#It’s insufferable but also a nice nod to the idea of coming full circle

[assignmentimprobable]

Thought MI:7’s title was a choice motivated by the narmy action movie desire to sound cool and then found out that Dead Reckoning is a real calculation that measures your current moving position from where you started. Like Fuck. that’s Actually Good. Ugh.

#mission impossible #MI:7 #Ethan hunt #Luther Stickell #Benji Dunn #Ilsa Faust #mission impossible dead reckoning #It’s insufferable but also a nice nod to the idea of coming full circle

[explosiveranga]

Games of the Heart (BTS fanfiction)

Rating: G (May change in the future)

Word Count: 1480

Fandom: BTS

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You and Jungkook are rival live streamers and for the next month, you'd be stuck in the same building as him for a reality TV show. Will you be able to prove that you're the better gamer, or will his mere presence distract you and cost you everything?

Notes: This is my first BTS story, god help me but I couldn't resist purple mullet JK. I blame @youarejesting. Any complaints, take it up with her. Also, happy birthday stinky boy.

P.s. Stream Butter now.

                                                      CHAPTER 1

Day 1

The slamming of a car door woke you and your first thought was that the sun was too goddamn bright. The next thought that crossed your mind was that you needed coffee, badly. An older gentleman opened your door and you recognised him as the driver who had picked you up from your apartment at 6 am.      “We’re here, miss.”      Through your sleep-addled brain, you almost forgot your manners and you nodded your thanks before leaning over to the sleeping form beside you.      “Namjoon,” you nudged him in the ribs with your elbow and the man started awake, eyes wide and drool glistening off his chin. He blinked at you as a giggle fell from your lips. “Come on. They’re waiting for us.”

The facility was huge.      You weren’t sure how far out of the city you were but as far as your eye could see, trees surrounded you, a sea of red and burnt orange lining the horizon, broken only by a large, modern estate, all white stone and tall glass windows. It loomed over you as you approached with your bags, your friend right behind you as you followed a producer through to a large sitting room. Sliding doors lined the far wall and were open to a balcony that overlooked the district, the morning sun slowly rising higher in the sky. A group of people were gathered, a mix of producers and the other contestants. A few of them were leaning over the fence for a better look, others cradling cups of coffee or catching a few minutes of rest. One man was laid back over a banana lounge, dark glasses hiding his eyes, mouth gape as gentle snores fell from him.

There were ten players in total, including yourself. Jeonju would be your home for the next four weeks where you and the other players would test and play an early release of the newest MMORPG - DragonStorm. You’d spend 12 hours a day, 6 days a week playing, testing, gaming. Everything would be filmed; think ‘Survivor’ but instead of surviving the wilderness and drinking your own pee, you’d be trying to beat a computer game. It was a massive PR stunt, to hype the release of the game and boost sales.      The prize was 100 Million Won to any charity of your choice and there were only a few rules; no contact with the outside world: no fourth wall-breaking (which meant that everyone had to be in character while they were playing at all times) and no discussing the game with other players. Anonymity was key.      Each player would start with their own quests to complete over the duration of the competition and everything they did accumulated points. At the end, the one with the most points would be crowned the winner.

The host, an older, bespectacled man that introduced himself as Bang Si-Hyuk, explained all of this to you once you were settled. You were familiar with most of your costars. Everyone here had some kind of platform on MeTube or Snitch and so you knew each other by association, having attended the same events and running in the same circles. Everyone seemed nice enough so far.      Apart from him. Your rival.      Well, you used the term ‘rival’ loosely. Jeon Jung-Kook, JK to his fanbase, was a fellow streamer and gamer. You used to play together when you were both new to the platform but one day, he stopped inviting you to lobbies and your fan bases had taken it upon themselves to start a rivalry. What began with a playful comment here and there soon became a full on turf war.      You spotted him from across the room, his hair an obnoxiously bright purple. He might actually be handsome if he wasn’t so frustrating. He caught your eye and threw you a crooked grin. It was your management's idea; the ultimate test to prove who was a better gamer. MeTube feuds kept you relevant and trending and that kept the money in your management's pockets, so everyone was a winner. All you had to do was survive four weeks locked in the same building as him.

Introductions were made and coffee was served as the contestants disbanded, some retreating to their rooms for some RnR, others exploring the grounds. Your friend, Namjoon, was making conversation with heartthrob actor Teahyung, waving his hands animatedly as they spoke.      You’d known RM since you were in the 3rd Grade when your family moved to Seoul. He’d taught you Korean and in turn, you helped him with his English. Through that, a firm friendship was formed. At this point, he was like a sibling to you. He was the Sherlock to your Watson and there was no one else you would rather be in this competition with, not least of all because Kim Namjoon was absolutely appalling at games and you planned on kicking his ass.

Finally feeling a little bit human after your early morning - after all, you gamers weren’t known for being early birds - you loaded yourself and your luggage into the elevator in search of your room. You took a sip of your coffee, grateful for the caffeine, leaning back against the mirrored wall as the doors began closing.      “Hold the elevator!”      Without thinking, your hand shot out between the doors but your gamer reflexes must have been too quick for the machine and it closed around your wrist. Startled, you dropped your precious cup of liquid energy, the doors opening just in time for you to see it tumble to the floor and all over Jeon Jungkook’s shoes.      “Shit,” you cursed, dropping to your knees in an attempt to clean it up with the one napkin that had been between your hand and the styrofoam. A few staff members rushed over to help and you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. One held the doors as you both got cleaned up but Jungkook’s white trainers were now splattered with coffee stains.      Eventually, you loaded back into the lift, coffee-less and in a worse mood than when you’d started. JK, bags at his side, was right there with you. You could feel his eyes on you as the doors slid closed.      “You’re shorter than I expected.” The man grinned and you wanted to smack that pretty smile off his handsome face. This was your first time meeting in person and it was going perfectly. Sometimes, you forgot that the feud was all a PR stunt and that you didn’t actually hate him. Well, maybe a bit; you still hadn’t forgotten the time he’d called you a n00b on his podcast and these comments weren’t helping his case.      “You’re more insufferable than I expected,” you retorted, wanting nothing more than for this elevator ride to be over. The building had 4 floors - the ground floor was all communal, with a kitchen and living area occupying most of it. The crew and production team occupied the second floor, and the contestants had assigned, self contained rooms on the third floor. The upper most floor housed a gym and other recreational facilities that you’d be able to use on their downtime. You only hoped that your rooms weren’t too near to each other.      “Are you ready to prove once and for all who’s the better gamer?” You blinked at the man. “...Me. It’s me. I-I’m the better gamer.”      “Wooooooooooooooooooow,” you couldn’t hide the smirk on your face, quickly looking away from him.      “What’s that supposed to mean?”      The doors slid open with a ‘ping’, allowing for a quick escape, leaving a frowning Jungkook to rush after you with his belongings.      “No, no, nothing.”      “It doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”      “Well, you’re very full of yourself aren’t you?”      “I do have more subs than you.” You shot him a quick glare. You’d been neck and neck for years but these late few months, he’d taken the lead in sub count and you had yet to take it back. You blamed his handsome face and that ridiculous purple mullet.      “Fine.1 V 1 me then.” You stopped at a door that had your name on it and opened it, loading your bags into the dark room. Jk stopped across the hall and you saw that his room was right across from you. Great. “Name a time and a place and I���ll show you who’s better.”      “I don’t think a 1v1 would be fair on you. You wouldn’t be able to kill the EnderDragon even if you were in Creative.”      You frowned, skin prickling with annoyance, watching him lean back against his door with folded arms “Well, you… you wouldn’t even know an EnderDragon if it...landed on your house.”

Without letting him reply, you rushed into your room, cursing yourself. You closed the door behind you, not before you heard the giggle coming from the frustratingly handsome man.

#Butter #bts #bangtan boys #jeon jungkook #reader #y/n #fanfiction #reality tv #influencer au #kim namjoon #jungkook x y/n #suga #min yoongi #park jimin #jimin #RM #JK #jhope #jung hoseok #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #gamers #JK is your rival #kpop #enemies to lovers

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

To the two people that care about this~

(Fate/Ninjago)

Now that everyone that doesn’t care is gone, let’s get tot rambling! 

You know what? I decided the best way to do this is to just post the fic I started.

--

He knew something didn’t go right the moment he saw red.

Smoke cleared and instead of the legendary green ninja, Len saw a boy he didn’t recognize wielding a golden sword.

“Who has summoned me?” the boy asked.

Or maybe he should be called a man? He seemed to be on the edge between the two. Either way he was older than Len. It didn’t matter who he was, what mattered was that he wasn’t who Len was trying to summon.

“You’re not the green ninja.” Len said flatly.

He made no effort to disguise his disappointment and distaste.

The servant in red narrowed his eyes harshly. He had a light scar over his face and all the marks of a seasoned warrior. Len knew he hadn’t gotten a total dud, but still was trying to figure out where in the world he went wrong.

“Of course I’m not.” What was clearly a Saber servant scoffed, sheathing his glowing weapon on his back and crossing his arms.

“I was trying to summon the green ninja.” Len said with confrontation in his voice.

Saber looked Len up and down then snorted in something akin to disgust.

“You’re not worthy of summoning Lloyd.” He said, with a bite to his words.

“How dare you! Do you know who I am?” Len demanded.

“Do you know who I am?” Saber retorted effortlessly.

Len grunted in frustration. Just his luck he’d gotten such an indigent servant. He toyed with the idea of using a command seal right then and there.

“I am Len Garmadon, I am a descendant of the green ninja. I share his blood. I can think of nothing ‘worthier’ then that.” Len said snidely.

“You didn’t answer me.” Saber said, showing no other reaction.

Hands finding their way into his hair, Len let out another frustrated groan. He bet Haruki wasn’t having these problems.

“No. I don’t know who you are. Would you care to enlighten me?” Len tried, being as civil as he could, but still sounding condescending.

Saber gave another dismissive sound.

“So, you don’t recognize me, but you think you’re worthy of summoning Lloyd? No wonder you failed.” Saber said.

Len growled.

“I’ll be back when you call my name, until then, you’re not worth my time.” Saber said before disappearing into his noncorporeal form.

“HEY! You can’t do that! SABER!” Len yelled.

Saber didn’t respond to the name of his class, so Len assumed he was meant to call Saber’s true name. But how could he do that when Saber never told him? It was clearly a test; one Len didn’t have the patience for. At this rate Haruki was going to win the Grail while he was stuck arguing with his stupid servant!

He could use a command seal, but he only had three and he got the feeling that his servant would refuse to appear without him using them until he fulfilled the silly request. So, he had to figure out what servant he’d summoned in place of his ancestor.

Len took a calming breath and listed what identifying traits he knew in descending order of helpfulness.

1. Saber used a golden sword.

There could only be so many golden swords in history and legends. That would surely narrow it down.

2. Saber wore red.

With how much of it he wore, it was clearly a distinctive color that he may be symbolically tied to.

3. Saber had a scar on his face.

It wasn’t the most prominent of scars, but it was identifiable.

4. Saber appeared to be a male.

While it wasn’t unheard of for servants to be different genders from what their legends said, it was worth starting with male legends.

Len was ready to bang his head on the wall at the task in front of him before he remembered a very telling quirk Saber had displayed.

He called the green ninja by his first name.

Saber seemed personally offended at Len’s demand for “Lloyd”, so clearly Saber, whoever he was, must’ve been a hero that knew the green ninja personally in his life.

That was a much more specific starting place.

_____

“Kai.”

“You called?”

The spikey haired ninja appeared before the sound was even done echoing around the library.

“You’re the master of fire. The green ninja’s protector. That’s the sword of fire you’re wielding, right?” Len asked as he calmly closed his book and got up to put it away.

Kai gave him a nod. The kid was much less snotty now and Kai felt less like hanging him on a street sign. Perhaps that was just a Garmadon trait though? Being an insufferable brat and then warming up on people.

Len didn’t look unlike Lloyd. He had Lloyd’s blindingly blond hair, and that Garmadon jawline that made girls go nuts, but Len’s cheek bones weren’t as full and projecting as Lloyd’s were. His eyes were that breathtaking emerald, but not the overly round shape Lloyds had been. Lloyd’s face had always had a round and young look to it. Len’s face was longer and more angled.

The biggest difference was the smile though. Len had a bit of a proud tint to his. Lloyd’s had always had a devious edge to his. It could be uncomfortable to see on his overtly innocent face, but he’d always had a sharp smile that hinted at some underhanded cunning. It was a trait Lloyd rarely, if ever, used, but having been raised the way he was he could never shake that sardonic touch in even his most innocent smile.

“I guess we’re stuck with each other.” Len sighed, placing his book heavy back on the shelf.

It seemed more amused and resigned than his previous sighs though, so Kai let it go.

___________________________________

Jaden was bouncing on the balls of his feet gleefully holding his package. It had taken a lot of money and work to get it, but he had it now.

It was an important piece of the original Samurai X suit. With it, Jaden could summon the mysterious warrior to be his servant in the Grail War. Not to mention meet his hero.

Jaden ripped open the package and found his prize. A red gem set in some twisted gold metal. It was unrecognizable now, but Jaden was assured it had been an important piece of the first suit. Perhaps it was a decorative emblem? Or maybe it belonged on the hilt of a weapon? It could’ve belonged on the helmet. Jaden could spend all day theorizing, but he was rather eager to summon the samurai.

