh? What’s got you all worked up?” he teases.

“Just you,” you say through a gasp as you grind down all the way.

He reaches up, maybe for your breasts, but you don’t find out. Instead, you intercept them and entwine your fingers.

He gets the idea and holds firm, ever your unwavering foundation. You use his support to gyrate, hips grinding as your thighs push around his to slide up and down on his cock.

Your palms are sweaty, but his grip is tight and desperate. His head tilts back, exposing the long column of his neck.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you get the angle just right. It makes you jerk a little, bumping that sweet spot again. He grunts, teeth gritted as you clamp down around him. When he looks back up at you, he’s positively ravenous.

“No,” you say before he opens his mouth with some bullshit.

“C’mon,” he whines.

“You’re still sick. I’m not lettin’ you cough up a lung. You’re gonna lay there and take what I give ya.”

His eyes narrow at the over the top Texan accent you saved for the last bit. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“You think I’m funny. You love all my jokes.”

“Damned if I don’t,” he grumbles, but it’s betrayed by the look in his eyes. “You, too, y’know.”

You almost freeze up but decide to play obtuse. “You’re right; I do love all my jokes.”

He opens his mouth again, so you change pace a little to throw him off.

It works.

Whatever he was about to say, which you know damn well but aren’t prepared to handle right now, comes out as a broken moan.

In the end, it slips out of you a few days later. It’s not triggered by anything; he doesn’t do anything charming, there’s no intense moment of intimacy or heroism that inspires it.

You don’t mean to say it, but you do mean it.

You’re sitting side by side on his porch, steaming mugs of tea in hand. The pale winter sun has barely broken the horizon, but you had still agreed to come out in the cold with him. Agreed it might be good for him to get some fresh air.

The fuck you quilt is draped over both your shoulders. Joel had grabbed it on the way out the door while you balanced the tea and put your boots on. It cocoons you, but there’s still a little space between you, knees knocking together but bodies apart.

You watch his breath curl out into the dawn, and it just happens.

“I love you, Joel,” you say. It’s quiet, softer than the creak of the swing. It takes you by surprise, as your tongue so often does, but you don’t try to reel it back or brace for disaster.

You don’t need to. You know.

But he freezes. Pauses.

He didn’t know, you realize, he wasn’t sure. All this time, he wasn’t saying it but still making sure you knew.

But you haven’t done the same for him.

He didn’t know.

He wraps his free arm around your shoulder and tucks you into him, chin resting on your head. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The peace lasts for about a minute.

“Now will you stop being so goddamn stubborn and move in?”

*title from "Closing Time" by Semisonic

[oc-character-development]

So I’ve spent the entire day going back to an old story I started rewriting from my first premise at age 13 when I first read The Hunger Games. And I thought I’d give people a basic idea of what it’s about:

Premise:

A future Britain (Now called Britannia once more) ravaged by a nuclear war, but the only functioning part of the world that is left, is ruled by a government of ex war criminals from the successful rebellion that ended and forced the previous rulers and their ancestors into different sectors. These new rulers control everything, from what you eat and where you work to what you call your children.

In the south and south west of the country of Albion, (the bottom part of what was England) there was a population problem, so that part of the country, has a rule of how many children you can have, with the minimum of two, unforced on the five sections in that part of the country, sectors, 1, 2, 4, 5, (sector 1= Salisbury, sector 2= Winchester, sector 2= Somerset 3= destroyed in the nuke fire and never rebuilt but was Cirencester, 4= Oxford, 5= Swindon). If you are found to have more than two children then, you have to choose to keep two and the other children are sent off to a facility in Londinium (London) to be trained to enter the Arena, a series of deadly trials that are specifically created to kill off these children, once they reach between the ages of 13-25 and is designed not to have any of the contestants come out alive.

The facility, is in lock down during the Trials as the building becomes the arena, and everyone who was not picked that year is transported underground to the bunker, the safety spot. Whilst day and night, the contestants are subjected to ‘trials’ or events that happen randomly designed to either kill you, or turn you against the other contestants, and hopefully enough so that they kill you! The final challenge usually is the toughest and where all the remaining contestants usually die.

The parents and families of the contestants aren’t usually told of their child’s means of death and are usually informed that they have died after the trials are over. The sectors absolutely hate the government for this but they can’t do anything about it out if fear of getting their children sent away.

Imogen Lockwood is the youngest of three and has spent most of her teenagehood in the facility. When she is picked to be part of that years trials at age nineteen, she has to survive horrors you could ever really dream of, despite knowing that the changes of her making it out are zero to none alone, for she promised her best friend Phoebe she would. The odds are stacking against her, as the days drag on, But when an alliance is formed between her and two other contestants. Maybe, just maybe, they have a chance of making it out and seeing the light of day once more?

Main characters (and character mood boards)

Imogen Pandora Lockwood:

Imogen is the youngest of three siblings

She is 19

She was raised by her older half brothers Tristian and Percival from the age of nine, when their mother passed away from malnutrition.

She never knew her father as she was the result of an affair whilst her mum was still married to her abusive husband and father of her two older brothers.

She is originally from Sector 5 but at age 14 her middle brother Tristian was caught stealing honey from a farm that was intended as a birthday present for Imogen by patrol guards and found out he was not only brothers to Percival but had a younger sister. Just as he was about to be forced onto the train that would take him to the facility as punishment for his crime, Imogen took his place, citing that he had a job and it was her fault in the first place that he got caught.

She is very proficient at throwing knives, a hobby she picked up in the facility.

Even though she was of age to be picked for the arena she wasn’t selected until she was nineteen

She is selfless, understanding and a brave but she is sometimes rude due to her bad social skills.

She views herself as a murderer who caused her mum’s death

She has left side Hemiplegia and is deaf in her left ear.

Hector ‘Hooper’ Posthumus Larker

Hector is the son of the trial master, Solvig Blaze and the freaking woman who runs the country, therefore making him technically royalty but he absolutely hates the way his parents treat the populace and doesn’t want to be ‘royalty’ at all if that’s what it takes to rule.

He’s actually genuinely really nice and struggles to abide to the rules of the facility desire being part of the armed guard until he punished for this pacificim and thrown into the arena for it.

He had an identity crisis with what he believes in

He is 21

He wanted to become a doctor and did the necessary medical course but was forced by his father and mother to drop out so that he could do the necessary training requirements to set him on the path of one day running the trials.

He is thrown into the arena last minute after interfering with a thirteen year old getting beaten by the other guards.

He knew of Imogen through her eldest brother Percival who also worked at the facility.

Whilst she is living there he starts to develop a crush on her.

Hooper is his soldier code name.

One of the only people outside of Imogen’s family not to treat her differently due to her disabilities.

Achilles Edwards:

Achillies is Imogen’s (and then Hector’s) trainer for the trials.

He’s in his forties early

He is only a trainer because he was forced to be as punishment after being beaten to a pulp for something undisclosed. He resents the system because of his.

But he genuinely cares about the contestants but he goes tough on them.

He lived in sector five and knew of Imogen’s mum as they lived opposite each other but they never interacted as he was a couple of years older than her.

He wants to run off into the country and keep bees but he knows he won’t get very far.

He’s genuinely regarded as a good trainer within the grand scheme of things.

However none of the contestants he had trained has made it past the first week of the trials.

Other characters:

Elyan Lockwood- 26, and the eldest brother of the Lockwood family. Works in the Facility so that he could provide a better income for his younger siblings. He’s horrified to find Imogen at the facility and is eventually caught trying to get her out.

Tristian Lockwood- Tristian is the middle child of the Lockwood trio, at twenty five, he has a drinking problem, after turning to alcohol after the death of their mother and their increasing poverty. He spends all the money Elyan sends over on booze and therefore resorts to stealing for food. It is ultimately this act that gets his sister sent off to the facility.

Phoebe Icarus- 19 years old, and Imogen’s best friend in the facility. She’s the only reason why Imogen hasn’t made another escape attempt by herself yet. She’s not selected into the arena but watches on the screens from the bunker.

Jonah Rhodes- Phoebe’s ex and the idiot who tries constantly to get into knickers as he is under some delusion that Imogen’s previous defending of Phoebe in the break up meant that she wants him, when she couldn’t be any more uninterested.

Megara- the thirteen year old who causes Hector to be thrown into the trials. She bonds with both Imogen and Hector in the arena, they become kind of like defacto parents to the girl.

Cordelia Fritz- she’s twenty, and is the love interest of Phoebe.

(The character photos were made using @sangled’s PicCrew)

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Since you're taking prompts, why not write something for one of your old weblena fairy tale aus

I was torn between SHE’S MINE inspiration from friendship hates magic, and a sweet, soft dance thing that is sort of based of a RP i’m doing with a pal, and the latter on out!

There were numerous reasons Webby hadto hide her wings, and therefore her origins – being a fairy, evena weak one, would have spooked the villagers and tempted the hands ofthose with dark hearts. At least, that was normally the reason herfriends encouraged her to hide them. Today had an additional reason –seeing a fairy gorge herself on the ball buffer would have destroyedthe reputation of faeries everywhere. Thankfully it didn't take muchmagic for Webby to make her wings invisible, so she could snack awayto her heart's content.