Jaden had no workshop, so he was preforming the ritual out in the woods behind his house. It was not the most secure location, but Jaden wasn’t too concerned. Nobody would dare start attacking before all the servants were summoned.

The red stone was placed into the circle and Jaden began the summoning ritual.

Hands shaking, breath paused, Jaden waited for the smoke to clear. He was about to come face to face with the real Samurai X. The excitement was enough to make him faint, but also enough to make him refuse to, not waiting to miss the reveal. He was about to explode when he saw a figure form in the haze.

Then it all came crashing down into confusion and disappointment.

“Who has summoned me?” came a high pitched and delicate voice.

A girl, a pretty girl, but a girl stood in front of Jaden with expectant eyes. She wore the red gem Jaden had been assured belonged to the first Samurai X mech suit around her wrist in an elaborate bracelet.

Jaden deflated. He’d been conned.

“Are you ok?” the girl asked gently.

“Yeah, I just wanted to summon someone else.” Jaden said, trying not to offend the servant he did get.

“Oh. Well I’m sorry you were unsuccessful in that, but I assure you I’m a more than capable servant. I will win the Grail for you.” She said

Jaden smiled a bit. At least he’d gotten someone nice.

“I’m Jaden, if you don’t mind me asking….?”

“OH! Nya. I’m a Rider class.”

“Well at least I got that right.” Jaden was always the type to hold on to positives.

Nya…Rider laughed lightly.

“So, what can you do?” Jaden asked.

“I’m the master of water. I was one of the legendary Ninja.” Rider said proudly.

“Oh? That’s great!” Jaden was a great deal less disappointed and worried after hearing that he’d summoned one of the ninja.

“I’m glad.” Rider said with a smile.

_____

Taylor was tired and wanted to leave. Her dad talked to Caster, making plans for the upcoming war while she sat there like a third wheel. She had to stay though, because Caster was technically her servant. Not that it really mattered, her dad called the shots, she just had the command seals.

“And the target on my back” she thought bitterly.

She was the one the other masters would be trying to kill, not him.

Still, her father always got what he wanted, and he wanted the Grail. Taylor had no choice but to do his bidding, as she always would.

She still fantasied about using her command seals to make her servant off himself and drop out of the running right there. Her dad would be so mad. He’d probably lock her in the dungeon.

Maybe it would be worth it anyways….

_____ 

Gerald looked at his command seals proudly. He’d managed to summon one of the most feared Assassins there was. The last of the Anacondrai, Pythor. With such a deadly servant he was sure to win the Grail.

It had been hard to do the summoning without getting caught, but the attic in Darkley’s was secluded enough during classes. The kids that skipped chose more interesting places to be, and the kids that got caught were taken back to the classrooms in the lower floors.

“HEY!”

About to call Assassin to kill whoever had snuck up on him in panic, Gerald stopped his mouth in time when he realized it was just Bradly, his dormmate.

“What do you want?” Gerald asked, adjusting his glasses to hide the tremor in his hands.

He had really thought one of the other servants was about to kill him for a second there.

“What’s up with your hand?” Bradly asked.

“None of your business” Gerald snapped.

He was going to need to find a better excuse if he wanted to keep being in the Holy Grail War a secret, but it was just Bradly for now. Gerald could just intimidate him into keeping his trap shut.

Meanwhile, in noncorporeal form, Assassin cursed his luck. He was doomed to constantly get stuck with clueless boarding school brats, wasn’t he?

__________

“I want my father back.” Zack said.

Cole was startled. For many reasons. No small amount of his unease came from Zack’s appearance. He looked too much like Zane.

Zack was less centered than the ice ninja ever was though and was tearfully declaring his wish to be bringing the dead back.

“That’s your wish?”

“It is all I desire, Lancer.”

Cole cringed again. He didn’t particularly like being a lancer. He used a scythe not a lance. But the Grail deemed it close enough and brought him back as a Lancer class to fight in the Holy Grail War.

“I’ll do my best.” Cole finally said.

He had a feeling this kid wasn’t going to get the happy ending he wanted.

____

“UP AND AT ‘EM!”

Len shot up, his blankets finding their way to the floor and his heart planning it’s escape from his chest, coming face to face with Saber’s far too gleeful face.

“What is wrong with you!?” Len yelled.

Saber just laughed lightly, putting is hands up in a pacifying motion.

“Don’t be too mad, I made you breakfast.”

“What? Why?” Len asked, running to the kitchen to see what awaited him.

Saber never did answer him. Not that Len noticed. He got to the kitchen and was now had a new question.

“Are those chocolate chip pancakes?”

“I had a feeling you had a sweet tooth.” Saber shrugged.

Len bit his lip and swallowed. Saber was right, and as much as that should’ve freaked Len out, he was too busy forcing himself not to cry.

“This isn’t worth being upset about, let alone crying. Stop it Len!”

Mentally scolding himself for a moment, Len managed to keep his tears unshed before sitting down and putting food on his plate. Honestly, he didn’t know why he nearly cried. So he hadn’t had chocolate chip pancakes since his tenth birthday, what part of that was worth crying about?

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Len hoped Saber didn’t notice his emotional reaction. It wasn’t like there was a real reason for it and he definitely didn’t want to have to explain something so senseless so early in the morning.

Luckily Saber took his answer and didn’t test it. He sat down and started to load his own plate with food and eating.

Len relaxed. As rude as his wake-up had been, it was nice to have a warm breakfast for once. There were song birds outside and sunshine pouring through the window, setting a pleasant morning setting. It was the type of morning Len hadn’t had for a long time.

“Where are your parents?”

And his happy moment was gone.

“My mom works.” Len said sharply.

“Your dad?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Len both stabbed and chewed his next bite of food with a more strength than needed. To make his anger about the topic known? To blow off some stress from it being brought up? Who could say?

“Do you wake up alone a lot?”

Len’s teeth ground together.

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

Saber had the decency to look away and it was quiet for a moment while the two finished eating. Len broke it and sighed after he rinsed off his plate.

“Just so you know, there’s another Master at school. We have an agreement. The Grail War stays outside the school grounds. So, don’t freak out, ok?” Len explained.

He was not looking forward to Haruki’s taunts when she found out he failed to summon the green ninja. Maybe he could play it off like he’d wanted to summon Kai? No. She’d never buy that. He was just going to have to suffer through her laughter.

“How much do they know about you?” Saber asked.

“We’ve been rivals since we were little. She comes from a different mage family and we’ve both been groomed for the Holy Grail War for as long as I can remember. We’ve been in the same class every year since we started school too, so she knows a lot.” Len listed, tying his shoes.

“She knows you’re a descendent of the green ninja?” Saber had a calculating look, looking at the wall like it had a battle plan painted on it.

“Yeah, why?”

Saber’s eyes snapped their intense focus to Len.

“Do not tell her who you’ve summoned.”

“Wasn’t planning in it. I’m never gonna hear the end of it when she finds out I failed my summoning.”

“I’m serious Len. I will stay with you in noncorporeal form, but I won’t show myself unless I absolutely have to. She’s probably going to assume you summoned Lloyd and we’re going to let her think that, alright? Her thinking she knows who your servant is, is going to be a huge advantage.”

Len blinked.

Once.

Twice.

That was smart.

Len hadn’t realized that by failing, he’d gained the element of surprise.

“Haruki’s probably been strategizing assuming I succeeded. She’s getting ready for the wrong opponent!”

“And we’re going to let her keep doing that. See if you can get her to slip up and tell you any hints about who she’s summoned, alright?”

Len nodded, wide eyed.

“And by the way,” Saber said, putting his hand on Len’s head “You didn’t fail.”

“But…. I did though.”

Saber just smiled and shook his head. He gave Len’s head an affectionate rubbing then disappeared.

Len Stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out how the heck Saber thought that before realizing he needed to get heading to school.

By the time he slid into his assigned seat though, he settled on Saber just being an ego maniac.

--

So that introduces the set up pretty well.

Archer is getting killed by Pythor before much happens. Not important. Caster is Clouse.

At some point Not-Gene, or Gerald is going to get his command seals and servant stolen by Not-Chen, or Taylor’s father.

Not-Jay, or Jaden figures out that he did summon Samurai X when Nya uses her Nobel Phantasm.

Len will have to use a command seal to get Kai to attack her.

Not-Harumi, or Haruki summoned Morro as a Berserker.

Not-Lloyd, or Len didn’t fail his summoning. Lloyd himself made the decision to send Kai in his place, Kai figured out why he was there when he got a read on Len’s issues. Hence him taking on a care giving role.

That’s about all I have planned/figured out

-Ivy

#Mod Ivy #ninjago #lego ninjago #blursed ninjago ideas #blursed ninjago aus #fate/ninjago

[terrm9]

CHAPTER 8 - Closure

Never in her life would Chiara expect to find herself getting ready for engagement party of Harper Emery, of all people. But alas, neither would she think that her biggest accessory to the said party would be a wooden cane and yet here she was.

She felt equally nervous and excited about both, the process of getting ready and also the fact that after almost three months, she was going to spend the whole evening in the company of so many people. Considering the fact that Decembers in Boston were disgustingly cold compared to those back in San Francisco, Chiara decided not to test her own ability to not to freeze in the tiny, back cut out navy blue dress she wanted to wear initially, instead reaching for tight, long sleeved emerald green ones. She also succumbed the idea of wearing a thigh high boots, since she still needed to use a cane in spite of walking steadily. She grabbed the pair of black Doc Martens instead, put her hair into purposefully messy bun and stepped into the living room, where Sienna and Jackie were already waiting for her.

“Look at yourself!” Sienna smiled widely when she first noticed her. “Ready to blow some minds tonight?”

“Please, Sienna,” Chiara laughed shortly. “It just felt nice to put some make up on after such long time.”

“Well, you definitely dress to impress, Chiaris,” Jackie nodded, grinning. “I personally prefer undressing to impress, however. Is Lahela joining us?”

Chiara shook her head, going through her purse once again, making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything and without looking up, she shrugged: “He decided to spend tonight with Keiki.”

It was only a half truth. He was spending his night with Keike, but also with Kyra, who wasn’t feeling very well and wouldn’t really enjoy an evening spent at a party. The something going on between Bryce and Kyra, whatever it was, wasn’t exactly top secret, but Chiara knew that Bryce hasn’t told anyone about them yet and she didn’t feel like she should just spill it now.

“Whatever. Aurora is already there and she just texted me saying that the place is full of old doctors and even older teachers, so we really need to hurry up and get drunk with her.”

Sienna grabbed her coat and looked at Chiara, her face concerned.

“Are you sure you want to take the T, Chiara? We can always call a cab.”

“Thanks, Si, but I really want to take the T. I am going back to work in two days, remember? I kinda have to handle the basic life at this point.”

˜

It only took them about 20 minutes to get to the place where the party has been held and it was only when Chiara stepped through the main door that she fully realized that she would probably be meeting Ethan tonight.

Before she could drown herself in the sea of panic, nervousness, doubt and even sadness, she almost got crushed in a hug.

“Chiara, it’s so good to see you! We are all so, so happy that you are getting back!”

Chiara had to take two steps back and blink several times to match the face to the voice and the arms around her.

“Ines,” she smiled wholeheartedly. “I am the happy one. I missed you all. Yep, even you, Zaid,” she laughed as she noticed the older doctor to roll his eyes at the sentimental scene in front of him.

“I haven’t missed you at all, Ray,” he responded without missing a beat. “But I am glad to see that you are doing well.”

He took a sip of his drink and returned to the conversation he had with Ines before and as hard as he tried to look casual, Chiara knew very well that he just told her he actually did miss her.

˜

Ethan Ramsey was sitting at the bar, watching the crowd of people that all came to celebrate the happy couple. He really wanted to go home already, not feeling any of the happy vibes reaching him. The picture of scotch, book and comfort of his bed, was enough for him to dream about leaving, however he couldn’t bring himself to actually do so. It wouldn’t be impolite towards Harper and her fiancé, as he already congratulated them and the speeches were told and nobody really cared about the grumpy doctor at the bar. He stayed because he believed he’d see Chiara somewhere among the crowd, he hoped to at least catch a glimpse of her. Two hours ago, Ethan spotted Dr. Varma dancing with Aurora Emery and so he expected to see Chiara nearby, but two long hours have passed and she was nowhere to be found.

Just as he started to concede the possibility of her not coming to the party, the familiar voice behind his back startled him. He turned around abruptly on his bar stool and suddenly found himself staring in those beautiful green eyes, the eyes that were wide with surprise as they stared back at him.

“Chia- um, Dr. Ray. Nice to see you,” he nodded towards her, remembering her wish to keep things professional.

“Hi, Ethan,” she smiled softly as she grabbed the glass of wine she ordered and his shoulders visibly relaxed when she called him by his first name.

Chiara wished to go home. As happy as she was for Dr. Emery and Mr. Banks, she felt her legs slightly trembling after the pressure she kept putting on them for the last three hours and her head was hurting. Clearly, she was overwhelmed by all the noises and fellow doctors wanting to talk to her and foreign teachers asking her how did she – so young and beautiful – ended up with a cane. All she dreamed about was her bed and medical journal and some lovely, slow, silent music in the background. Sienna promised to take her home anytime she wanted but seeing how much she was enjoying her time with Danny on the dance floor, Chiara couldn’t bring herself to ask her to leave. And so, she decided to at least order a glass of wine and just observe the others from a corner of the room.

The possibility of meeting Ethan at the bar hasn’t crossed her mind even once, when really it was the only place she could imagine him spending the night at.

He looked as handsome as ever and it took Chiara by surprise. She believed she could face him and maintain the cold distance she decided to put between them this time. She wasn’t prepared for him, dressed in black button up shirt and black pants, to look so unfairly awesome.

“You look like you are attending a funeral,” she blurted out, trying to save herself from telling him how attractive he looked.

“I hate parties almost equally much,” Ethan replied, observing her from head to toes, admiring her beauty. Her cheeks were blushed pink, few strands of her hair sticking out of her bun, the dress flattering both, her figure and her complexion.

You look so beautifully alive, Rookie.

“Why are you here then?”

“Because I respect Harper and, as much as it may surprise you, I am sincerely happy for her to find the right man. Well, I would definitely be happier if the amount of “darlings” and “sweethearts” in their speeches was radically decreased, but nonetheless, I am happy for them.”

Chiara, despite trying to keep her expression cool and distant, had to laugh at the dissatisfied expression on his face as he said the words darlings and sweethearts.

“You hate nicknames in relationship. Obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” he repeated. “I mean, they have their names for a reason.”

“But you call me Rookie,” the pointed out, sipping slowly on her wine.

Ethan’s expression softened immediately, remembering the first time he called her so.

“I called you Rookie on your first day in hospital, because I didn’t know your real name back then. That’s the difference. These two, I mean, Harper and Thomas are pretty decent names, why can’t they just use them?”

Ignoring his rage about Harper and Thomas not using their actual names, Chiara couldn’t help but tease him.

“Yeah, you didn’t know my name back then, but now you do, and you still call me Rookie. So I guess the nicknames are not all that bad.”

His cheeks blushed in dark pink colour as he realized that she was indeed right. He gave her a nickname and they both grew so fond of it, that he didn’t want to stop calling her that.

Clearing his throat, Ethan decided to change the topic before they would tangle themselves too deep in the memories and therefore regrets.

“So, have have you been doing?”

Chiara wasn’t looking at him as she answered: “I like to think that I am doing fine”

“What exactly does that mean?”

She shrugged, not really wanting to elaborate. She only wanted to talk to him about work and the money she owed him, the concept of the “how-has-life-been-lately” talk not fitting into her plan.

“My back doesn’t hurt much anymore, only when I stand for too long or sleep on one side for too long. The legs are fine, except the stability in my left leg – I don’t trust myself with it enough, I guess. That’s why I’ll have to use this little friend of mine-” she chuckled as she lifted her wooden cane up, “-a little bit longer than I initially expected. Other than that, I am totally fine.”

“And the nightmares?” he couldn’t help but ask, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“Manageable,” Chiara responded way too quickly and before he could accuse her of lying, she changed the topic. “Honestly, I think I should be the one to ask you if you were okay. I mean, this is 16 ounces glass you are holding in your hand and it’s filled with pure liquid. So you’re either drinking insufferably huge amount of vodka or you are drinking water, which in your case, is just as weird. Are you sick or something?”

Ethan couldn’t suppress his laugh anymore, hearing Chiara like that reminding him all the conversations they had while she was in the hospital.

“It’s water, which, for the record, I drink quite often, since as a doctor I know how important it is. And as much as I’d prefer whiskey tonight, I came here by car. Therefore, I just have to stick with the water until I get home.”

Chiara laughed at the tone of his voice, indicating just how very much he already wished to be home with a glass of said whiskey in his hand.

It was Ethan’s turn to observe the crowd, not knowing if Chiara still insisted on keeping their distance or if he could finally talk to her about all those things he wanted to talk to her about.

Chiara’s whole chest was tight, and she felt her heart breaking all over again at the sight of him. She missed him so much and she wanted to forget all the hurt he caused her and all the trust issues she’s had, because this light conversation they just managed to have, that was her relationship with Ethan. Laughs and teasing and caring for each other. For him to hate sweet couple nicknames and for her to tease him about not drinking alcohol in the middle of the party, it simply felt so natural.

This is who we are. This is what we could be if only he could stop leaving me in the dark. If only I could trust him.

The tears threatened to fall out of her eyes and she was thankful for the fact that Ethan wasn’t looking at her. She quickly blinked them away and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I was actually hoping to talk to you?”

Ethan’s head snapped back at her, his expression surprised and also somehow… pleased?

“You were?”

“I wanted to let you know that I am officially getting back to work on Monday. I missed a lot, so if you have some work for me to catch up, you can send it and I’ll get through everything until then.”

“Please, Chiara,” he smiled softly at her, falling for her even deeper at those words, seeing how dedicated she was. “You’ll catch up just fine on Monday. Enjoy these two free days, the work will wait for you.”

“As you wish,” she shrugged, knowing better than to try to persuade him. “I also wanted to let you know that I haven’t forgotten about the rents you paid for me and as soon as I am back to work, I will pay everything back. Just give me another week or so, please.”

Ethan didn’t want her to pay him back. He didn’t miss the money and the fact that he could do at least something for her made him feel good. But just as Chiara knew about his stubbornness, Ethan knew about hers and so he knew that when Chiara Ray made her mind about something, there was no point in persuading her otherwise.

He was about to nod when he noticed Chiara wincing in pain and gently massaging her lower back.

“So much about no back pains,” he frowned. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“I’d really like to, but I am forbidden to go home without Sienna’s supervision, and she is having such a great time. I don’t want to make her leave, so I guess I’ll just drink wine until she decides to go home.”

“I was about to leave. I can take you,” Ethan offered without a second of hesitation.

She knew she shouldn’t accept. She knew that it was her idea to keep a distance and that stepping into Ethan’s car would ruin her dedication to maintain it. But in this moment, she also knew they both deserved a closure, the talk about them. The talk where both sides could talk and explain.

She hoped for them to be best friends again.

Chiara missed Ethan.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let me just text Sienna. You can go first and I’ll follow you in a few minutes, so that people don’t talk about us leaving together.”

“Please,” he laughed loudly, for the first time in the evening. “People already are talking about us.”

“What?” she gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“I think it started at the softball game, when I’ve gotten a little bit too protective over you. That and the fact that not once in my eleven years at Edenbrook I attended a softball game. Until you asked me to play,” he chuckled, but after a brief moment his expression hardened. “And well, my, uh… breakdown in the E.R. after your accident, my visits by your bedside, I guess all of those things sparked the rumors.”

Not sure if she felt more amused or embarrassed, Chiara sent a quick text to Sienna, explaining that Dr. Terminator would give her a ride home and after putting her phone back to the purse, she grinned at Ethan: “Let’s give them something fresh then, shall we?”

Ethan put his hand at her lower back lightly and with a smug smile on his face lead her out of the party neither of them wanted to attend in the first place.

˜

The car ride was peaceful, Boston streets unusually quiet and empty, fresh snow reflecting the streetlights, making the street look brighter than it really was.

Ethan was being extremely careful to make sure the ride was smooth, not braking abruptly, not taking sharp turns. As okay as Chiara pretended to be, he was a doctor after all, and he knew that dealing with trauma came in waves. That anything could trigger a bad memory back.

His thoughts were disturbed by a sudden cry coming from Chiara’s mouth.

“Ethan, stop!”

He slammed the brakes, sighing with relief when he made sure that there was no car following them, as his sudden braking would definitely cause a crash. He turned to Chiara startled and despite wanting to respect her wishes, he reached for her hand.

“What is it, Chiara?”

“I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I just felt like the opposite car was about to crash into us.”

At this point, her whole body was trembling, her breaths short and shallow. She was at the beginning of hyperventilation, her face ghostly pale.

“Just let me park and we can step out of the car, okay? We’ll catch some fresh air and everything will be alright,” Ethan squeezed her hand and slowly pulled out, parking the car by the carb as soon as he could. Turning the engine off, his whole figure turned towards Chiara.

“You haven’t been in car since the accident?”

After taking a few deep breaths to steady her senses, Chiara look at Ethan and with a weak voice, she replied: “Only once, when Bryce drove me home from the hospital. But that was at the noon and I could see the whole car on the opposite side of road. I could see that the car was in its own lane, I could even see the driver. But now it’s night and it’s dark and the only thing I see are the two front lights getting closer and closer and…” she trailed off, not able to finish the sentence as her lower lip was trembling again.

Ethan cupped her cheeks with his hands and with voice so soft it broke her heart, he whispered: “It’s okay, Rookie. You are okay, you are safe. We don’t have to continue, we can just sit in the car until you feel better, okay?”

She nodded, leaning into his touch as she closed her eyes. The comfortable silence in the car was only disturbed by occasional car driving by them and for the first time in almost two weeks, Chiara felt safe.

“I guess we should talk,” she muttered into his hand.

“About work? Because as I said, there’s no need-“

“About us,” she cut him off, straightening on her seat.

Ethan raised his eyebrows in surprise, but soon his expression was utterly vulnerable.

“I would like that very much. Do you want to talk here in the car? Or at your place? Of course we could go to my place, as it provides more privacy, but I am fine with whatever you want. As long as you feel comfortable,” he felt the hotness creeping on his neck, realizing very well how nervous he must’ve sounded.

“Your place sounds fine,” Chiara smiled at him, amused as she, too, realized just how nervous he suddenly was.

˜

As they stepped into Ethan’s apartment, the first thing he made sure of was that Chiara was sitting comfortably on his couch.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

“I’ll have whatever you are having.”

“Uhm, I am not going to have anything, so I recommend you to change your mind.”

“You came home to have scotch.”

“Yes, but that was before I knew that you would join me. I’ll be taking you back home,” he shrugged, pouring himself another glass of water.

“I’ll just take a cab,” she rolled her eyes. “Get us both some good scotch, please.”

“There’s no way I am letting you take a cab,” he shook his head. “I promised you a drive home and I intend to give you that.”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to tell him that she was a big girl and didn’t need to be supervised all the time, but she came here to talk about them and so she let the topic of whiskey go.

“I think it’s rather fair to both of us to know where we stand, now that I’ll be back to work and things will go back to normal.”

Ethan joined her on the couch, his expression thoughtful as he kept looking not at her, rather at the coffee table. He nodded slowly and even though he realized that it was not a gentleman thing to do, he started to speak before she could say anything else.

“I am sorry, Chiara. If I am to tell you only one thing tonight, I want you to know, most of all, that I am truly and infinitely sorry for everything I’ve ever put you through. I am sorry for leaving you when you most needed me, for running away when things got hard, for pushing you away only to pull you closer. I now see just how huge coward, how huge asshole I’ve been all that time. And I know very well that one damn ‘sorry’ doesn’t make up for everything I’ve caused you to feel. But still, I am sorry.”

“You weren’t all that bad, you know,” she grinned. “I have forgiven you a long time ago, Ethan. I don’t hate you, obviously. I am not even angry. And I missed you. I mean, there’s no better target of my teasing than you, old man. What we had, while I was in the hospital, it was more than I’ve ever imagined we could be. Being close friends with internal jokes and deep talks, I miss that, Ethan, but I am so afraid to trust you, because every time things got actually good between us, you’d take a step back. So I need you to tell me what you want and once it’s said Ethan, I need you to stick to your words. No matter what.”

Ethan stood up and started to pace nervously around the living room, preparing himself to tell Chiara everything he wanted to tell her for such a long time.

“Not so long ago I told you that there was no such a thing as unconditional love or soul mates. That I am not capable of love, because I don’t believe in it in the first place. But sweet Lord, seeing you in the I.C.U. after the accident, believing that I would never see your eyes open, that I would never hear you laugh again, it made me think. And as terrible as I am at expressing my emotions and my feelings, I no longer feel that way. I know now that whatever it is that you feel for me, it’s unconditional. It must be, because otherwise you would just give up on me already. And I know that what I feel for you, whatever it is, is unconditional too.”

He took a deep breath and sat back down on the couch next to her, taking her hand into his.

“For a long time I believed that the thing I wanted the most was to have you all to myself. To selfishly call you mine. But now I know that is actually not what I want the most.”

“Oh?” she interrupted him for the first time, her expression visibly pained.

“What I want more than anything in this world is for you to be happy. You deserve the whole world Chiara and you deserve to be happy and nothing else but happy. And I know myself. I am broken man, destroyed one. Cynic. Asshole. Unable to express what he feels, enable to show affection. No matter how much I care for you, there are still men out there, that would be so much better at expressing it. Even though they wouldn’t care as much as I do, they would show you just how much they do. If we were together, we would have to keep our relationship a secret. I wouldn’t be able to take you out for a dinner, to accompany you to the parties as your plus one. You deserve so much better than me, Chiara, and I want you to have the best.”

There was a long pause after that. Chiara was staring at the wall, obviously way too deep in her thoughts, considering everything Ethan has just said. Her brows were furrowed, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress without her mind actually realizing so.

After what felt like forever, she turned to Ethan and looked straight into his eyes.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Ethan. As noble as it is, for you to want me to be happy even if it’s with someone else, if you selfishly want me all for yourself, just say it, damnit. I can decide if that’s what’s best for me.”