“So, do you guys have four stomachslike a cow, or...?” Dewey asked as Webby consumed what had to beher fifth sandwich. The ball was in full swing, and most of theattendants were dancing the night away, lost in romantic music andgentle embraces.

“Aw, gimmie a break.” Webby repliedafter an inelegant burp, reaching over to grab a fistful of...honestly, she didn't know what it was, just that it was different,which was good enough for her. “Creatures like me are supposed tosurvive on honey and dewdrops. You have any idea how good mortal foodtastes after years of bee goop and grass water?” She might havemade a comment on how lucky mortals had it, but this was difficult totell as she was speaking between hefty chews.

Dewey was beginning to have seriousdoubts about the plan he and his brothers cooked up, but he wasrarely one to change his mind even in the worst of circumstances.“I'm just saying you could stand to look a little less... messytonight.”

“What for?” Webby asked, lickingher fingers to make sure nothing had been missed. “I'm the fairygodmother!”

“In-training.” he reminded her.

“In-training,” she repeated, “Butstill! I'm the background character, I'm the one nobody notices untilmy help is needed. And my chosen ward doesn't need my help tonight,this is just practice – is that cheese?” She made a swipe forsomething sticky, just as Dewey noticed Huey giving him the signal –two fingers from each hand, twirling about.

“Practice for the 'big ball ofdestiny', right?” Dewey asked as he grabbed Webby by the shoulders,pulling her away from the table. “The one where Lena walks in withthat fluffy magical dress you make for her-”

“And that lasts for more than thirtyseconds,” Webby lamented, as that spell still needed a lot of work.

“And then she captures everyone'sattention just by walking in, and her chosen prince, or duke, orlord, or whatever, falls in love with her at first sight, and thenthey have that nice, long, slow dance.”

“... Have I told you all thisbefore?”

“About thirty-six times.”

“Well, yes, that's how the actualball will go. This one's just for practice, so when she makes herdebut, everything goes perfectly.” She paused, noticing she wasbeing lightly pushed away from all the yummy food. “What are youdoing?”

“Tell me more about the plan!”Dewey kept pushing, catching Louie's eyes – his brother winked, andset about meshing himself into the crowd, distracting the rightpeople with smooth talk and smoother cons. “Okay, so, Lena walksdown the big staircase that leads right here to the dance hall, isthat it? Hand on the banister, step by step, her other hand ever solightly holding into her dress so she doesn't trip, eyes gazing overthe crowd...”

“Boy, I really have told you thisthirty-six times. Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“Welllllllll.” Dewey stretched outthe word as much as possible before finally stopping near thestairway, and dabbing her cheek with a napkin. “I was justwondering if it'd look anything like that.” he pointed to the topof the stairs, and predictably, Webby's eyes followed.

“Look like what?” But she got heranswer in seconds.

Lena was still in disbelief she wasdoing this. She still had no intention of ever following theridiculous destiny Webby was convinced she had, and a girl like herhad no place anywhere near royalty, much less a party they werethrowing. She was the kingdom outcast, the witch's slave, scorned andhated by all if not pitied. She was not meant to have a happy life,not meant to have friends, not meant to feel beautiful, and severalmonths ago she was convinced none of this would change.

Now here she stood, at the top of thebanister, heart beating in her throat as she looked downward. Shedidn't belong here, and the temptation to run away still burned hotlyin the back of her mind. Despite this, she found the strength to takea step, moving quietly down the stairs, the dress not feeling asuncomfortable as she thought it would. As long as she kept it clean,she could return it to the tailor in the morning and have her aunt benone the wiser about any missing money.

Maybe the color would prove Webbywrong, she tried to joke in her mind – what princess would wear allblack? Black lacing on her legs, black heels on her feet, black silkroses forming a cursed collar around her neck, white lines markingacross her outfit like freshly-spun spider webs. She hadn't worn itlong, and she fumbled once, grasping onto the banister, her faceflushing with embarrassment. But the whole world didn't stop to pointand mock – it went on ignoring her. She took a deep breath andtried again, and as she walked downwards, she finally saw Webby.

Webby, for her part, hadn't dressed upat all. Why would she? Fairy Godmothers were supposed to blend inwith the crowd, be ignored and out of the way until they were needed.So she had on her usual pink dress, the one that seemed to sparklewith every giggle she made, ever changing flowers hanging around theedge so she always smelled like a newborn forest. So she lookedcompletely normal – save for her eyes so wide they threatened toroll out of her skull, and her jaw that hung open wide enough that alarge fish could jump inside. Dewey took care of the latter, calmlypicking up Webby's lower beak and closing it. “Looks nice, doesn'tshe?” Dewey said.

“Nuffhug.” said Webby, whichwasn't really a word, but more like her brain being squeezed tightlyand that puff of noise being the last remnants of rational thoughtshe had.

“Atta girl.” Dewey lightly slappedher arms. “You two have fun, 'kay?” Satisfied, he shot fingersguns towards Lena, and then quickly fled to join his brothers – itwas up to them to make sure the more snooty members of society didn'tget Lena kicked out, and that the girls could have a good timetogether.

At last Lena made it to the final step,and now she stood in front of Webby, who looked ready to tip over andpass out if one gave her a good enough poke. “Hey.”

The word managed to, somewhat, snapWebby back to reality. “Hey!You look... you look... you look...”She repeated it a few more times until she actually heard the recordskip of her own voice, and gave herself a hard mental slap. “GOOD!Good is the word I would use. To describe you.” It wasn't accurate,but to be fair to Webby, she believed a word had yet to be inventedto properly detail Lena's appearance in this brand new dress she'dnever seen before. Was there a single word to express the colors ofthe comforting darkness when the night sky began to envelop yoursight and began to glitter the sky with stars of confidence andacceptance? She didn't think so, nor did she believe she had themental fortitude to come up with it right now. She barely had themental fortitude to keep standing.

“Thanks, I think.” Lena smiled,tucking some loose hair away, feeling somehow a mix of humility andboldness. It was getting harder to remember, or care, that there wereother people around. “So what do people do at these things anyway?Just dance and eat, eat and dance?”

Webby latched onto information, sinceit gave her strength. “Technically it serves as a meet and greetfor King Scrooge and travelers from the north so they can have adiscussion about opening trade routes while in a relaxing atmosphere.But for the rest of us... yeah, pretty much just dancing and eating.”

“I'm not exactly in the mood to eat.”This wasn't entirely true, she was hungry but she didn't want to riskdamaging the clothes she couldn't afford. “And judging from thatpiece of lettuce sticking out your mouth, I think you're good.”

The young fairy blushed, and licked herlips to get rid of the evidence. “I guess that means we can dance.Huey taught me how!” It would take an embarrassingly long amount oftime before she was even close to realizing that had been part of theset-up. “See, you put your hand here, and I put mine there...” Onthe surface, it was just as easy as Webby said it was. Left hand toLena's hip, right to Lena's hand - Lena's other hand on her shoulder- step back, step to the side, step forward, step to the side,repeat."Afteryou do this for a while, you can do it without thinking about it!One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four."

Itwasn't picture perfect – Lena did step on Webby's foot a few times,but Webby laughed it off each time, regaling times she had been inmuch worse pain - remember when they were being chased by unicorns?How about that time with the knight's cursed armor? Then there wasthat whole atrocity with Doofus by the creek... the girls giggled andswayed as they repeated the stories they had lived through together,making up silly arguments and trying to spin the endings to suit thembetter. As Webby predicted, the simple movements soon becameclockwork, moving without thought in that small space of the ballroomfloor.

Theconversation died down little by little, but not due to awkwardnessor running out of things to say. It was something akin to beingcontent, if Webby had to put her finger on it – she who wanted anexciting life of daring action was quite surprised to find joy inthese quiet, slow times. She didn't understand it, and decided thatdidn't really matter. She could simply be with Lena all day long, notchanging a word, merely enjoy her presence and that would be enough.How funny, she thought, that before meeting Lena, she believed sheknew the extent of happiness. Those times were colorless and dullcompared to now.

Lenacould see herself reflected in Webby's big, emotional eyes, and wasslowly beginning to believe that Webby did in fact like her as morethan just her “chosen ward”. That they were friends by choice andnot chance, that they would remain close no matter what destiny hadin store. Of course, by virtue of being older and knowing more waysof the world, she knew exactly what her feelings for Webby were. Ithad become insane to deny them any longer, even though she had vowedto never say them in the waking world. This night would be like adream – happy, yes, but only temporary. A night of self-indulgence,granted by three boys who didn't know how to mind their own business.

Ifthis wasn't a dream – if there were no faeries or destinies orwicked aunts – Lena could imagine what she would have done. Maybetwirl Webby around clumsily to hear that charming laugh of hers, atickle or two before the younger girl begged her to stop, beforetrailing her fingers through those white locks that seemed softerthan petals and probably smelled even sweeter. If this wasn't adream, Lena imagined her cupping Webby's warm cheeks and taking areal first kiss, the kind that sappy schoolgirls dreamed of betweenprinces and doting young maidens, only here it would be real and pureand beautiful. Because, with Webby, because of Webby, Lena did feelbeautiful, and that every action she could do could be beautiful too.