The fire in her eyes as she looked at him made Ethan’s throat dry. Before he could compose any meaningful sentence, Chiara added: “But remember, I need you to stand by what you say. I need you to keep your words this time, Ramsey.”

“Well, then I selfishly want you all for myself, Rookie,” he smiled at her, the fact that she didn’t retreat the hand he was holding giving him a tiny bit of hope. “And I wish I could be the one to make you happy.”

“You mean it?”

She wanted to come with a comeback, with response that would break this tense, vulnerable, raw atmosphere, yet she needed him to ensure her that he wouldn’t change his mind in the morning.

“I mean it. With all my heart, if there’s something of it left. I mean it with my whole being, Chiara. If you ever decide to give me, give us, a chance, I promise not to give up on us, not to leave, not to push you back. I can't promise you happily ever after and I can't promise to never disappoint you again, because I likely will disappoint you again. However, I can promise to learn how to change. I promise to work on the relationship harder than I’ve ever worked on my degree.”

They both laughed, knowing that such promise meant more than any other could mean.

“Well, in that case, it’s a good thing that I selfishly want you all to myself too, Dr. Ramsey,” her words almost a whisper as she let them out.

For the first time ever, their lips met in a kiss that didn’t taste like regrets, doubts and sorrow.

For the first time ever they kissed with hope and promises and happiness.

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #pixelberry #play choices #sienna trinh

[thecat-inthehat]

4. Clinch

Y’shtola x WoL, NSFW. Y’shtola gives Nive the Strap. 

I’ve been meaning to actually write this for forever, and then before I knew it, it was 2.5k, complete with pining during sex. This was written under the idea that hrothgar/ronso go into heat, while miqo’te do not, and Y’shtola offered to help Nive out. Some light warnings for Nive angsting over being half-hrothgar and not understanding/being frustrated by her own biology, also some ace-like notions of “not wanting to deal with sex at all”. 

This is largely unedited, because I’m tired as fuck. Enjoy [sprinkles confetti] 

“Shh, Shh, I have you,” Y’shtola murmured, her fingers working magic between Nive’s thighs, each stroke of Nive’s clit sending fire rushing through her veins. Nive couldn't help how her hips pushed up into it, desperately trying to get more and more of that lovely friction. 

“N-not enough,” Nive gasped, reaching for Y’shtola’s neck and pulling her down for a kiss. It was needy and hungry, as if they’d never kissed before, or that Y’shtola’s kiss was the only thing that could keep her from drowning. 

Y’shtola twisted her fingers, curling them, and dipped two into Nive’s wet heat, quickly building up a steady rhythm. She was rewarded with Nive’s cry that echoed in the small room, and the younger woman couldn’t have even stopped the orgasm if she tried. Nive clenched around Y’shtola’s fingers, helplessly rocking her hips to try and prolong it as she kissed Y’shtola again and again. 

When the two finally broke apart, Y’shtola nuzzled her neck, a light purr coming from the back of her throat. “Was that enough, dear Nivelth?” 

Nive couldn’t answer immediately, instead wrapping her arms around Y’shtola’s shoulders and pulling her close. Her thigh was twitching, and her tail was thumping on the bed in agitation. “N-no. Gods, I hate this, it’s still not enough—“

“Shh, it’s alright,” Y’shtola said, dragging her hands through Nive’s hair, and caressing one of her diminutive ears. “You said it was heat, yes? A mere four climaxes is like as not to do anything for you.” 

“I hate it,” Nive said miserably, leaning into Y’shtola’s touch. “It’s never regular, I never know if it lasts for hours or days, and sometimes I can barely think. I just want more, and I haven’t even made you feel good yet.” 

Y’shtola ran her other hand over Nive’s side, heedless of the mess on her fingers, instead tracing the star-white freckles on the keeper’s brown skin. She gently stroked her skin, soothing her as best she could through the fever like flush that rose from her. “It’s alright, Nivelth, you needn’t worry about me. You came to me for help, and I intend to give it. Granted, I’ve never experienced a heat myself, but I know they can be unpleasant without a partner.” 

“It’s horrible,” Nive murmured, and arched into Y’shtola’s touch. She twisted her hips and tried to get comfortable on the bed again, both leaning into and away from Y’shtola’s touch. 

“Hmm… talented as my tongue might be, and my fingers too, I don’t think this is cutting it,” Y’shtola observed. “Might I retrieve something that might help, dear Nivelth?” 

Nive nodded, sitting up to disentangle herself from the seeker, and give herself a shake. “Go ahead, though I’m not sure what else could help at this rate. Maybe a sleeping potion, so I don’t have to be awake through the rest of this heat.” 

Y’shtola kissed her sweetly, just long and firmly enough that it made Nive’s breath catch, and the heat in her belly clench. Nive tried to follow her as she pulled away, but Y’shtola clicked her tongue and smirked. “Patience, my dear. Now let me go and find it…” 

Y’shtola pulled back, going to walk to her dresser, her white tail swaying over her bare thighs, highlighting the soft curve of her ass, and Nive couldn't look away. A pale strip of moonlight fell over Y’shtola’s back, putting her shoulder blades into sharp relief, and highlighting the slight muscle that belied her thin frame. A sudden desire to bite into Y’shtola’s neck swept through her, a want to lay mark after mark along the knobbles of Y’shtola’s spine, to have the seeker woman needing her touch… 

Nive looked down at her hands, clenching them so tight that her claws pricked her palms. No, no, that wasn’t what she was here for. Y’shtola wasn’t hers (no matter how much she wanted), this was just… a friend helping out another with strange bits of their biology. 

Not for the first time, Nivelth detested her half-hrothgar nature. Other miqo’te didn’t have to deal with heat, or obnoxiously thick fur along their arms and legs, or an instinct to bare their teeth at a threat. Maybe if there were more like her around, she wouldn’t feel like this, but… there was only herself. 

The slight jingle of a belt buckle broke her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Y’shtola fixing smooth leather straps around her thighs. The seeker’s meticulous hands were clinching each belt buckle smoothly, adjusting what looked like a … harness? around her hips. The leather straps circled over each thigh, resting just below each pert cheek of Y’shtola’s ass, accentuating it nicely, and more leather rested over her hips. 

“Y’shtola…?” Nive asked in confusion. 

Y’shtola turned, leaning back against the dresser, and that same strip of moonlight fell over her once more, illuminating the black leather harness that adorned her now. Jutting out from just above the tops of her thighs was a cock made of polished wood that gleamed faintly in the moonlight, swaying just slightly when Y’shtola settled against the dresser. She slanted her hips to the side, putting the weight on one leg and pushing the other forward just slightly, showing the curve of her waist all the more. She tapped a finger to her lips, and smirked at Nive’s wide eyes, giving a wink. 

“I do hope this is alright…?” She asked, her tone ever so slightly teasing. “I’ve been looking for a chance to use it…” 

“Uhm.” Was Nive’s brilliant reply. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as the flush rose high, high up on her cheeks. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had to swallow to try and get herself able to say something, but all that came out was a thin whine of want. Her heat, cooled to a mild embers after her last climax, came roaring back to life, burning its way through her belly and making her clench her thighs together. Twelve, how could just a simple view make her so wet like that? 

Y’shtola’s smirk widened, and she practically stalked back over to the bed, her steps firm and assured. She took Nive’s face into her hands and pulled her up for a blistering kiss, climbing onto the bed and knocking Nive back against the pillows so she could hover over her. She reached down to stroke Nive’s clit gently, and made an appreciative noise against Nive’s mouth when she found how wet she was. 

“Eager, are we?” Y’shtola asked, chuckling softly. “If I knew you liked this, I’d have brought it out sooner.” 

Nive groaned into the kiss and reached for her, needing to touch and bite, to drag her claws in. “I didn’t know I liked it,” she said breathlessly, running her hands down Y’shtola’s chest to get to her hips, and hesitating to touch the dildo. “B-but it’s you, so…” 

Y’shtola’s eyes softened as she smiled down at her, and she canted her hips forward to rub the strap against Nive’s clit. Nive couldn’t stop the cry that escaped her, and her hips pushed up against Y’shtola, desperately trying to get more. It felt like it was ridged, even, creating electric little shocks that pulsed through Nive’s system, and getting her even wetter. Gods, she was going to soak the bed at this rate. 

“Thighs apart, Nivelth,” Y’shtola said firmly, and the tone of her voice sent a thrill through Nive. “Relax while I push in, yes?” 

Nive nodded, and barely had time to do anything but follow her instructions as Y’shtola gripped one of her thighs and lined herself up, pushing in slowly. Nive’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry, and she couldn’t even as Y’shtola seated herself inside her, suddenly feeling both too-full and desperate for more all at once. Gods, she’d never had anything like this inside her, and to have it be Y’shtola, no less, gazing down at her with an interested gleam in her eye… Nive felt caught, almost, pinned between Y’shtola’s sharp eyes and her strap, and she honestly couldn’t bring herself to want anything else. 

“M-move?” Nive asked, trying to push her hips to try and have some kind of friction. She didn’t know the first thing about how to move, but she was a fast learner, she could pick this up. 

“Does it feel good?” Y’shtola asked instead, running her hand up and down Nive’s thigh soothingly. “Talk to me, dearest. I cannot know I’ve done a good job for you unless you tell me.” 

“It’s--” Nive stopped, taking a breath and forcing herself to not respond right away. “It’s a lot. B-but it’s good, Y’shtola. Twelve, please, could you move, I want to feel you.” 

“Good,” Y’shtola said, practically preening under the praise and she nodded, pulling her hips back and giving a firm thrust back in. “Don’t hold back now, dear.” 

Nive’s back arched off the bed with that first true thrust, and twelve was it ever what she needed, what her body craved. She couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled forth from her lips, and each sound she made only seemed to spurr Y’shtola on, until she was practically lost under it all. Gods, she hadn’t realized heat could feel this good, every other heat had been lonely and insufferable. 

Y’shtola ran her hands over Nive’s thighs again, then to her calves, not even balking at the thick fur that lined her legs. She kept rocking her hips into Nive, making the younger woman squirm and clench around the strap, and desperately ask Y’shtola for more. Her hands came up to grab at Y’shtola’s shoulders, digging her claws in without meaning to, and she kept trying to meet Y’shtola’s thrusts as best she could, to chase that sweet, sweet feeling. 

“G-Gods, Shtola--” she tried, her back arching once more, and dragging Y’shtola’s face down so she could kiss the seeker desperately. Y’shtola moaned into her mouth, purring in the back of her throat, and ground her hips in just right that it had Nive crying out. It was almost enough, almost, if she could just-- 

Nive didn’t even realize she had flipped them both until Y’shtola let out a sound of surprise, blinking up at her from where she lay on the pillows, her hair splayed out over the sheets like a crescent moon. 

“N-Nivelth…?” Y’shtola asked, a half laugh of surprise bubbling up from her lips. “Gods, you’re so strong. If you wish to ride me, you can certainly do so.” 

“S-sorry, I -- I didn’t mean to--I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Nive asked, even as she felt horribly empty from Y’shtola’s cock slipping out in her haste to get on top. 

“Not at all, just a bit of a shock,” Y’shtola purred, and her hands ran over Nive’s shoulders, and down her belly, pushing her hips back. “Let’s get you seated, shall we?” 

Y’shtola’s touch was like fire and Nive could only do as bid, shifting back until she could sink down onto the seeker’s strap. A growl of satisfaction slipped past her clenched teeth, and before she knew it she had sunk to the base, grinding down on her happily. It took a few faltering motions before Nive figured out how to ride her properly, but once she did, she didn’t hold back at all. She placed her hands on Y’shtola’s stomach and chased after that electric sizzling down her spine, going faster than even Y’shtola had before. 

Hands fell onto Nive’s hips, steadying her, and Y’shtola gazed up at her happily, a warm smile on her lips. “That’s it, Nivelth,” she murmured, running her hand along Nive’s hip. “That’s it, keep going. I have you.” 

Nive moaned softly at the softness of the gesture, desperately wanting to feel that same motion, that same tenderness when it wasn’t just her heat, when she actually had control over herself. To have Y’shtola smile at her, kiss her, just for the sake of doing it, not because it was a problem that needed fixing. She shivered as Y’shtola’s hands dipped lower, caressing her skin, and then let out a shout as Y’shtola’s thumb found her clit. Y’shtola stroked her in time to Nive’s thrusts, careful to not have it be too much too fast, keeping her just on the edge of overstimulated. 

It didn’t last -- whatever tenuous balance Y’shtola was able to strike with her skilled fingers shattered when Nive grinded her hips down just right and came with a yowl. She kept rocking her hips desperately as the climax overtook her, trying to prolong it as much as she could, even as Y’shtola worked over her clit to help. Nive let out a whine as it became too much, and she pitched forward, almost collapsing on top of Y’shtola, and just barely managing to catch herself. 

Y’shtola reached up to wrap her arms around Nive anyways, guiding her down to lie on top of her, and rocking her hips just a little more. Nive gave a weak whine into Y’shtola’s neck, shivering as she felt her body clench a little bit more. 

“My dear Nivelth,” Y’shtola murmured, kissing her sweaty brow and stroking down her back, while twining their tails together. “I have you, it’s alright…” 

Nive shivered in her hold, and gingerly went to wrap her arms around Y’shtola, finally, finally feeling her heat recede. She couldn’t even say anything, too caught up in the post orgasm haze to actually form a coherent thought, save for how lovely Y’shtola smelled, and how beautiful her eyes looked in the light of the moon. What she wouldn’t give to stay like this forever, she thought. 

Y’shtola’s nails dragged down her spine, and she was purring again, holding her close. “Did that help, then…?” 

Nive nodded against her shoulder, starting to purr as well. “Y-yes, I think. Mm… I think my heat isn’t gone, not yet, but… it’s receded a bit, at least for an hour or so.” 

“Perfect. Enough time to get some water and clean up a bit. You’re rather messy, Nivelth,” she scolded lightly, her teal eyes bubbling with mirth. 

Nive flushed a dark red and buried her face into Y’shtola’s neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“I’m teasing, Nivelth,” Y’shtola chuckled, and kissed her brow. “Now, shall we see about getting ready for the next round…?” 

Nive pulled back to look at her, her hair falling down to give them a curtain that cut them off from the rest of the world, till it was just them. 

“Thank you, Y’shtola. It… I know you didn’t have to help me,” she said softly. “And I know this isn’t over, and you could be doing so much else with your time.” 

Y’shtola smiled warmly, and leaned up to kiss her, soft and sweet. “Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. We’ve nowhere to be until that Alliance banquet in Ul’dah tomorrow evening, so we’ve time yet to spare. And truth be told, I’d sooner spend my time with you, rather than anywhere else.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #Y'shtola Rhul #y'shtola x wol #Nivelth Ajuyn #The Daedalus Project #creator writes

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 1 

Hey, Loves! This is a fanfiction I’ve been working on recently. Hope you like it!

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Michelle Jones never understood the infatuation human society had with soulmates.

As a little girl full of hopes and dreams, she admits she was rather fond of the idea: someone out there who was perfect for her, someone who she could share her life with, her soul-bonded partner.

Until her mom got sick. And her dad started treating his wife like his own personal punching bag and then left them with barley enough money to get by. And that sucked, but Michelle could deal with it. She really could.

(But she was not okay.)

But after that initial honeymoon phase, after seeing a relationship that was supposedly written in the cosmos fall apart, she was wrenched back to a sad, logical reality.

After giving up on her soulmate, she found it grating how often it came up in seemingly normal discussion.

This, Michelle thought, was rather ridiculous, considering they were all freshman in high school, and wouldn’t be turning 17 for at least two years, three for most of them.

When she woke up on the morning of February 27th, she was not expecting the day to be anything special or different.

Trudging to the bathroom, half asleep with hair in her mouth, she thought she might pass out. Damn her for opting to take the PCB (physics, then chemistry, then biology) route instead of being normal like almost every other kid at Midtown Tech.

The only bonus to PCB was that she had the same kids in her science class every year. Betty and Cindy and Ned and Peter. The only downside was Flash, who was insufferable on the very best of days. He was also on the PCB track.

(Ugh.)

Point was, Michelle had stayed up super late the previous night studying for a massive test with Peter and Ned, and she was absolutely exhausted.

(Physics could be a bitch sometimes.)

“Hey, Sweetie, how did you sleep?” Her mom was laying on the couch, nose shoved into her book, right arm hooked up to an IV. When Michelle didn’t answer immediately, she looked up and let out a soft oh. “Rough night?” She asked.

Michelle sighed. “Yeah. Big test today. Studied with the losers last night.”

“Well, good luck, honey.” MJ started walking toward the door. “Oh, and, Michelle? Don’t call your friends losers.”

Michelle ran a hand through her hair, the chocolate curls a tangled mess perched atop her head.

————————————————————

“Hey, MJ.” Michelle looked up to see Peter waving at her, toothy grin and glasses and a dark blue sweater. She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Too early, Idiot.

Physics went as well as could be expected. Lunch was a different story.

“I can’t wait,” Betty said dreamily. “I wonder what they’ll look like.”

“I wonder what my soulmark will be,” Ned said, looking up from his English notes. “With my luck, it’ll be worse than that senior with a foot tattooed down the right side of his face.”

Michelle snorted. “Yeah, maybe it’ll be a giant dick or something.”

“Maybe yours’ll be a unicorn, MJ. You know, to match your personality,” Ned fired back.

She stiffened, looking around at the group. ‘‘I don’t want a soulmate,” she muttered.

“What? Why not?” Cindy exclaimed, her eyes almost comically wide.

Peter looked up at that. His glasses had fallen down his nose considerably, and he shoved them back up his face. Dork.

Michelle shrugged. “I just don’t. They’re pointless.”

“Well,” Peter started, “maybe one day you’ll change your mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not likely, Parker.”

“Tell that to your soul-bonded partner.”

A soft chorus of oohs echoed from the Table around her. She needed new friends.

“Whatever. Even if I find my soulmate, I’ll just avoid them like the plague. Shouldn’t be that hard with all my practice when it comes to you lot.”

Peter let out a small uh-huh, and went back to whatever the hell it was he was doing.

It wasn’t like she and Peter didn’t argue. As best friends, it was kind of part of the job description. But Peter and Ned already knew how she felt about soulmates and soulmarks. Michelle was surprised he had pushed her on that front. Weird.

She cleared her throat.

—————————————————————

Sophomore year rolled around, and with it came Academic Decathlon. Michelle befriended Liz almost immediately. She was so nice, and perfect, and smart.

About halfway through the year after a field trip for AcaDec, Peter missed school for over a week. Something about catching a bug on the trip. On day 10, Michelle went to his apartment.

May opened the door. “Oh, hey, MJ! Peter is in his room. He’ll be glad to see you,” she said, a smile gracing her face.

Michelle walked past May with a small nod of acknowledgement. When she entered Peter’s room, she was fairly surprised to see that he, in fact, did actually look very sick. He was on the floor covered in sweat and shaking.

“Ohmigod, Peter! Are you okay?”

“Oh, MJ. Didn’t know you cared. How sweet of you,” he managed through chattering teeth.

“I don’t, Loser. Here,” Michelle leaned down, “let me help you to your bed.”

“No!” Peter scrambled backward over a pile of schoolwork, the pages sticking to his hands. The sweat, probably, thought Michelle

She quirked an eyebrow.

“I, uh—I don’t want to get you sick, is all,” he explained.

“Whatever, Loser,” she said. “I brought you your schoolwork, so… here you go.” She dropped the stack onto his unoccupied bed, spared Peter one more glance, shrugged, and turned to walk out of the room.

“MJ, wait. Thank you, for, uh, for the schoolwork.”

She flipped him off on the way out the door. Weirdo.

Peter started changing after that. He started filling out his shirts more. She figured he had started working out or something.

Not that she was looking at him. Because she wasn’t.

He no longer wore glasses, and dropped out of marching band and robotics club. He disappeared at nationals, showing up only for the ride home after the fiasco at the Washington Monument (of all the times to gain a rebellious streak AcaDec nationals was not the time or the place). Michelle glared at him nonstop for a week after that.

People started avoiding the topic of soulmates and soulmarks around her, knowing it was a touchy subject.

Over the course of the year, Michelle grew closer to Peter and Ned than the other kids in Acadec.

—————————————————————

“MJ?” Peter looked back at her from where he was squatting down in front of the DVD player. He was wearing sweats and a math pun t-shirt that stretched tightly across his chest. His arms across his legs were lithe and muscled. How had she never noticed before…

And she was staring. Michelle blushed furiously. Peter smirked. She flipped him off. He chuckled.

“What do you want?” She asked. His hair was gelled back like every day, but it was a bit mussed, falling onto his forehead. Her blood heated. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, wondered how soft it would be.

Peter ran a hand through said hair, biting his lip. “Have you—uh—have you ever seen The Princess Bride?” He asked.

MJ rolled her eyes. This boy. “Bits and pieces. I was never really interested in that mushy, gushy, sappy shit. Besides, we are not watching that.”

“Uh, yeah, we are. It’s simply tragic how your previous social circle failed you,” he said, scrunching his nose up. It was cute annoying.

Michelle squinted at him, mouth becoming a thin line. He smiled back innocently. She flipped him off. Again.

She relented in the end.

Peter hopped up next to where she was sitting, stretching his arms up and over the back of the couch. Michelles’s eyes snagged on the bit of exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up. Were those… abs? She shook her head, looking back toward the now-glowing TV screen. Her nerdy best friend Peter Parker could not have abs. But.

Michelle had to admit that the movie wasn’t actually as bad as she had initially thought. The reason for that was mostly Peter. The absolute dweeb was acting out the fight scenes with himself. Watching Peter try and punch and defend himself at the same time was pretty funny.

MJ looked over at Peter during the end of the movie. He was looking at her.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” He blurted, then proceeded to clap a hand over his mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. You really, uh, really don’t have to answer that.”

And maybe it was the laughter they had shared together. Maybe it was the way she felt safe around him, or how his hair curled behind his ears, but, “My parents were soulmates. It—it didn’t work out."

That was all she was willing to share.

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly and looking back to the movie. “I think Ned’s right,” he said. Michelle raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat, “Your soulmark is definitely going to be a unicorn. Or a pegasus. Or a rainb—”

“Shut up, Parker.”

Peter raised his hands defensively, grinning.

They talked for another hour, but Peter couldn’t seem to drop the conversation about soulmates.

“Hey, MJ?” He said, giving her a curious look.

Michelle hummed.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. With all the posing while acting out the movie, it looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Maybe even just had—

No. Best friend. Peter was her best friend. Nothing more.

“On your birthday,” he ventured, “when you get your mark, will you tell me about it? We could, like, make fun of each other’s or something. Once I get mine, that is.”

Michelle hesitated. Then: “Sure, okay. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Peter beamed at her and her heart did a backflip. It was worth talking about her soulmark to see that smile, different from his usually timid upturned lips. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Awesome! What are best friends for if not to make fun of shit,” he said.

Best friend. The words stung a bit, even if they were true.

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

Junior year came faster than any of them expected, and with it, standardized testing. Michelle was sad that Liz had moved away the year prior when her dad was caught selling alien technology illegally, but she was excited to be team captain this year. She, Peter, and Ned had all celebrated with aLord of the Rings movie marathon, but over the past few months, Peter and Ned had been sharing hushed conversations. MJ wasn’t sure what was going on, but it made her feel kind of shitty—like she was being pushed out of their friend group.

But then Peter would shoot her a shy smile, and she would feel a little better. There was definitely something going on, though.

Betty got her mark over the summer—a small cat’s eye in the palm of her left hand—but she had had no luck finding the person with the matching tattoo, much to her chagrin.

Michelle truly felt like she was rocketing toward her birthday. Somehow, she and Peter had found a way to turn her soulmate into a bit of a joke, which helped. A little.

That’s how Michelle found herself on the phone with Peter, wearing a tank top and shorts in the middle of winter, watching the seconds tick down to midnight.

“I’m so excited,” Peter said over the phone. “I can’t wait to see if it’s a unicorn or a pegasus.”

“Can it, Parker,” Michelle snapped. She was strangely terrified, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Okay, Magic Princess Unicorn—”

“I mean it, Pete.”

“Ten seconds, MJ.”

“Shit,” she whispered, hands shaking as she hastily put Peter on speaker, and set down the phone, turning to face the floor-length mirror.

“Do you see anything?” He asked. Did he sound… nervous?

Michelle scanned her arms and legs in the mirror, turned around and did the same on the back. “Fuck.”

“What?” Peter said, voice crackling over the phone. “What is it? Is it a Unicorn?”

“No,” Michelle gasped out. “I don’t see anything.”

It was true she didn’t want anything to do with her soulmate, but it did hurt that she didn’t even have one.

She let out a sob, then slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“MJ—MJ, calm down. It’s probably just somewhere else. Try taking your clothes off.” Michelle felt her toes curl into the carpet, her breath hitched. “Fuck,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean it like that—fuck, that came out wrong.”

You don’t need to apologize, Michelle thought. Instead, she nodded, then, realizing he couldn’t see her over the phone, she cleared her throat and said, “No, I get it—what you meant, I mean.” She cringed, Christ, she was absolutely horrible at this. “God, I hope it’s not on my ass.”

Peter let out a bark of laughter. Michelle smiled, then remembered her situation, frowned.

“Stop frowning, you’ll get premature wrinkles,” Peter said.

Michelle frowned deeper. “How do you know I’m frowning?”

“I know you, MJ. Now stop frowning. There’s only one way to know if you have a tattoo on your ass,” Peter said, choking on the last word. “Just check.”

Michelle loosed a breath. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”

She turned back toward the mirror, reaching for the waistband of her shorts and underwear, pulling them both down at the same time. Nothing on the front. She shimmied around a bit, before giving in and stepping out of her shorts. She glanced over her shoulder into the mirror. Nothing.

She took off her tank top next, checking her back first, since she was already facing in that direction. Still nothing. She turned around and ran her fingers over her stomach. Nothing there, either. Goddammit.

She slowly reached back to unclasp her bra and let it slide down her arms. “Mother fucker,” she said quietly.

She’s not sure how, but Peter heard her. “MJ? What’s the status? Did you find it?”

“Yeah, I did. And I fucking hate the universe.” She hissed.

Peter laughed nervously. “Well, what is it? Where is it?”

“Like hell I’m telling you!” MJ screeched.