Byfalling in love with Webby, Lena had been allowed to love herself aswell. For this, Lena felt gratitude that could never be repaid, soshe chose to never act on it.

“Lena?”Webby suddenly asked, her voice small and petite and ever sograceful.

“Yeah?”

Thefairy smiled, and Lena was sure that no matter how beautiful Webbymade her feel, nothing and no one could ever as amazing to look asWebby when she smiled.  “Thanks for coming.”

Lenasmiled in turn, and pressed her forehead to Webby's own. “I'm gladI came. But if I sweat through this dress, you owe me big time.”Deflect with a joke, deflect with attitude, deflect deflect deflectand never let her know how you really feel – because tonight was adream and Lena never wanted to wake up.

EventuallyCinderella's carriage would turn back into a pumpkin, the horses backinto mice, and the princess back into a slave in her own home – buthere and now, there was no magic, not even as their fingersintertwined and they felt sparks fluttering in their chest. It wasjust two girls, happy and in love, as the music carried them on.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Sneak Peak of Bee’s Birthday Fic

So @bcdaily may have three-and-a-half hours to wait until her birthday, it is indeed the 11th of March here in England, so as far as I’m concerned the celebrations can start now. The fic that I’m writing her as a gift is a gargantuan beast and possibly one of the most ambitious fanfiction projects I’ve ever worked on, and though I’m plugging away at it relentlessly, it’s not finished yet, but my girl deserves a present on her birthday, so I’m posting a sneak peak in the form of the fic’s first complete scene.

Bee, my darling, you may actually recognise some of this from a concept I sent you ages ago. I’ve been pondering a bunch of different office romance ideas for over a year, and it wasn’t until I mashed two of them together that I actually came up with the idea for this one. I’m really, really pleased with what I’ve done so far and I’m excited to share the whole thing with you, but for now, please enjoy this little slice of what is inevitably going to be a very, very, very large pie.

Happy Birthday, my dearest, most darling friend. You are my heart home and I love you so, so much (and can’t wait for brunch!!!!!)

May 14th, 2018, 8:09 a.m.

Day One

"Lily, good morning," says Remus, smiling like a docile lamb. "This is James."

The office manager has popped up out of nowhere to make this announcement and does so with very little fanfare, much in the same way one might say "this is a baked potato," except James is certainly not a baked potato, but the only child of the CEO, and Lily Evans has just shoved a bacon baguette into her wide open trap.

She has been expecting Remus to get her back since she covered his desk in printouts of John Travolta, who makes Remus uneasy for reasons he can't or won't explain. She prefaces all of her emails to Remus with "Yo, Adele Dazeem!" for that very reason.

So...yes, his vengeance was expected.

Sneaking up on her with Fleamont's son in tow while Lily is inhaling her breakfast like a wildebeest—admittedly, with flagrant disregard for the office's policy on eating at one's desk (don't do it)—and neglecting her morning's work in favour of shopping online for a new mattress, though, is beyond devious, beyond dastardly.

It's also extremely characteristic of Remus, who approaches pranks with effortless sardonicism and knows that Lily's Achilles' heel is appearing unprofessional to important strangers.

Strangers like her ultimate boss's son, for example.

Understandably, she's startled.

Anyone would be startled, were they happily eating their breakfast and considering the benefits of natural latex foam without a care in the word, only to be assailed by man who jumps out at her unexpectedly to offer a slyly angelic smile and an innocent "this is James," as a cunning counter strike.

Particularly since she isn't meant to be meeting "this is James" for another hour.

And especially since she had been hoping to impress upon "this is James" the notion that she is not a woman to be trifled with, schemed against, or otherwise mistreated.

Her mild fright results in a minor ketchup spillage, which is unfortunate. It dribbles down her chin at speed and fails to land upon her blouse only because Lily swipes her hand over her face and catches most of it before it can drip away. Her breakfast is set down on her desk and she grabs a paper napkin to wipe both chin and hand, the latter of which she waves repeatedly towards her own chest (once clean) to indicate that she's still chewing. That's the thing to do when one is caught with food in one's mouth, as if anyone should have to apologise for needing sustenance to survive.

"Should we come back?" Remus asks, eyeing her mostly uneaten baguette. "I can take him downstairs if you're not ready and—"

"Nnnnmp!" says Lily, shaking her head, and swallows. "S'all fine. Hi."

She will murder Adele Dazeem for this.

He just had to catch her at a gluttonous moment and nab his revenge at the cost of her poise. No chance of him stopping by as she was nibbling on a rice cake or laughing prettily over a salad the way women in lifestyle articles always do. "Ooh, what a healthy and fulfilling life I lead!" they seem to cry, their plastic smiles stretched widely across their unnaturally white teeth. "Greens! Pilates! A beetle in my chopped zucchini! Laugh away the sadness!"

Silly Lily. She never nibbles rice cakes, and she eats salads for the sake of nutrition, but it’s an utterly joyless experience.

"Yes, hello," Remus replies, visibly battling a laugh. "As I'm sure you're aware, this is James Potter. James, this is Lily Evans"—he gestures towards her—"otherwise known as the woman who took your job."

"It's very nice to finally meet you," says James Potter, holding out his hand.

"Likewise," she returns as she shakes it. "Though Remus has just made me sound like some kind of corporate supervillain."

"I'm sure I didn't," says a much-amused Remus.

"It's fine," James assures her. "I couldn't expect my dad to keep the job open after I quit—"

"Your poor mother certainly did," Remus puts in.

"So I heard," is Lily's droll response. Euphemia's determination to dislike her son's replacement had lasted a solid ten seconds into their first meeting, at which point she'd abandoned her resolve in favour of a new plan—adoring and admiring and shamelessly favouring Lily.

"She tells me you're a wonder," says James.

Lily shrugs lightly. "Christ the Redeemer, Machu Picchu, me. Sounds about right."

"You slot right in."

"Lucky for your dad that I do. Euphemia's not afraid to voice an opinion."

"Well, he hired me back as soon as I asked," James continues, a slight smile forming around the corners of his lips, "so Mum can rest assured, nepotism is still alive and well."

Instantly, strangely, disconcertingly, Lily thinks that she would like to have sex with this person.

Preferably on her new mattress. Her current one has a spring sticking out in an inconvenient location.

The photos that Fleamont keeps on his desk are woefully out-of-date, so while Lily had the vague idea that she'd be welcoming a rather handsome fellow onto her team, her only frame of reference was an awkward, gangling teenager. The real life, adult James Potter is tall and lean and healthy-glow brown, with thick black hair that performs wild, multi-directional acrobatics and cries out to be tugged in the heat of passion. His glasses are on trend, his full lips delicious, and his crisp white sleeves are pushed up to his elbows.

Women are forced to conform to so many bullshit, patriarchal dress codes in the workplace, but nobody ever thinks about the risks of forearm exposure on a really fit bloke.

Not that it matters, when she's splashed ketchup across her face and almost certainly marked herself out as an undesirable.

More importantly, she's technically his boss.

And he's likely secretly wishing that she wasn't.

Or planning a hostile takeover.

Or both.

He probably looks real good without a shirt on.

She'll be screwed if he turns out to be interesting.

[iknownothingihearnothing]

Game of Thrones 8.1 “Winterfell”

OMG.

ZOMGGGGGGGG.

Them dang ol’ dang ol’ Thrones are BACK!

It’s been twenty looooooooooooong months of GoTlessess. Winter came. And left. And damn came again. And now winter has come for our heroes in the glory of springtime. 

Can’t you just hear the little birdies chirping? The bees buzzing? The white walkers moaning as they shamble beyond the wrecked Wall in their endless quest for dominance and human flesh? 

You’d be forgiven if you don’t entirely remember what happened last season. Jon bent the knee to Dany after he and some of his Merry Men--the Amazing Tormund Giantsbane included--ventured Beyond the Wall to capture a wight in order to prove to Cersei that, yes, the undead were indeed real and not a conspiracy cooked up by Ser Alyx of House Jones in order to get her to let her guard down just enough for Dany and Co. to steal her crown and she sailed in on Drogon like a badass and rescued them. No damsel in distress here. So Jon lost his King in the North status but he gained a lady friend, and by “friend”, I mean--

After seeing the wight for herself, Cersei promised to send the Lannister army up North to fight for the living. But, you know...

Gratefully, our handsome Kingslayer, however, has some scruples. Finally having had enough with Cersei’s crazy bullshit, he tells her he swore to fight for the living and that is what he is going to do, damnit, and takes himself North-way, leaving his sisterlover and their maybe bun in the oven behind in the capital. 

The biggest reveal, of course, was the confirmation of the long running theory of R+L=J. AKA, Rhaegar Targaryen went off and married Lyanna Stark in secret, she got preggies with Jon/Aegon and, dying in the Tower of Joy, Lyanna made a young Ned Stark promise he’d always take care of her son. So he lied to everyone, that he was his bastard kid to protect him from the “all Targaryens must DIE” Baratheon rule (that non-Aryan head of hair helped, I’m sure) and raised him in Winterfell as a Stark but not a Stark. 

Now Jon Snow, who started the series knowing nothing, will soon know all. 

Including that he’s technically been fucking his aunt but what’s a little incest between friends on Game of Thrones? 