“C’mon, Michelle, we had a deal!” Peter said. She could picture him laying down in bed, then sitting up abruptly, hair mussed like that night they had watched The Princess bride together. And that strip of skin she’d glimpsed and—fuck, she was thinking about him while she was naked.

“Peter, I literally had to take all my clothes off just to find it. I am not telling you about this ever. God, this is so humiliating.” Michelle looked in the mirror again and winced. Staring back a her was her naked body, dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, curls coming down over her breasts. She moved her hair out of the way to get a better look at her mark, and… there it was. A fist-size black spider sitting in the middle of her left breast, right over her nipple. She groaned, burying her face in the crook of her elbow.

“Oh, c’mon, M. It can’t be that bad,” Peter said.

“It’s bad, Pete,” Michelle sighed. “Well, at least this way my soulmate won’t be able to see my mark.”

Michelle stroked a finger over one of the spider’s legs and shivered. Peter swore over the phone.

“What?” Michelle asked.

“Nothing,” Peter said, though his voice was shaky. “Just got a shiver. That’s what I get for not wearing a shirt.

This boy.

And now she was picturing him shirtless. Fuck. With that mussed-up hair. Double-fuck. She looked down to find that the hand near her breast had grabbed on, kneading the soft flesh. Holy mother of god, an infinite amount of fucks. But it felt good. Really good. She let out a quiet moan.

“MJ? What’s going on, are you okay?” How the ever-living hell did Peter keep hearing her? She could barely hear herself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she managed. Thankfully she sounded normal, if not a little breathy. “Just a little messed up after seeing the mark, you know? I wasn’t expecting to feel so… attached to it.” Because that’s what it was, she realized. She could already feel her connection to someone else, and she hated herself for loving it, for craving that sensation to be stronger.

“Okay. We should probably both go to sleep anyway,” Peter said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” He sounded worried, but he was willing to give her space. That was one of the things she valued most about their friendship.

“Yeah,” Michelle said. Then, when she heard him start to shift, presumably on his bed (God help her), she interrupted, “and, Peter?” He hummed in response. “Put a shirt on. It’s cold out.”

He grunted. “Yeah, will do, M.”

Somehow Michelle got the feeling he wasn’t going to put on a shirt. Idiot.

Part 2

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #spideychelle #soulmate #soulmarks #peter x michelle #michelle jones #eventual smut #masterbation #best friends #au #peter parker soulmate

[dancingsparks]

Alone In The Coldest Dark

Inspired by my Demon Draco Fic I wanted to write a demon Ron as well! So here it is, very angsty with referenced torture but I promise there is a hopeful ending! (kind of, at least)

Thank you @randoyoyo, for being my amazing beta reader and liking this fic enough to convince me to post it!

Also on Ao3

The motions come without thinking, mechanical, second nature by now. It takes surprisingly little to summon a demon.

The chalk isn’t the original one, long since used up and often replaced, worryingly small in your hand. The rug is so used to being raised and curled up, it does most of the work by itself the moment you lift the heavy wards and open the door. The candles, too, have been replaced often since you first thought of summoning a demon.

Not much is needed, but you never once took the final step.

Your eyes are blurry, tears you refuse to let fall shrouding your vision but not halting your hand. You have drawn the circle more often than you combed your hair lately. You could draw it blinded and hung from the ceiling. (You ignore the nausea threatening to overcome you at the realisation that you might just as easily be blinded and hanging from the ceiling right now.)

Drawing the circle doesn’t take longer because you can hardly see, it takes longer because you can’t stop shaking. You thought about lighting the candles early, chasing the cold out of the small space, but this shaking is not produced by cold, can’t be cured with a few candles. It would only waste precious wax.

The candles already hover where they are supposed to be, every single one of them exact, not one out of place.

You know the spell by heart, can feel the words and their power churning under your skin. It’s borrowed magic, not yours, coming at a high price, tormenting and calling for you.

With a flick of your wrist, the candles flare and awaken.

This is how far you have come, where you hesitate, paralysed.

The house is silent around you, waiting, anticipation high in the air.

Dust dances over the candles, settles on the meticulously drawn lines of the circle.

The scene is all too familiar to you.

You don’t have much time left. It’s a miracle you got as much as you got, you can’t waste it. And yet, at every unsupervised minute you find yourself here, circle drawn, spell on your lips, candles burning. And all you do is watch the wax fall, watch time pass.

A scream drifts up from the parlour. High — a woman then. She is agony, insufferable pains contorting her body.

It’s horrifying how much feeling can be conveyed in desperate noises, how different the amount of hope in them, of defiance. The woman doesn’t have any hope left; no pride, no dignity, running on nothing but the bare bones and a single minded determination not to break.

It might be your mother.

You close your eyes.

You try to close your mind, too, build a shield the pain cannot penetrate. It’s useless, it always is, the scream piercing the feeble boundary without any effort.

The scream changes, something breaks. She breaks. You can feel it through the entire house, feel it flinch, feel it shift.

It’s not silent, far from it, but she left. The screams are empty, monotone. Boring. They are going to stop soon. Dispose of the body, no longer of use.

They will call for you soon.

You could have saved her, could have gotten her out of here. Instead you stood here, all the tools in the palm of your hand and watching the dust dance.

You let her die.

The screams stop. They will need someone to get rid of the body, already moved on to their next victim.

It’s now or never, wait for the next moment, risk your father at the end of a wand, your mother (if she isn’t dead yet).

You pick up the book. You know the words, don’t need the book, but you clutch at it like a lifeline anyway.

Slowly, you form the incantation, voice rough from disuse, feeling miles away from the situation.

You don’t see the words, don’t hear them, have no idea what you are saying.

Nothing happens.

The candles burn, the dust dances, the book is heavy in your hands and nothing happens.

This is what you have been afraid of? What you based all your hopes on?

You thought you found a way out, to get your parents to safety, end this.

Rage builds up in you, overtakes the cold emptiness and lights a fire you forgot you have.

This is not what was promised. Unimaginable powers, an invincible servant bound to you and only you. Your only escape.

This, the unfulfilled silence, the empty room, it’s more than disappointing. It’s your death-sentence. It means you will die here, will watch your parents be tortured until they beg for death, will be even less than the skeletons of themselves they are right now.

And it’s all your fault, for not killing Dumbledore, for placing their fate on a musty old book, for not getting out the words early enough to find a new hope. All for some pathetic, useless, futile —

“Careful, no need to be rude.” You freeze. The voice is amused, sliding around you and pressing against your mind, but danger is lurking just a few steps further.

“If you are done insulting me now, I would like to get on with this. You really couldn’t have chosen a smaller room, could you?” The demon is nothing like you expected, much more human than any of the illustrations. He is covered in freckles, dancing over his skin like burning stars, red hair falling into his eyes and a cruel twist to his lips.

He is there like nothing else is lately, colours vibrant, magic thrumming through the air, calling you, pulling you closer like a moth to the flame. His smell surrounds you, something deep, something warm, something scorched, ever-changing, shifting in subtle nuances that don’t allow you to capture it. His voice is like honey, sweet and full, a lie you want to believe in, trickling into your mind and fusing your thoughts together, cloying.

He takes all the fire his absence lighted up, consuming you without even stepping out of the circle that was meant to protect you.

You weren’t prepared for this. You don’t know how to handle this. But you do know what you want, what you called him for.

“I want you to save my parents. I want them to have a happy life, somewhere far away, where they can’t be found by him.” Your voice doesn’t tremble. An accomplishment, however small.

The demon smiles at you, all tooth, no warmth. “Isn’t that precious, want to save mummy and daddy, do you? You want me to give them a nice little house somewhere, let them recover from the horrors they lived through here. How touching.”

The demon is mocking you, you are well aware, but he also has a good point. “Erase their memories. Delete every notion of what happened here, of anything connecting them to this time. Make sure they never want to come here, but take away the horror impressed on their minds.”

“You are aware that that includes you?” The realisation hits you like a punch to the gut, makes you stumble back from the sheer magnitude of it.

The demon is laughing, the cruel sound echoing in your skull, growing louder and louder. It fuels you, gives you back some of the fire he took, gives you something to defy.

“Yes, delete any memory of me too, then.” That stops the demon, cuts the laugh right in half.

He cocks his head, studies you like you said something he didn’t expect, something interesting he wants to study.

“Just make sure they are safe, happy, and will never return to this place.” He doesn’t mock you this time, still looking at you like he is really seeing you. You do your best not to let your fear show, your exhaustion.

“And why would I do that? What do I get in return?” It’s not really a question, there is only one payment demons accept — souls. The only room to debate is over when they get the soul, how much time anyone stupid or desperate enough to make a deal with a demon gets to enjoy the good part of it, the goad.

You don’t have anything to live for, nothing left for you to stay here for.

“My soul, immediately, if you so wish.” If the demon looked interested before, he is fascinated now. He leans as close to the border as possible, sniffing the air as if he could get a taste of your soul like this. And maybe he can, you spent enough of your worst moments here to have left an imprint.

“You aren’t boring, I’ll give you that. Desperate, but they all are. But there is so much more, guilt, need for approval — I accept your soul.” It’s unsettling, how the demon knows all this, knows just the right buttons to press to make you flinch.

Suspecting the demon is powerful and having it blatantly thrown into your face are two very different things.

But you almost got what you wanted, you won’t back down now, won’t make any mistakes now. “And you will save my parents, secure them long and happy lives?”

The demon nods, distracted, waving it off. “Yes, yes I do. Now come here, give yourself to me, seal the deal.”

There is a knock at the door, sharp and impatient, calling for you. You flinch. You were so close — the demon snaps his fingers, silences the knock and stops the voice. The smile he gives you is almost warm, granting you a favour when he didn’t have to, showing you kindness.

He still hasn’t moved though, standing with his arms open for you, waiting for you to walk into his trap. And you will go, of free will and open-eyed.

The closer you get to the demon, the stronger the allure gets, the pull. You take several steps without even noticing, focused on the countless freckles, the soft lips, the dishevelled hair.

“I don’t even know your name.” It wasn’t a complaint, not really. You would have paid the price anyway, name or no name, but being so close to him, close enough to feel his heat, standing in the eye of the maelstrom — it feels more intimate, important.

“It’s Ron.” You are face to face now, almost kissing, Ron’s name whispered in the space between like either absolution or damnation. You can’t tell, you don’t care.

“I’m Draco.” It’s the last thing you say, before Ron bends down, taking your breath, taking your soul.

#draco x ron #ron x draco #demon ron #hp fanfic #my writing

[notwhelmedyet]

Dratchtember Day 5

Prompt: In the Circle Ratchet decides to make a demon-summoning circle to prove to his roommate that demons don’t exist.

(also on ao3 here)

The door slammed and Ratchet resisted the urge to yell something after Trefacto. That was one way to get out of a losing argument; wait till you were losing then announce you had to go to class. Honestly Trefacto wasn't a bad roommate. He was no Thunderclash, but nobody was, except Thunders himself. So it was probably better to not dig any deeper in this argument and escalate it from a serious philosophical difference into some sort of feud. But seriously. Demons? Ratchet was willing to tolerate people who believed in Primus or the Guiding Hand - there was at least cultural conditioning to dig them into those beliefs. Demons were like weird fringe conspiracy stuff. And Trefacto's argument that the only reason there hadn't been a verified demon summoning yet was that nobody had perfectly duplicated the required summoning circles out of his demonology book was beyond absurd. Ratchet picked up the book and flipped to a random page. It didn't even look that difficult. He skimmed the list of required materials, a plan forming in his mind. If he made an indisputably incorrect circle he could use that as proof that this was all bogus. He got up and checked Trefacto's schedule to make sure he had time, then got to work. The wire was laid out in a spiraling circle that looked three times before being knotted along the outer ring into he curves demonstrated in the diagrams. Easier than knotting up a sensornet tear. Next there were the mirrors, which Ratchet did have to run out to the store to get, and the laser that was wired into the electrical circuit and pointed at the inner circle of mirrors. It looked like an electrical engineer's first circuitry project gone wrong, but with more elegant symmetry. It certainly wouldn't do anything except very inefficiently power a laser pointer. The book didn't require he say any magic words or light any candles or other gobbledygook, thankfully. Ratchet considered waiting till Trefacto was back to do his demonstration. But it'd be embarrassing if there was something wrong with his wiring and it lit on fire or something. Better to test it. Ratchet went to his room first to get a snack, then a fire extinguisher. He powered on his contraption and sat down on the one of the chairs, fire extinguisher at the ready. The light bouncing between the mirrors did look cool, Ratchet decided, but there wasn't otherwise much of a show. He checked the book and it said that a demon was supposed to be summoned "once the light of the wires sinks down into their lower dimension and drags them up into Being Once More." Ratchet wasn't sure how long that was going to take, but after ten minutes he was going to - There was a thumping sound from inside the circle. Ratchet jumped. The circle was empty. Ratchet extended his wrist light and climbed to his feet, sweeping the light over that empty space. Nothing. "Would you put that down," a voice spoke. Ratchet jumped, then swept the light over the space again. Still nothing there. If this was an elaborate prank, he had really underestimated Trefacto's ingenuity... "Are you doing a summoning in your living room?" the voice continued. "Are you eating...are those energon crisps? I don't feel like you're taking this very seriously." "Where are you?" Ratchet asked, walking closer. "Don't step on the - be careful!" they hissed. "If you break the circle I get to come out, do you know anything about summoning." Ratchet took a step back from the circle. "Are you a demon, then?" They snorted. "Is that what they're calling it these days? Last I heard I was called a Sliver. Equal and opposite to the Silvers. They get to be dappled light and ethereal grace, we get to be...this." "So you're invisible?" Ratchet asked. "Walk around the circle." Frowning, Ratchet did so. As he walked there was a blip in his vision. Ratchet paused and slowly moved backwards again, nothingness transforming into a silhouette that appeared to be made of pure shadow, except for two golden optics. The demon - sliver, whatever - waved. "Hello there." "I'm pretty sure demons aren't supposed to say 'hello there'," Ratchet said. "I'm pretty sure you have no idea what you're doing," they shot back. "You haven't even asked my name." "What's your name?" Ratchet asked. They laughed. "What's yours?" He didn't get the joke. "Ratchet." They didn't need to know the rest. "Ratchet, tell me, why did you decide to summon yourself a sliver? Do you have enemies that need dispatching? Scores to be settled? Do you wish for power and wealth?" "I was trying to prove you don't exist," Ratchet said with a shrug. "My roommate is obnoxiously credulous, I was getting sick of him blabbing on about magic and demons and Primus and healing crystals." They cocked their head at him curiously. "That sounds...just stupid enough to be true. So you have no idea what I am or what you could have me do?" "I don't believe in the divine," Ratchet said. "I don't want you to do anything." They laughed again, the sound making a shiver run down his spine. "Ratchet. Ratchet. I think I like you." Delicately, they settled down to sit on the ground within the circle, propping their chin on their hands. It was eerie - they weren't like a shadow across the ground. They were like a complete absense of light, a visual void. "Do you have any questions?" They asked. "What's your name?" Ratchet asked again. "Or what can I call you?" "Drift," they said. "Call me Drift." "Okay, Drift. Cool. So, uh, how are you...like this? Were you always a sliver? Or is this some sort of, I don't know, divine punishment." "You don't ask easy questions, do you?" Drift said softly. Ratchet hadn't expected soft. "I don't remember. According to the mythology I must have been a mech who, upon death, had committed such great evil that I was forbidden entrance to the Afterspark. But I don't remember that. I was not, and then I was." Ratchet nodded. "That sounds unpleasant. Wait, so do you actually have to do anything I say? Like, if I asked you to embarrass my faculty mentor would you have to do it? Or do people make bargains with you?" "There's very little one could offer a sliver - I'm either between spaces or I'm bound into service. Most people that have summoned me have either given me orders or died in the attempt. It's possible to give me an order I cannot refuse. But the inexperienced summoner tends to release the circle without having done so." "You've killed people who've summoned you?" Ratchet asked, sitting down on the ground so he would feel less anxious about tripping over thin air and ending up in the summoning circle. "I've killed for my summoners. I've stolen sparks and poisoned conjunxes. I've slaughtered newframes in the dead of the night during a supposed armistice. People who summon slivers are not nice people. Yourself excluded, I suppose. If I see a chance to get out of unpleasant work, I take it. And I'm bound until my summoner releases me or they die." "Wait, so just powering off the circle won't send you back?" Ratchet asked, glancing over at Trefacto's book. "I can't leave the circle with it powered on and I am generally called upon for tasks that can't be carried out inside of one. No, powering off the circle doesn't de-materialize me. The circle holds me, the binding keeps me in this dimension." "Okay, well how do I send you back? My roommate is going to be out of class soon and I need to get this whole set-up gone before he gets back or he's going to know he was right about demons. And he'll be insufferable if he knows he's right." "You want me to go?" Drift asked, voice full of mock-offense. "I didn't actually want you to show up in the first place," Ratchet pointed out. "Yeah, you probably have things to do, I've got a presentation to prepare before tomorrow. It was fascinating meeting you but I don't have any interest in being a professional demon summoner. So how do I send you back?" Drift folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not telling you." "What?" "This is fine, I like it here," Drift said. "I appreciate the...attempts? At interior decorating. It's very homey. I've never been to university - so far as I know - it'd be nice to soak in the ambiance." "I'm actually in residency to become a doctor," Ratchet said. "My roommate's a student. But - more importantly - you can't stay here! I need to clean all this up so he doesn't realize I made a working summoning circle." "I can't believe your university student roommate has a book with working summoning diagrams," Drift said, shaking his head. "If you want to break the circle, be my guest. But you clearly don't know how to dismiss me or order me, so that'd be rather..." Ratchet would have swore Drift smiled, "...daring." "What, you're just going to live in a circle in my living room?" "I don't think what I do counts as 'living'," Drift said. "Oh fine, be a smartass," Ratchet said. He got up to grab Trefacto's book and flopped onto the chair to read. Most of the book was taken up by the summoning circles...and now that he looked a little closer there were captions. "Oh hey, the book has a little caption for you. Want to hear it?" "I would love to." "Bet you would," Ratchet said, flipping back to the opening section. What kind of instruction book would tell you how to invite a super-powered serial killer into your house but not how to get rid of them? Ratchet had gotten damned good at speedreading in medical school, but he had *not** practiced reading this kind of nonsense. "So do most folks who summon you dismiss you?" Ratchet asked, casually. "Not many," Drift said. "And certainly none of them without requesting a single thing. No, most summoners have no interest in making me go away when they could leave me bound to their will. I drift back between when they die and the binding releases." This fragging useless book. Did nobody who summoned demons get buyer's remorse? Of course, it was the first book that Trefacto had managed to find in the throes of his new occultist passion, they might have just gotten lucky with Drift's summoning circle. Maybe everything else in it was rubbish. Maybe you weren't supposed to follow the instructions until you knew what to do with a demon after it materialized... He was running out of time. Ratchet flipped to the end, in hopes of an index, and then flipped back to the front of the book to skim from the beginning again. ‘Once you have bound the sliver to your word as well as your being by use of their Name, be careful in your commands. They may interpret your words to allow more freedoms than you had intended, sometimes to fatal consequence.’ "Is your name actually Drift, Drift?" Ratchet asked. "No," Drift said, delighted. "Can you lie to me?" Ratchet asked. "Why wouldn't I be able to?" From here the circle looked entirely empty but Ratchet could imagine the obnoxious faux-innocence of Drift's posture. He wondered what determined the angle from which Drift was visible - was it a factor of the environment or of Drift himself? He didn't have time to mess with this, Trefacto would be back soon. "Hey Drift, if I opened the circle, would you kill me?" Ratchet asked. "I might," Drift said. Ratchet observed, "You don't seem very excited about the proposition." "I might be leading you on so that you open the circle. No way to know," Drift said. "You're not going to kill me," Ratchet announced. He put down the book and went to the power supply for his experiment. "Really, Ratchet - " Ratchet turned it off. There was a rush of air that made him stagger backwards and Drift appeared again, his optics inches away from Ratchet's face. Now that he was closer, Ratchet could see that it wasn't just his optics that were visible through the inky darkness. There were also fangs. "You're an idiot," Drift hissed. Ratchet smiled. "I want to make a deal. It's going to take me awhile to figure out how to release you and I don't particularly want to learn how to order you around. Which I can't do anyway, because I don't know your name. But I really really need my roommate to not find out you're here. So what would I have to offer for you to promise to make that happen? I know you said there's not much people can offer you, but is there something?" "I cannot believe that I am right here and you still care more about what your roommate is going to think." "You haven't met him. He's insufferable. Really." "You should have a better roommate," Drift said suddenly. "A bargain....a bargain...I'm willing to accept your bargain, Ratchet, if in exchange you will hold me." "Like, lift you?" "No! Like - " Drift fluttered his arms helplessly and then wrapped them around his chest and squeezed. "Like that." "You want me to hug you?" "Yesss," Drift hissed. Hesitantly, Ratchet reached out touched Drift's shoulder. It felt cold, like the frame of an empty who'd been outside during an ice storm, but solid. Real. Ratchet had been thinking of Drift as some sort of spectre, but he definitely had substance. "It's a deal," Ratchet said. That settled, Ratchet shuttered his optics for a moment and put his arms around Drift, hands seeing out the middle of his back where the hug could seem comforting, but not too intimate. Drift shuddered, then looped his arms around Ratchet's waist and pulled him close. ...to be continued?

#dratchtember #dratchet #ficlets #my fics #oh god this is too long #wht have i done

[lady-therion]

Homecoming: Part 1 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian really misses his feisty mate.

(Post-bonding. Post-ACOWAR.)

A/N: Because y’all know this precious overgrown bat baby would straight up sulk (like whine-at-the-door-and-paw-at-it sulk) if Nesta was gone for too long.

***

   He missed her.

   That was all. He missed her.

    “So write her a godsdamn letter,” said Azriel, dancing along the edge of the sparring ring. He’d been on the receiving end of Cassian’s fists all morning and had yet to be reprieved. “It’s only been a week, Cas. We’re all getting tired of your moping.”

    “Who says I’m moping?”  

   “Everyone,” his brothers said in unison.

    Cassian turned to scowl at Rhys, who had been sharpening his sword on a nearby bench. “Yes, everyone,” he added smugly. “Feyre, Amren, Elain...”

   “Elain?”

    Azriel smirked. “The actual word she used was ‘cranky.’”  

   “I am not cranky.”  

   “An understatement if there ever was one,” Rhys drawled. “I think what sweet Elain actually meant was: insufferable ass.”

   Cassian growled.

   “Right. Because you acted like a godsdamned ray of sunshine when Feyre handed herself over to our enemies in the Spring Court.” He bared his teeth. “How did it feel knowing your mate was in danger and all you could do was wait? Because I sure as hell feel like shit and am in no mood for this today.”

    Rhys’ violet eyes remained cool, but Cassian could detect a flicker of guilt that almost made him feel sorry. Almost.

   “Point taken,” said Rhys. “I apologize, brother.”

   “So do I,” said Azriel.

   Cassian sighed.

   It had been Rhys’ idea for Nesta to travel south to strengthen their ties with the mortal realm, which was now horribly fractured thanks to those treacherous wyrm-queens. As emissary, it would have been Nesta’s duty to go. But Rhys always believed in having a choice, so he gave her one.

   Of course she decided to go. Of course Cassian understood the importance of her going. She wanted to do something for her people. She wanted to see the world. And deep down, he could never blame Rhys for granting her that wish in the first place.  

   But that didn’t mean Cassian had to like it, especially since it meant that she would be gone indefinitely.

   “Mother knows Nesta can take care of herself,” he went on. “Hell, if she were here, she’d be the first one to kick my sorry ass all the way to the Rainbow. But this…this isn’t easy for me.”

   He already failed her once—the memory still horrifically fresh despite everything that happened between them since. There were some nights where he could still hear her screams as Hybern’s men forced her into the Cauldron. He would wake up on those nights in a cold sweat, unable to be calmed by anything except his mate’s arms.

   He had seen over half a millennia of death and destruction, had been the harbinger of both himself, but never had he been so overcome by such breathless rage and sheer terror as he was in that moment. They laid hands on his mate...had violated her beyond imagining...and he had been completely and utterly helpless to stop it.  

   Never again.

   “She’ll be all right, Cas,” said Azriel. “Mor is with her and so is Lucien for whatever that’s worth.”

   Cassian shook his head. “That’s not the point.”

   The point was that he made a promise to protect her, and he didn’t like breaking promises twice.

***

   Several weeks passed and Nesta still hadn’t returned.

   Cassian could still feel her though, much to his relief. He knew she couldn’t cross the bridge of their bond too often; not with so many enemies nipping at her heels. Still, he could feel her—her warmth burning inside him like an eternal flame.

   He noticed it most often when his moods grew so black that even he couldn’t tolerate himself.

   Sometimes, it felt like a flare—as though she were chastising him from afar for behaving like a prick. Sometimes, it felt like the glowing embers of the firelight at their hearth, soothing him like nothing else after another grueling day at the war-camps. Other times, it blazed and smoldered, and he knew without words that she longed for him as much as he longed for her.  

   Thank the Mother she also sent him letters, though they were few and far between. The first one came shortly after his quarrel with his brothers.

   Dearest—

   I wish I could write more, but there are eyes and ears everywhere. Your family tells me you’ve been acting like an insufferable ass. I wrote them back asking if they only just noticed. Is my absence really all that unbearable? I promise you: I am whole and safe and healthy.

   So stop sulking. You big, ugly brute.

   N.

   It was the first time Cassian had laughed in days. He looked at that letter for hours, marveling at her elegant hand, no doubt trained by a slew of governesses by the time she was out of swaddling. It made him more than a little self-conscious about his own blocky chicken scratch, since he hadn’t learned how to read or write until Rhys’ mother taught him.

   Sweetheart—

   What can I say except that this big, ugly brute misses you? And yes, it’s unbearable. Almost no one says anything nice about my hair now that you’re not here to braid it! But in all seriousness: I want you home. I want you in our bed. I want to do all the wild and filthy things I said I would do once we became mates. Do you remember? If not, I’ll make damn sure to remind you. Thoroughly.

   Stay safe. Come back to me.

  C.

   He watched the paper vanish, only to return a few moments later.

   It was the same letter he just wrote, only with a note added to the end.