Oh and also Viserion was taken out and the Night King revived him to knock down the wall. We have an undead dragon, people!

Let’s get into it, shall we?

We gots a new opening, which is cool. The now defunct Wall looks like it is entirely made of ice cube trays.

We start in on a little boy who is trying to see all the hubbub but can’t glimpse over the adults, harking back to the pilot when the Baratheon-Lannisters visited the North to offer their thanks for helping overthrow the Mad King and to hook up Sansa and the Joff. Said “hubbub” being Dany, Jon, and their army entering the North. Arya’s also there, wearing a far less fabulous outfit than Dany is, frowning at the Hound’s appearance but relieved at Gendry’s. 

He has traded a small boat for a horse.

If you were taking bets on how soon Tyrion would make a junk joke, I hope you had down “within the first few minutes”:

Varys rightfully calls him out on his hypocrisy; he hates imp jokes but loves eunuch jokes. How can he be cool with that? 

Obvs, because Tyrion has balls and Varys doesn’t, duh.

#Woke, Tyrion is not.

 As the procession moves throughout the town, people are glarin’ and starin’ and Dany is obviously uncomfortable, poor lamb. Jon tells her that Northerners don’t “accept outsiders easily”. So, to use an analogy, Jon is the one guy from his small town in Pigeon Butt, Arkansas, who is welcoming to everyone when the rest of the residents are all “You ain’t from ‘round here, are ya?” *changes magazine in rifle*

I’d be annoyed if I were Dany. I mean, lugging my ass all the way up to the damn frigid North, freezing my tits off, with a fucking army and two dragons, all to save everyone’s asses, and they’re copping a ‘tude? Pfft. Y’all can kiss my Southern butt.

One of the dragons roars and Dany smiles because at least that is familiar to her, but of course the townspeople scatter while Arya stands there grinning in delight. Dragons! Cool!

The Lady of Winterfell, however...

The look to the camera she gives is like “Oh ffs.”

Jon rides into the Winterfell courtyard and when he sees Bran for the first time since he was a boy he, delighted, hops down from his horse to hug and kiss him. “Look at you! You’re a man!” And when the robot that used to be Bran replies “Almost” like the automaton he is, Jon’s face gets, well...

And, I must add, how WEIRD it is to me that, amid all these Qyburns and Sansas and Davoses, BRANDON is a popular name in Westeros/Ye Old Timey serfdom alterna-England. To me, Brandon is THIS guy:

Brandon is Jason Priestley and a delightfully 90s name, not to mention the moniker of way too many boys I went to school with. I keep expecting to see Nat round one of the corners of Winterfell with a megaburger. 

Jon hugs Sansa and asks after Arya, who is “lurking somewhere”, and hesitantly introduces his girlfriend to his sister. It’s the nightmare Meet the Parents except the parents are dead, everyone’s about to die, and it’s fucking cold as balls. 

Dany, the poor lass, tries to ingratiate herself by complimenting Winterfell’s “beauty” (eh?) as well as Sansa’s (yes, Sophie Turner is a fox and Joe Jonas would agree) but Sansa’s having none of it:

BranBot breaks in on the Mean Girling, telling Dany that the Night King has Viserion and the Wall has been de-Walled. At the Great Hall, Young Umber says that they need more men and horses “if it pleases my Lady. And my Lord....and my Queen. Sorry.” 

The Queen thing is, uh, gonna take some getting used to. 

Sansa tells Young Umber to collect his people and Jon is called “Your Grace” after giving an order and little Lyanna Mormont, that badass, rises slowly like a boss.

She continues like “Yo, we crowned you King in the North, you gave it up, wtf are you now? Just a regular old lord, I guess?”

And Jon busts out this truth--although he was honored to be crowned, the choice was either keep his title or save the North. He chose the North. I gotta side with Jon on this one, sorry, Lyanna. I love you, but y’all Northerners are being stubborn dumbasses. Crowns and titles reallllllllly don’t mean much in the wake of DYING HORRIBLY BY LEGIONS OF UNDEAD. 

Tyrion tries to calm the storm between the Northerners and the visitors, telling them that Jon risked his life to prove he wights were a threat; the Lannister army was soon going to join them in fighting for the Not Dead cause. There are grumbles amongst the peanut gallery and Tyrion concedes that they “have not been friends in the past”--

--but they all had to work together now. Sansa, still holding onto stubborn Northern pride, wonders aloud how the hell how they are gonna feed Dothraki, Unsullied, and two dragons? “What do dragons eat anyway?”

Dany: “Whatever they want.”

Booya!

Obviously, I would bend the knee to Daenerys. I likely fall over though. Hope she doesn’t mind.

Tyrion goes to speak to Sansa, whom he has not seen since season four, Joffrey’s non-wedding to Margaery, to be precise. You remember that.

Yes, Sansa, it indeed had its moments. Unfortunately, with Joffrey gone, we got Ramsay in his place so....

Sansa apologizes belatedly for bolting right after the Joff’s murder, which, admittedly, was a wee bit hard for Tyrion to explain, her being his wife and all. He kinda had to go to trial. Hire Oberyn to fight the Mountain for him. Again, we all know how that turned out.

Squishy squishy!

Sansa also can’t believe Tyrion truly is convinced the Lannister army is on its way to the North based on Cersei’s word alone. “I used to think you were the cleverest man alive,” she lays down before walking away.

Sansa has turned into Shade-sa. 

Now it’s time for a Jon and Arya reunion! Yay!

Jon: How’d you sneak up on me?

Arya: How’d you survive a knife through the heart?

Jon: I didn’t.

So Jon and Arya show each other their swords and Jon asks her if she has ever used hers and we the audience watching are like--

And then they talk about Daenerys. Jon is a wee bit pissed that Sansa is unappreciative of him risking his and his Merry Men’s asses to save the whole frigging kingdom, understandably so, and, fucking weak, Arya defends “her family”. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE HELLO DON’T YOU SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE?! NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR PETTY “I DON’T LIKE MY BROTHER’S GF, SHE’S NOT FROM HERE, SHE CAN’T UNDERSTAND US!” NONSENSE! THE DEAD ARE COMING, DAMNIT!

In K.L., Creepy Qyburn rushes to tell Crazy Cersei that the wights have broken through the Wall. Her response?

If there is one thing on this mixed up continent we can count on it’s that Cersei will do the most fucked up shit to keep that crown on her blonde head. Including letting ice zombies lose on at least one of her kingdoms.

Just off the coast of the capital, Yara is still being held prisoner of her Uncle Euron, AKA Guyliner Greyjoy. What is it with pirates and guyliner and leather pants? Euron, Captain Hook, Jack Sparrow...While poor Yara, the rightful Queen of the Iron Islands, is tied up, Euron introduces Crazy Cersei to the captain of the Golden Company, who promises all these men and horses and weapons and things. ‘Cept no elephants, much to Cersei’s dismay. They’re not good for long sea voyages. 

Euron wants to talk “in private”. 

Which in Westerosi-speak is:

Cersei tries to put him off; she told him after the war. “Wars can last years,” Euron counters. He’s given her weapons, the Iron Fleet, the Golden Company (whose captain is named Harry Strickland, that is so out of leftfield in a world of Eddards and Tywins), what else does he need to prove that he’s totally Team Cersei?

Well, Cersei doesn’t wanna lose the only ally she has left in this war she still sees herself fighting so...

Euron:

Elsewhere in the capital, Bronn is trying to get his offtime on with three ladies who cannot stop talking about how frigging cool and scary the dragons they saw attacking K.L. were and Bronn is obviously only an afterthought. A watercooler, if you will. When Creepy Qyburn interrupts and lets Bronn know that Cersei is looking for him.

The gist is Qyburn has been sent to hire Bronn on Cersei’s behalf to execute Tyrion and Jaime in case they don’t survive their “Northern adventures”. And she wants him to use a crossbow to do it because she has a keen sense of poetic irony. 

Bronn:

Bronn might be my favorite.

In Cersei’s chambers, Euron is getting dressed (because he just got Queened, you see; this show can never be accused of being subtle) and immediately asks her how he “compares to the fat king”. Cersei tells Euron that Robert had a different ladyfriend every night but still had no idea how to please a woman. Sad for Robert.

 Then he asks about “the Kingslayer” and Cersei wonders if he wants to lose his head. But he’s arrogant and she likes that (and he apparently doesn’t mind that she had a torrid affair with her twin brother; they’re either perfectly matched or perfectly psychotic). Just before Euron leaves, he says:

 Prooooooooobably not aware that Cersei’s belly just may be currently occupied at the moment.

Cersei smiles holding aloft her ever present goblet of wine as Euron leaves. IDK if she is simply humoring an ally or if she actually finds Euron grossly charming. I mean, he’s hot and all but he’s also a pig but hey I’m sane so what do I know.

On Euron’s ship, Theon and his buddies launch an attack against the assholes who have captured Yara. Theon unties her and she headbutts him for abandoning her like a sister would (”You left me, your Queen, to our bastard of an uncle! You dipshit!”), then extends a hand to help him off the floor and they say no more about it. 

Yara suggests they go back to the Iron Islands; they’ll all need a place to go if Dany and Co. fail in the North, a place where the dead can’t follow. But Theon obviously wants to go to Winterfell and fight for the Starks, to make up for betraying them and being an absolute fucklord, so Yara commands it. “What is dead may never die, but kill the bastards anyway.”

In the North, Dany is worried about Drogon’s and Rhaegal’s lack of appetites. They “only” ate eighteen goats and eleven sheep. IDK, that sounds like a lot to me but again, what do I know? I’ve never owned a dragon. I should ask the Munsters. 

Dany and Jon go visit the dragons, who are restless cus they don’t be likin’ the North. And why would they? They’ve been all over and in much warmer climes and now they’re stuck in some frozen over craphole where no one washes their hair and wears the same clothes for two weeks straight. 

Dany wants to fly them to give them some exercise and urges Jon to get on top of Rhaegal while she flies her trusty Drogon. Jon is, obvs, hesitant. He’s never ridden a dragon, he doesn’t know how. Well, no one does until they’ve ridden a dragon! So, Jon climbs on top of Rhaegal, braces himself, and off they go.

And it’s hilarious.

And Dany’s totally into it. Jon’s holding onto Rhaegal, screaming like a girl and Dany’s like “Oh YEAUH I’m all about this”. When they touch down at a really pretty spot in front of a waterfall to get bizzay, she’s looking like she’s falling deeper in love with him and the dragons are looking like, well, like they are watching their mom get bizzay. 

Kinky. You don’t see Dragon Mom-Dragon Cuckold-Ex King of the North videos on PornHub. That’s a niche they should tap into.

This scene was totally unnecessary for the plot and probably cost a lot of money to render and was hysterical. Who knew dragons had kinks? I mean, I guess they are entering their hormone-fueled adolescence and missing internet and Playboy outlets so...this is the next best thing?

Sorry about that, boys. 

Arya and the Hound run into each other for the first time since season three, where she left him to die but first robbed him. “You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you? Guess that’s why you’re still alive.” 

She also runs into Gendry and asks him to make her a weapon, to which he hesitantly complies.

Inside Winterfell, Sansa receives a letter from House Glover letting them know that they wish the North luck but House Glover will remain in the woods. It’s a classic piss off. Even though House Glover promised to always stand by House Stark. No, Sansa denies. He’d stand behind the King in the North. They’re gearing up for another argument. Jon counters that they needed allies. He brought home armies and dragons! 

UGH!

Sansa, I love you, but Lort Almighty!

Yeah ok, the Mad King was, well, mad, but A) Dany is not her father and B) ICE ZOMBIES WITH AN ICE DRAGON ARE COMING! SOON! THEY ARE ON THEIR WAY RIGHT NOW! ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE BEING HARD-HEADED IDIOTS!

Dany and Jorah go to visit Sam to thank him for curing Jorah of his Greyscale. Dany asks Sam if there is anything she can do for him to repay him. Sam asks for a pardon for taking some books from the Citadel and a sword from House Tarly; it’s been in his family for generations. And that is when things get--

Daenerys explains that she offered to let Randyll Tarly keep his lands and titles if he bent the knee, but he refused, and we all know what happened to him. 

At the info that his daddy is toast, Sam seems to take in stride because Randyll was a dick but when Dany adds that Dickon stood by his father and was also roasted Sam excuses himself.

How good was John Bradley in this scene? He conveyed so much emotion in a single facial expression, just a shift of the eyes, a downturn of the lips. You could totally tell he was barely holding it together.

Sam goes outside and spots BranBot, who urges him to tell Jon the truth with his emotionless visage. After all, he’s not his brother.

He finds Jon in the crypt and they hug it out until Jon notices the look on Sam’s face. He thinks something’s wrong with Gilly or Little Sam until Sam confesses that Dany had Randyll and Dickon executed. Sam asks him if he would have done this if he’d been in her place. Jon argues that he’d executed men who had disobeyed him in the past, but he’d also pardoned men who refused to kneel. Jon parries he wasn’t a king like Dany is a queen. 

Sam claims he is. And he doesn’t mean King of the North.

He and Bran worked it out. Sam had a High Septon’s diary. Bran had...BranVision. Jon’s father was, of course, Rhaegar Targaryen and his mother was Lyanna Stark. 

He’s Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, Protector of the Realm, yada, yada, yada.

Jon’s like “You better not be bullshitting me, man!” And Sam’s all “Would Dany bend the knee and give up her crown to save her people like you did, bro?”

Jon:

On the grounds of Winterfell, the hunting party, consisting of Tormund Giantsbane, Dolorous Edd, and five times resurrected Beric Dondarrion (be careful, Beric, Melisandre isn’t around to resurrect you again), is, uh, hunting when half the party jumps out screaming “Stay back! He’s got blue eyes!”

Brienne needs to get on that. They’d make adorable, and huge, blue-eyed babies.

Eventually, they find poor Young Umber, the first casualty of this season, nailed to a door with his innards and body parts creating a spiral pattern around him. He awakens zombified and the party lights him on fire, causing the whole spiral of gore to become alight in flames.

Ugh.

Everyone has a fucking sigil on this show. Even he dead guys.

The episode ends with Jaime finally riding into the North, climbing down off his noble steed to fulfill his promise to fight for the living, and...

Your past sins have caught up with you, Jaime. 

[amyscascadingtabs]

let me share this whole new world with you

In which there's a feverish four year old, a Disney movie and some singing.

This was a request from @alwaysandbeyond​ that I felt I needed to write; here you go bb! (Also, major thanks to @nevermindthewind​ for beta-reading and hyping me up about this you’re the freakin’ best)

read on ao3 

From the moment he first laid eyes on his firstborn child, Jake has realised there are many things about parenthood no amount of binders or parenting books could have ever prepared him for.

The all-consuming love is the first thing to come to mind. Immediately after, the sleep-deprivation. How intensely you can miss your kids as soon as they’re somewhere else. The way conversations with your significant other about your child’s bathroom habits become second nature. Just how intoxicatingly mellifluous the sound of baby laughter is.

Also the love. And the sleep-deprivation.

Least of all, he was never prepared for the devastating heartbreak of seeing your child sick.

He’s lived through his kids getting countless colds and several stomach flus - even fought his way through one case of chickenpox - and he’s still not used it. When Leah crawled into her parents bed somewhere around midnight with a burning hot forehead still claiming she felt cold, her detective parents and a digital thermometer quickly solved the case of their daughter’s random awakening; a temperature of a solid 103℉. Between the discomfort of being squeezed into a children’s bed next to a feverish child and said child waking up every ten minutes crying, Jake has acquired about an hour total of sleep.

Add to the equation that his one year old has recently started walking and thus needs constant supervision, plus the fact that they’re in the midst of packing up their apartment in order for the move to a bigger one that’s coming up in three short weeks, and he’d like to argue it’s nothing short of a miracle he’s still standing by the time he finally gets Olivia to go down for her afternoon nap.

Well, he’s not standing, per se. He’s on the couch, letting a still warm Leah dry her tears on his t-shirt after what appears to have been a distressing fever dream. Still counts.

“I don't want them to come back”, she whispers in the faint voice that’s breaking his heart.

He kisses her heated forehead. “It was just a dream, baby. Not real.”

“But it felt real”, she insists. “It was scary.” This version of his daughter - tired and anxious in contrast to her usual bubbly energetic self - is painful to see. He can’t stop wishing he could take the fever, pain and scary dreams from her so they’re no longer hers to deal with, but it turns out there is only so much you can do for your kids. He’s learning that the hard way.

“I know, Lee. I know. Hey, do you want something to eat?” He tries to remember if Amy did get their daughter to swallow anything other than apple juice or ice cream when the girl was last sick, but comes up short. “Pasta with butter?”

“Not hungry”, she whines, shaking her head.

“Chicken fingers?”

“No.”

“Some toast? Just some?”

“Nuh-uh.” He sighs.

“Is there anything you could consider eating, Lee-Bee? You can have whatever you want today.”

“Ice-cream.”

“Just ice-cream?” 

“Pink ice-cream. With sprinkles.” Leah shoots him a content grin at her suggestion. “The chocolate ones!” Jake laughs at that, remembering a similar comment from Amy during her first pregnancy when she survived to ninety percent on ice cream and orange soda for a few weeks while morning sickness was at its worst.

“You know, sometimes I think your mom ate so much ice cream when she was pregnant with you that a small part of you became just ice cream.” This makes his daughter laugh as well.

“Daddy, you’re being silly.” He gently ruffles his daughter’s hair and presses a kiss to her warm forehead before answering.

“That is what I do best. How about I get you some ice cream, and you pick out a movie to watch?” She nods in anticipation, climbing down from his lap to make her way over to the box of kids DVDs next to the TV. Between ones they’ve bought and ones they’ve gotten from Terry or the Santiago brothers it’s an impressive collection, but Leah seems to know exactly what she’s looking for today and swiftly holds up a familiar blue cover before Jake has even found a clean bowl for her lunch request.

“You want to watch Aladdin today? Ooh, that’s a good one. Can I watch it with you?” Leah mumbles in agreement before taking her place on the couch again, wrapping the pale blue comforter around herself like a cocoon. It’s an utterly sweet image to him, the child’s pouting face reminding him of her mother’s, and for a short second he’s not as heartbroken by seeing her ill as he was a few minutes ago.

They’re twenty minutes into the movie when the familiar sound of a door unlocking is heard. Leah’s attention doesn’t divert from what’s happening on the TV - Aladdin’s just met Jasmine for the first time - but Jake’s face lights up when Amy enters, grocery bag in hand and soft expression on her face as she finds her husband and oldest daughter cuddling together on the couch.

(Six years married and nine years together, and every day he marvels over the fact that he gets to share a life with someone as amazing as she is.)

“What are you guys watching?” She asks, toeing off her shoes and leaving the bag on the counter. “Ooh, Aladdin. Is it any good?”

“Yeah.” Leah is still fully focused on the screen, squinting when her mom kneels down to kiss her daughter's forehead. “Mama, you’re blocking the screen.”

“I’m sorry, mija. Do you think I can watch with you?” Her daughter makes a contemplating face, but then nods and Jake scooches to the side to make place for his wife. He gets a quick peck on the lips from her, knowing full well that’s about how much intimacy between them their four year old will tolerate happening in front of her before calling both of her parents disgusting.

(Kids go through interesting stages, to say the least. They’re both hoping this one will be over soon.)

A few minutes before A Whole New World is about to begin the unmistakable sound of a toddler crying is heard from their bedroom and Amy leaves to go get their youngest daughter. She only just makes it back in time before the song starts, now bouncing a sleep-dazed one year old on her hip. Jake can’t help but hum along to the melodic tones, resulting in cheerful giggling from Leah.

“You sing, Daddy.”

“Oh, no.” He scrunches his nose and shakes his head at her. “You know I can’t sing.”

“You heard her”, Amy agrees, already sounding amused. “Bust out that singing voice, Peralta.”

“You sing Jasmine’s parts, Mama.”

“Oh god.”

“Hah! You’re in this with me, Santiago”, he teases her before clearing his throat. “I can show you the world…”

It’s not beautiful by any means. In fact, it’s so off-key he’s not sure it’s technically the same song any longer. But his daughter seems pleased, even more so when Amy dutifully joins in for Jasmine’s parts. She even dances around a little, adding a few careful spins at the refrain that has Olivia shrieking with laughter and shooting her mom the kind of disarming, cheeky smile only a toddler can manage. Leah seems to have forgotten all about her fever, even making her way out of her dad’s arms to do some pirouettes in her pajamas. Amy holds her hand for assistance when the girl sways a little, and Jake loses track of his lines for a moment at the sight of them; the woman he loves more than he ever thought it was possible to love someone, dancing and laughing with the kids he somehow loves even more.

He’s never been any good at math, but he doubts anyone could solve that equation.

When the song is over, all family members return to the couch. There’s an exchange of kids when Olivia reaches for her dad and Leah gets to cuddle with her mom instead, barely protesting the kisses Amy presses to her hairline when the movie picks up again. For a moment there’s nothing but peaceful silence, and he’s almost closed his eyes for a moment’s rest when his oldest daughter makes an observation.

“Iago”, she repeats when the parrot’s name is mentioned. “Like Santiago?”

“That’s exactly it”, Jake confirms, smirking when he remembers a conversation many, many years ago. Why his goldfish brain has held onto it, he’s not sure. “Emphasis on Iago, backstabber”, he says with a wink at his wife.

“I’m surprised you’ve read Othello”, she quips back without missing a beat.

“What’s Othello?” Leah asks before Jake has time to respond. “We were talking about the parrot from Aladdin.”

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previously: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible

10. Possibility

The second time around, Scully knows more about what's in store, and so the side effects from the hormone shots don’t take her by surprise nearly as much. Her emotional reactions are, once again, drastically out of proportion, to be sure, but she’s expecting them to be, and somehow that makes it easier to handle.

Also making it easier on Scully is the fact that if Mulder and Diana Fowley are spending time together, they're not doing it anywhere that Scully can see it happening. Which, since Mulder is suddenly determined to spend nearly all day every day in Scully's presence, and calls her every evening that he's not haunting her apartment (or keeping her at his with a very flimsy excuse of some file or other that he wants her opinion on), would have to be happening between the hours of two and five in the morning.

Mulder takes Scully out to lunch nearly every day of the week, ignoring her protests that she's brought food to eat from home. Yogurt and bee pollen, he insists, do not constitute a fitting lunch for a potentially expectant mother. This time around, he seems to have decided to take personal charge of Scully's nutrition and hydration. He's forever brandishing granola bars and bottles of Gatorade in her face, and Scully might take offense at the implication that she can't take care of herself... except that, somehow, Mulder's sudden, constant attention to her needs is just so damn endearing.

"Do you have enough space?" he asks her in a double bed in Kroner, Kansas, after a freak tornado and a flying cow have rendered his own room uninhabitable. "I can sleep on the floor, if you need me to. Or out in the car, even." He's actually in the process of throwing back the blankets and climbing back out of bed, and Scully reaches out, seizing him by the wrist.

"Mulder, stay put," she orders him sharply. "There's plenty of room." He hesitates briefly before sinking back onto his side of the bed with a deep sigh. She releases his wrist, but before she can withdraw her hand, Mulder captures it in his own, winding his fingers between hers. She glances over at him quizzically. "You okay, Mulder?" she asks. They've been forced by circumstances to share a bed while in the field on more than one occasion before, and he's never been this jumpy.

"Yeah, fine," he says, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "I just... I keep thinking." She stays silent, waiting, and after a moment, Mulder rolls to face her. "It just keeps hitting me that for all we know, you could be pregnant right at this moment." It's too dark for her to read his expression, but she thinks he's smiling softly. "I know you're trying not to think about it until you're sure, Scully, but that’s proving just about impossible for me."

"Really, Mulder? I couldn't tell," Scully says dryly. "Between your obsessive tracking of every bite of food that passes my lips and your constant questioning of whether or not I need to rest, I had no clue."

"Sorry," says Mulder, ducking his head sheepishly. "I just... I really want this for you, Scully."

Her mind snags on his words like cloth on a stray nail. He wants it for her. Not for them. For a moment, she thinks that maybe this is the perfect opening for the conversation she knows they'll have to have, if it turns out that she's pregnant... but she's hesitant to broach the topic before she knows for certain.

If it turns out that Mulder wants to be involved, even if it's only partial involvement, she thinks they'll be okay. But if he's decided, as she fears, that he wants his donation to be the sum total of his part in this, Scully doesn't quite trust herself to be able to hide her disappointment. Mulder will be able to tell, and with his overdeveloped sense of guilt, he will feel that he's failed her for not being willing to provide something that she has absolutely no right to ask of him. And to be honest, Scully's not sure their partnership could survive. 

Better to wait, she reminds herself, until either she knows for sure, or until she's certain she'll be able to accept any answer with a smile that's at least genuine enough to fool Mulder. So instead of speaking, she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. He pulls their joined to his mouth and presses his lips to her knuckles tenderly, and instead of letting it go, he holds it close to his heart as his eyes close.

They fall asleep with their fingers intertwined on the mattress between them.

--------------------------------

Mulder had planned to give Scully her Christmas gift sometime between Christmas and New Year's- in fact, he had planned to take her out for a nice dinner (nice enough that she could interpret it as a date, if she wanted)- but after dragging her out to a haunted house on Christmas Eve, he feels like he owes her.

Not that he doesn't always owe her, really.

So when she shows up at his apartment door, even though she's only got about four hours to sleep, at this point, before she's due at her mother's house, he decides to go ahead and give her the gift now. And, as it turns out, she's gotten him something, as well, so it all works out in the end.

Mulder goes first, tearing the paper off of a hardcover book- Contact, by Carl Sagan. He grins widely.

"I don't need to ask why this made you think of me, Scully," he chuckles. He's got a copy already, of course, but this is much nicer than his beat-up paperback. "Have you read this?"

"No," says Scully. "But I saw the movie with my mom." She blushes. "It made me think of you." Mulder grins, returning his attention to the book. He flips it over, examining the illustration on the dust jacket, which is immaculate, without a single crease or tear. 

"Hey, is this a first edition?"

"Yes, it is," says Scully. "And, uh... also...." She reaches over and opens the cover to the title page, where several lines have been scrawled in thick, black marker: 

Keep believing. -Carl Sagan

Mulder looks up at Scully, eyes wide.

"I found it at my mother's church, of all places," Scully says. "They had a rummage sale in November, and this was sitting in a box of beat-up books from someone's basement. And I know we said we weren't exchanging gifts this year, but it just seemed too perfect to pass up."

"It is perfect, Scully," he says, putting an arm around her shoulder and squeezing her. "Thank you." He puts the book on the coffee table and nods at the package she's still holding. "I didn't find that at a rummage sale, but I had the same thought as you when I saw it. It was too perfect to pass up." Scully begins peeling off the wrapping paper. She sits there, silent, staring down at the object in her hands, her face unreadable. "And technically," continues Mulder, "I kept my word not to get you anything, because it's not really for you." Still, Scully says nothing, and Mulder begins to get nervous. "Scully?"

"Mulder," she says, her voice amused and hoarse with emotion, all at the same time. She holds up her gift and turns to him, eyes wide. "Where did you find this?"

"On the internet," he says. The handle of the rattle is made from sturdy plastic, while the top is coated in a softer layer, ideal for a baby to gnaw on without hurting himself. It's in the shape of an alien- not the classic, creepy, oval-eyed version, but a friendly, smiling alien, sprouting trumpet-shaped antennae from its head. "I know you're nervous about tempting fate, Scully, but I just feel like one of us should be open to extreme possibilities here. And I think it's safe to say, from past experience, that that someone is gonna be me." Still, silence. "Scully?" Nothing. "Scully, if I've done wrong, I'm sorry, I just-"

It's as far as he gets before she turns and kisses him.

It's quick and sweet, and before he even has a chance to respond, she's already drawn back and is staring at him with wide eyes. He thinks she's surprised herself almost as much as she's surprised him.

This time, it's unclear who makes the first move. All Mulder knows is that suddenly, he's lost in the sweet taste of Scully's mouth. She's got one hand buried in his hair and the other is creeping up the back of his t-shirt. She feels so small in his arms, so perfect, like she was made to fit there, and he's just beginning to lay her back on his couch when she jerks away.

"I should go," she says, hastily gathering up her things, not looking at him. Mulder's heart sinks.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he says. "You don't have to leave."

"I know," she says. "I just... it's late, it's been a long night, and tomorrow's going to be crazy at Mom's, and I..." She sighs and meets his gaze, finally, and Mulder can tell she's conflicted. "I don't want to tempt myself right now, because I can't. Not tonight." She swallows. "Not while...." Mulder nods, understanding: she's not supposed to have sex for five weeks following the embryo transfer, and she's currently on week two.

"It doesn't have to go that far, Scully," he says. "Not tonight." Scully smiles slightly.

"Do you really think we'd be able to stop ourselves?" she asks him, and he knows she's right. If she had allowed him to kiss her for much longer, no force on earth would have been strong enough to separate him from her.

"I guess you have a point," he concedes. She stands, and he walks her to the door.

"I'll see you back at work after New Year's, okay?" she tells him, and his heart sinks.

"I thought maybe we could go to dinner, the night after Christmas?" he suggests hopefully, but she shakes her head.

"I need some time, Mulder," she tells him. "Time to think." She reaches up and gently touches her fingertips to his lips, and he presses a kiss to her hand. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"Merry Christmas, Scully."

[zani-is-a-stan]

Suzani reads AF: Chapter 3 - In The Mountains

All the other chapters: Prologue Chapter 1 - Bee Stings Chapter 2 - The Silver Touch

I’m reading AF and liveblogging my response. This is partly because RH’s books are so densely woven that I want to make sure I catch every detail I can on the first read. I pounded most of the other RotE books, and discovered an insane amount of details on my second and third read-throughs that I completely missed the first time. I’m also inventing reasons to slow down because i want to savor the fuck out of this book.

I will not be responding to any comments on these posts until I’ve finished the book - to save myself from spoilers.

And I just wrote a bunch of junk so that you could turn away before the spoilers in case you made it here by accident.

Spoilers ahead. Read at your own risk

Predictions based on chapter title: We’re in the mountains. -_-

Preface text: I don’t get this one. I don’t enjoy it either. Well ... I *get* it. Someone’s watching serpents hatch and capturing while an Other watches. I don’t like this at all. It’s bad news bears. AND it’s being done by a White wearing green and gold, colors we just learned were associated with Withywoods. Is it Beloved being so sinister? Is it Bee herself? Is it someone from a very long time ago? Is it metaphorical? Will Amber win over the keepers of the blue and gold dragons only to be turned on by Heeby and Rapskal? Is it a metaphor about how enslaving other will only lead to them turning on you and consuming them? The whole thing feels very ominous and I don’t want Heeby to eat Beloved. Or Beloved to enslave serpents.

Bee wakes up: You know, the first time I read a Bee-narrated chapter, I was angry and stressed about it. This wasn’t the Fitz book I was looking for! When the messenger turned our to be not Beloved, I was furious! I had skipped over RWC to go straight to the Fitz and the Fool books after Tawny man because I was so intoxicated with the OTP. The slow-downs and re-reads have forced me to appreciate the series from a perspective that incorporated more than just skimming the passages until I got to the next occurrence of the OTP being in the same room together. I’m really glad this change happened for me, for a few reasons. It allowed me a greater appreciation of what a true master of the craft Hobb is. It also allowed me to fall in love with all these other characters! Mostly Lant and Bee, but the rest of them too.

So I was really happy when this book opened with a scene of badass, 8-year-old Bee clobbering her kidnappers in the face with a club, and never ever giving up. She’s amazing. She’s inspiring. And give me another story of any genre where the true hero is a magic 8 year old girl ... and it’s as cool as this?

Dwalia and Alaria’s character progression: Dwalia’s coming across as more desperate and petty and cruel than she even did in the first chapter. I wonder where this is going to end up ... The closer we draw to her character, the worse of a person she is revealed to be. And Alaria is suddenly a threat, when before she might have been a character Bee could have turned into an ally. A petty, cruel threat. Dwalia is a person who hold the power of intimidation on those around her, and the people around haven’t yet figured out that there are more of them than her. AND we learn that Dwalia was perhaps in love with the Pale Woman, and this all was a revenge trip. This makes her even more dangerous, I think. I love the detail of her just assuming that the values of another culture (regarding Chalced and Kerf’s family) don’t matter, and she can manipulate any situation to get her way.

New names Symphe. Who is Symphe? Are they one of the four? Symphe might be french, but it popped up in an old english dictionary as part of a root word for the harmonious implications in the word ‘symphony’, and the ‘sym’ aspect as a root for the work ‘sympathy’. So ... someone often in agreement with others? Someone passive? A supporter? And then .... is it possible that Symphe picked the luriks she picked to accompany Dwalia to attempt to turn her away from Bee? Is it possible that Symphe is on ‘our’ side?

Also, this is a good time to bring up that the word ‘Kerf’ means ‘cut’.

Ilistore! The Pale Woman finally has a name! And uh-oh, some heavy implications with this one ... Ilistore sounds not unlike ‘illusion’ or ‘illusory’, which would make sense, as she used the Skill to blind people a lot. But what it really sounds like is ‘Alastair’ or ‘Alaster’ - which mean ‘defender of mankind’, ‘avenger of evil deeds’, 'he who does not forget', 'avenger', 'persecutor', 'tormenter’, 'one who suffers from divine vengeance'. So ... what if she was the actual right White Prophet after all? Obvi a sociopathic evil bitch, but ... what if she was also ... right?

Prillkop Oh man. I wanted so much for this dude to have been a bad guy luring Beloved back to Clerres instead of a good guy who’s probably dead now.

Bee’s Treasures In addition to Per’s hat and Molly’s candle, she now has Lady Thyme’s shawl. Taken of necessity, but still portentous? But Dwalia get the item that was Fitz’s. That’s probably not good, whatever it was. Bee’s First Kill Reppin’s slow death reminds me of the first time I read the scene in Assassin’s Quest where Fitz has to listen to a very young man cry in the road until he dies of the slow poison he had given him. The difference is, Fitz is somewhat tormented by the experience, even though it was the only way to save himself. Bee regrets, but with Nighteyes encouraging her, knew she did what she had to survive. Reppin, Alaria and Vindeliar God, these three are like watching middle school social dynamics play out in front of my eyes. Fucking ow. I really hope Vindeliar makes it out of this in one piece. It’s not his fault he’s been used like this and treated so badly. Important Plot Points I think (for now) that Symphe, Coultrie and Capra are all of the Four. Confirmation that Whites (at least Beloved) have multiple catalysts.

Hoo boy! So ... the Unexpected Sun’s victory is supposed to be absolute, and the recapturing of Beloved proves (to the Servants) that Fitz was not the Unexpected Sun. The reasoning for this is a key to understanding the way they think: victory is the destruction of their opponents. To lose any one aspect of a conflict is to negate any success. This is very different from Beloved’s approach of ‘one little ant at a time’. It shows their paranoia. It shows as well that they see themselves as in battle against something.

Beloved’s catalysts: an assassin (Fitz), a nine-fingered slave boy (Wintrow, who Amber completely missed out on any contact with until everything was over), a ship’s captain (could be Wintrow again ... could be Althea? even though she wasn’t technically a captain. I don’t think it’s Kennit, although it would make complete sense if it was given his historical significance. Wouldn’t it be a damn laugh if it was Grag?), a spoiled girl (Malta, duh), a noble bastard (Fitzy Fitz. Or ... Chade?)

Vindeliar had, or has a sister.

Beloved probably didn’t escape, but was deliberately released. Seems likely. He was a fucking mess, not a Shawshank.

DUDE! The White that Beloved one was is TOTALLY singing through time at Bee! Is she also trying to manipulate Kerf? Did she push him to do what he did? It’s basically because of him that they go through the pillar as they do. When he says “Darker than Death” .... what does he mean? The blood? Bee?

“So, I had that.” THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE SO FAR!

Dreams Alaria dreams the destroyer (currently being assumed by me to be Fitz) brings foul fumes and death. An acorn (currently being assumed by me to be Bee) is taken inside what I assume is Clerres and becomes the destroyer. Bee mentions the dream from Fool’s Assasin with the puppet with an acorn head, being wielded by what I had assumed was Beloved. I’m going to go back and look at that one again - I had a hard time with it the first time around bc, much like the dream in the beginning of this chapter, it implied that Beloved was a Bad Guy. Reppin dreams that destruction comes (and for her, it does sooner than others.) Vindeliar dreams what seems to be poiting us to the same concept - Bee is brought to Clerres, is ‘opened’ or ‘crushed’ and that triggers a big destruction.

You know, when Hobb really pushes me to expect a certain outcome of a situation, i just don’t know if I believe her.

Bee holds a torch under a wasps nest at a crossroads (could be where they are now, with Dwalia being the wasp’s nest.) I like this theory because it ties in beautifully with Kerf’s assertion that killing for no reason will harm Bee if she does it, but won’t harm Dwalia if she does it, by comparing Dwalia to a wasp. As Nighteyes said in Fool’s Errand of Fitz.

A scarred girl weeps with Nettle while they hold a baby. Is the scarred girl Nettle’s unborn baby, changed from her contact with Tintaglia? Is Bee the scarred girl, and the baby her niece? Will be she back home in time for Nettle’s child to be born? A man burns porridge, (no idea on this one) the wolfpack (the Farseers?)howls in despair. The blackness of the destruction is acid, and brings down dragons, destroying their wings.

**There is a thing that only Bee can do!**

And at the end of it all, Bee cries out to her father. Because she loves and needs him --- but will it be a Skill call?

[thevalicemultiverse]

Things You Need To Know About: Aperture Wage Slave

Tag: ~V: Aperture Wage Slave

Premise: Victor thought he was getting a big break when his application to Aperture Laboratories was accepted. After all, he’d heard about the amazing things some of their scientists had come up with – and, being based in America, joining up was good way to leave his past, with two ex-girlfriends and parents furious he’d stuffed up their best chance to be accepted by the upper class, behind. Unfortunately, once he was there, he discovered the company was run by a complete lunatic, and that you didn’t just work at Aperture – you survived it. Fortunately, he’s made a good friend over in the physics department, one Doc Brown – and, despite all his attempts at ignoring it, that new test subject – Liddell – is making his heart flutter in not-unpleasant ways…

This AU was inspired by one of my partner's AUs -- Emma, who plays Doc Brown (jigowatt), created a verse where Doc ended up as a scientist at Aperture Science. (Hers is called Trace Amounts of Time Travel, for the curious.) Being a huge Portal fan myself, I decided to basically piggyback onto that and created a similar verse on my old Butterfly Boy account (since he was my main Science!Victor) so they could play together in that world. When I moved over here, I decided to make it a proper verse on its own.

As a result, this is my least-developed verse -- I only recently came up with how Alice should be part of things! But here is the backstory I've come up with so far:

Victor grew up in Burtonsville during the late 1950s and 1960s, still a child of privilege and wealth thanks to the cannery -- but also a child of science, with an incredible talent for entomology and biology. Not only is he gifted at identifying any species he comes across, by the time he's 19, he's started to breed new ones -- butterflies that glow, bees that can spell the alphabet in their swarms, etc. His parents, while suitably impressed, encourage him to keep his abilities on the down-low -- Burtonsville doesn't really welcome anyone who's different, and they don't want anything sabotaging their attempts at getting a little respectability to go along with their riches. Such as getting their son to date the daughter of the local aristocrats the Everglots. Victor goes along with the match to keep family peace, but finds he enjoys Victoria's company, as she enjoys his.

As they start to pursue a relationship, however, Victor meets Emily Cartwell in the woods, having a good cry over the fact that her ex-boyfriend robbed and ditched her after promising to elope with her. Victor chats with her for a while, and a connection is formed. Figuring he and Victoria aren't anywhere near exclusive (although he makes sure that Victoria thinks this is the case as well), he goes ahead and goes on a couple of dates with Emily as well.

Unfortunately, Emily's in rebound mode, and when she spots Victor on a date with Victoria, she gets jealous and loudly accuses him of lying to her as much as Barkis. Victor does his best to explain and apologize, but she's not hearing any of it -- and unfortunately, the Everglots are in the same restaurant at the time, and immediately refuse to let Victoria see Victor any more. Victoria defies them by sneaking out to see Victor, only to find him at the local tavern, making up with Emily. Now it's her turn to get jealous, and a brief three-way fight results -- which ends when Victor points out they've all known each other less than a month. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hits them and breaks the tension, and they all mutually agree to stop dating so they can get their lives in order and get to know each other as friends first.

However, this decision has consequences for Victor, as his parents are furious with him for breaking it off with Victoria and make their displeasure known loudly and frequently. Victor, reaching his breaking point between this and being forced to hide his scientific talents, decides he needs out of that village -- in fact, he needs out of the country. So he sends in an application to what he's heard is one of the premiere scientific laboratories in the world -- Aperture Science. To his delight, he's accepted sight-unseen, and promptly packs up his life and moves to Michigan.

Where he discovers that the information he received while in Burtonsville was a little outdated. Aperture is the place to go for scientific breakthroughs like no other, sure -- but its owner and CEO is a complete lunatic, safety precautions are practically nonexistent, employees are expected to put up with constant surveillance, and if you don't measure up as a researcher, you're instead made a test subject -- whose life expectancies aren't as great as Cave Johnson would like you to believe. And Victor, horrified, finds there's not really any way to quit without ending up on the testing track either. . .

So here he is, stuck in the most dangerous lab on earth, just trying to keep his head down and please his boss without making too much of a scene. Fortunately he's got a friend over in the physics and engineering department -- one Dr. Emmett "Doc" Brown, who's survived Aperture for a good many years now and is generally available to at least lend an ear to Victor's complaints and worries. And nowadays, there's that new test subject who signed up too, one Alice Liddell. Victor, pressed into service by Johnson to do her entrance interview, tried to steer her away, but he also couldn't help noticing that she was also very pretty. . .and there was something about that fiery determination in her eyes. . .

But Victor's trying not to think too much about that. He's just going to make his butterflies, avoid Cave Johnson as much as possible, and wonder why he didn't at least send another resume to Black Mesa.

This verse has two distinct time periods/locations threads can be set in:

Who's Ready To Do Some Science?: Victor's just your average employee at Aperture Science -- if such a thing can be said to exist. He mainly works in the biology department, creating new kinds of butterflies to be used as test hazards/decoration, but thanks to Cave Johnson finding out about his artistic skills, he's also now the art department. Even his brief tenure in the labs has jaded him quite a bit, and he's much more cynical and sarcastic than he used to be. Not to mention his worrying has gone through the roof... But he still tries to be kind and friendly (admittedly mostly to people not his coworkers), and he has to admit, he still likes his actual job. Want to see his butterflies? 99% are non-lethal.

Cake And Grief Counseling: It's the future, and everything sucks. Victor, after ending up in one of the relaxation vaults, has awakened to find the facility a mess, his coworkers dead, and a certain murderous AI in charge of things. His only hope is to find a way to the surface and see if there's any humans left up there. And maybe see if any of his friends actually survived...you haven't seen an older man with flyway hair anywhere around, have you? Or a green-eyed girl in an orange jumpsuit? Hell, even Wheatley would be a welcome face...

Common NPCs:

Alice Liddell (throughout)

Shipping: Victor/Alice, though the actual Valice part of the verse hasn't started yet. (Weird, huh?) Victoria and Emily are still back in England, though I wouldn't mind them coming back into Victor's life later. I just doubt it'll be in a romantic context -- but hey, verses have gone surprise!poly on me before. . .

NPC Ships: None

Important Facts:

The "main" part of this verse -- Who's Ready To Do Some Science? -- is set in the time period just after Aperture's hey-day, but before they started making testing mandatory for the employees, about the 70s and 80s. Victor's understanding of cultural references beyond that time will be limited as a result. His understanding of technology beyond that time, perhaps not so much -- he does work in Aperture, after all.

Victor technically has an apartment outside of Aperture, but he's hardly ever there because Johnson likes to have his workers available 24-7, and that means providing eating and sleeping space in the facility. If there's any reason to do a thread outside of Victor's work in this verse, though, there's your starting point.

NPC Alice's backstory is roughly similar to her canon counterpart's -- house burned down by Bumby; ten years in Rutledge; a year in Bumby's care; discovering Bumby killed her family and shoving him in front of a train. She promptly skipped the country afterward and came to Michigan looking for a new life. Signing up as a test subject for Aperture seemed a great way to keep under the radar. Victor, as stated above, tried to warn her off, but Alice, used to defying death in Wonderland -- and figuring she wasn't going to get any better deals anywhere else thanks to her mental illness -- persisted and got the job. She's making quite a name for herself as a particularly tough test subject -- and is developing an interest in the shy, anxious scientist she met as the face of the company...

Given this verse sort of piggybacks onto jigowatt's Trace Amounts of Time Travel Aperture verse, developments there may be mentioned in Victor's threads! We've already invented an Aperture texting device together. :)

This verse is open to everyone!