   ‘I’ll make damn sure to remind you.’ Is that a promise, my dear Commander? Or a threat?

   Either way, I’ll come...

   N.

   Never was Cassian more sure that he had mated himself to an actual goddess.

***

   Another several weeks passed and Nesta still hadn’t come home.

   But rather than sink into despair, Cassian threw himself into the one thing he was good at: violence. Needless to say, his legions bore his relentless ferocity with varying shades of bitterness and a little more than fear.

   “Take a timeout, Cas,” Rhys drawled. “I mean it.”

   This, after an evening of drilling that had their soldiers practically begging for the Mother’s mercy. True, Cassian’s training had been nothing short of brutal, savage, and unyielding. But Illyrians were nothing if not resilient and cunning bastards—and Cassian was the prince of them all.  

   “There’s still more to do.”

   “There’s always more to do,” said Rhys. “But at the pace you’re setting? We’d be lucky if our men can stand let alone fly at first light.” He turned to him, gaze softening. “Be honest. How bad is it?”

   “Bad.”

   It seemed like a lifetime ago when Cassian made some jest about Rhys’ mating bond chafing at him. Now having experienced it himself, he realized that it didn’t really chafe as much as it burned a fucking hole through his mind, fraying layers upon layers of rational thought. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself in check...and sometimes even that was not enough.

   “It’s not an uncommon reaction,” said Rhys. “Especially among new mates.”

   Cassian swallowed.

   Some mates didn’t leave each other’s sides for weeks, months even, after they consummated their bond. Nesta left mere days after the tenuous thread between them snapped into place.

   “Have you called out to her?”

   He had—his mental cries ringing like a bloodsong in his ears. But the wall that held Nesta’s thoughts remained cold and silent, surrounded by freezing mist. Nothing could penetrate it, no matter how hard he tried. All he could hear was the echo of his own desperation. A primal howl that longed to be answered.

   Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

   “I tried. There’s nothing.”

   Her letters had stopped as well. The last one unnerved him so much he nearly flew to the mortal continent himself—orders be damned.

   I’ve had quite enough of the mess these traitorous queens left behind. The matter of their succession is a thorny one. I pray we all won’t bleed out by the end of it. Vassa plans to host a summit at her palace to end this farce once and for all. Lucien is suspicious of anything that breathes. Morrigan even more so. I myself wouldn’t be surprised if the whole affair was crawling with assassins.

   My love, I’ll have to tread very carefully now. I’ll send word as soon as I can.

   N.

   That had been ten days ago, and still no word had come—from either Nesta, Lucien, or Mor.

   “If anything happens to her, Rhys…,” he said, clenching his fists hard enough to draw his own blood.  

   In truth, he didn’t know what he would do...save tearing the world apart to find her and wreaking bloody vengeance on anyone who did her harm.

   “It’s a good thing the Archerons are so formidable then. And hardy.” A reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll come back, Cas. You’ll see.”  

   It was a long moment before Cassian nodded.

   “I know she will.”

   She has to.

***

   The next few days passed in a gray blur that held no meaning for the General Commander. Crops of fresh recruits had arrived from the neighboring clans, gawking and gaping at him as he stalked through their ranks, his Siphons pulsing bright and deadly at random intervals.

   “I heard he killed a Hybern commander…”

   “I heard his mate killed Hybern herself…”

   If the days were miserable, the nights were their own kind of agony. He tossed and turned, his fitful sleep lanced by the same nightmares. Nesta screaming. Nesta sobbing. Nesta broken and bloody. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

   Where are you?

   Then suddenly…

   I’m here.

   Cassian shot out of bed, nostrils flaring as he took in that unmistakable scent. The scent of wind and rain and thunder and lightning. The scent of storms and the clash of steel. He scrambled out of his tent, not even bothering to don his full armor before spreading his wings and darting straight for the camps.

   A small crowd gathered in the main pavilions, Rhys and Azriel among the circle. A familiar flash of gold told him that Morrigan was also there, giving them her full report. The Fox, however, was nowhere in sight. And his mate...where was his mate?

   I’m here, I’m here, I’m here...

   He could feel her then, his heart beating wildly as the thread between them went taut as an anchor.

   There.

   She was standing apart from the rest of the group, speaking softly to a squadron of Illyrian females—one of the few that had been allowed to continue their training despite the odds.

   He dived for her, landing so hard a small crater had formed in the bed of canyon rock. But none of the surrounding gasps or murmurs reached his ears as his vision narrowed to the most beautiful female in the world.

  She turned to him then and his breath hitched at the sight.

   Blue-grey eyes widened on a face that was partially sooty, as though she had walked through fire to get here. Her Illyrian leathers gleamed in the moonlight, the scales worn and muddy but not beyond repair. Tendrils of golden-brown hair escaped from a crown of braids, falling on the bare skin of her neck that captured most of his attention.

    He wanted to say something clever—romantic, even. But he had never been good with those kinds of words and besides, the words didn’t come. Once again, his mate had rendered him speechless.

   She marched toward him, her pace so quick and purposeful that he wondered if she was preparing to strike. Instead, she yanked his face down to deliver a kiss that seared his very soul, her tongue demanding entrance, her body giving off the not-so-subtle heat of her arousal.

   He growled into her mouth as he embraced her, wrapping his wings around her to shield them from the catcalls and dirty jokes. She molded herself into his arms, almost grinding on him as he broke away to trail eager kisses down her cheek, her jaw, and finally to that lovely, lovely neck. Impossibly, she held him tighter.

   Nesta...

   I’m here. I’m home.

   Then she leaned in to whisper in the shell of his ear.

   “Care to remind me of what I’ve been missing while I was away?”

   He grinned. “Well...I did make you a promise, didn’t I?”

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #sjmaas

[chanyeol-and-you-fantasies]

Control (Part One) - by Solifiedjaporeanist21 (Admin SCYO)

Rating: Explicit

Member: Chanyeol (Exo)

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (You)

Words: 4,693

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, slight dom/sub, multiple orgasms, Teasing, Shameless smut.

Summary: Park Chanyeol has been away for months, leaving you to take care of what he cannot, and the more you do the further the monster within you ready’s it’s pounce.

…

You pushed Chanyeol into your shared flat, closing the door with your foot in your haste, hands immediately leaving your boyfriend’s chest to lock both the deadbolt and the chain in case any of his bandmates got any funny ideas of disrupting what you had planned for him. Both removing your shoes in your haste.

It wasn’t even selfish either, this was really, honestly the only time he was in town, the only time you get to have him all to yourself, to not be around his friends to discuss more idol topics you deem to say that you’re not a part of since you’re a nobody but they however remain to say different. Withal, this was your day, you only get this pleasure so rarely a year given your boyfriend’s busy activities and when it comes you make damn sure to take advantage of it.

In reality, (once the shoes were discarded) Chanyeol lifts you up in his strong arms, big callused hands all over your body in a heartbeat, in your hair, on your back, on your arms, your ass, your thighs, anywhere he could grab was enough and you moaned into your connected mouths, legs automatically circling his waist as he carries you effortlessly to the bedroom, lips not once unlocking from each other while his and your tongue frantically searched for one another in a filthy open-mouthed kiss. Eagerly seeking that stubborn dominance over one another.

Once in the bedroom Chanyeol doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him, instead he continues onwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the queen-size mattress and he ultimately falls back on it. It wasn’t how you imagined he’d get on the piece of furniture but hey as long as your on it is fine with you.

Your kiss had broken, (of course) but that doesn’t stop you from climbing the rest of the way on top of him, hands lifting his shirt up to lather his gorgeous lean body with wet kisses. Chanyeol didn’t have a body as nice or full of muscles and abs such as Kai or Tao, not even after all the hard exhausting work he puts in to perfect his dancing, but he had plenty enough to be pleased to look at. (To you at least. You just weren’t picky). Fair skin, defined biceps, legs that went for miles, a beautiful smile. Yes everything your boyfriend had was all you could ever ask for.

You soon trail butterfly-kisses up his torso, lightly biting his ribcage just to hear him groan in that sexy deep voice of his, the fingers on your lithe hips strong but far from injuring. Unfortunately.

Chanyeol always tries to hold back on you, to be gentle and angelic and you can’t say you hate it, but sometimes you’d like it if he was a little rough with you, if he would bruise your body, mark you as his property. You’re not stating he doesn’t mark you at all or that he’s not a good lover (because that would be telling the biggest lie of them all) it’s more just there are times you bid to repay him back with your own special teasing ways.

Well tonight was one of those nights.

You were sick and tired of masturbating in the shower, on your shared bed, against the wall, on the fucking counter thinking of him, thinking of what dirty words he’d whisper into your ear if he found you trying to lessen your sexual tension for him, whether or not he’d pound into your cunt with his cock not only because you’ve been a naughty girl while he was away but also because he missed the way your tight irresistible walls felt around his dick. You wanted to take control for once, you chased the fantasy to be the one to see him wither in ecstasy and tremble in bliss underneath you, to whisper dirty encouraging words in his ear to hasten and intensify the actions.

You’ve simply never had the guts before, fortunately you’re not tonight. Or you’re just too horny to care or worry of fucking up.

“I missed you, Chanyeol.” You purred in his ear, voice low and hoarse as you bite his earlobe, your tongue tracing the boundaries of his sexy ears. Chanyeol groans expediently, his clothed erection grinding against your crouch on reflex. Your thighs start to tremble beside his waist at the action, the wetness in your panties building up as he consistently craves that blissful friction only you can forward.

“I can tell, fuck babe I need you so bad it hurts waiting. Jacking off with my hand doesn’t once come close to how good you feel around me. I’ve missed those slick, tight walls.” Chanyeol replies, his voice huskier than you last recall it to be but all in all it turns you on further. His voice alone is your porn.

You moan at his words before you start to trail up his body once more, removing the shirt on your way. Whence the shirt was discarded and somewhere lost in the room behind you, you travel a hand down to palm his hardness through his jeans. “Hmh,” he groans, “So good.” His cock pulses and throbs at your touch before you finally take time with undoing the tight restraints. Chanyeol (like always) doesn’t try to stop nor accompany you and rather let you take the desired pace.

Finally, when the jeans and boxers were slid down his legs and on the floor, you hastily grasped his fully erect cock in your humble hand, fingers experienced over the years as sticky warm pre-cum dirtied them. “F-fuck,” Chanyeol growls, his hips thrusting upward to greet your fist wantonly as his breaths grow more and more erratic. Chest heaving. Travelling further down the hard organ, now having his full on attention, you toy with his balls, lightly squeezing and massaging them between your slick fingers. He easily becomes a panting mess beneath you. Just like you wanted.

To further tease him, you stop all actions to throw aside your own clothing. (Chanyeol’s whine of protest being far too sexy than it should be when you had climbed off him. But you don’t complain otherwise, the wetness in your aching core just builds up because of it.) Luckily it was really easy to match your boyfriend, given your choice of attire.

Purposely you take your time, slowly sliding the jeans off your short legs, revealing more and more of your soft peach flesh inch by inch. The shirt goes next, then the bra. It was however when you were sliding the panties off that Chanyeol’s gaze grows hungrier, breathing growing in quality, the pre-cum spilling out of the slit of his dick increasing while his cock curves against his stomach in the anticipation to proceed. To feel you.

Whilst, when you were completely naked you literally pounce back on top of him, both moaning loudly at the feel of each other’s bare skin on one another. You reach down between your legs instantly to grasp the girth of his length, persistently yet teasingly lining him up with you so you could rub your wet core against it, his pre-cum slicking your pussy, the cum mingling with your own making you wetter, more hotter. “I’m so wet for you Chanyeol…” You panted, a loud shout of ecstasy leaving your lips as you rub his leaking cockhead against your swollen clit harder, “—you can’t imagine…how much I wanted you, wanted you inside me, how much I wish you to remain claiming me as yours. Pounding into me over and over till we’d be unable to fuck anymore.” The obscene sounds you both were creating alone was making you hornier. Of course, Chanyeol’s grunts and groans and gasps weren’t helping matters either and he threw his head back, hand coming down to circle your own smaller one. He now starts to guide his dick through the slick folds of your cunt, circling your slit and clit tauntingly, however making sure not to come close to entering you yet. It’ll ruin the fun, the teasing.

Enjoying this you was didn’t want his help though, because you wanted to control, you wanted him to feel the bliss. Thus resolving the problem you reached into your nightstand and grabbed two long ribbons, tying both his wrist to the metal headboard above his head. “I want you to watch me baby, to feel and experience how badly I’ve been craving you. Lusting over you.” You murmur as you finish knotting his wrists. He gladly nods without hesitation, the dark pools of his wide eyes dark and hazy with lust, pupils blown, mouth agape. You bite the inner of your cheek at how incredibly sexy he looks beneath you. You soon run your thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes fluttering shut, a mewl of pleasure escaping his throat. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing shakily the more he withdraws.

“I desire…to make you squirm, Chanyeol.” You whisper seductively, wiggling your core slowly against his groin, which easily makes him growl loudly, wrist meaning to catch you, but the restraints make it insufferable, the redness he’s bringing upon them not going unnoticed to you. You’ll take caution of it later.

“Yes, show me babe, show me how much you’ve needed me. Wanted me. Let me feel your overwhelming tension.” Chanyeol rasped, voice gruff as he tries to thrust into you for more but you don’t give him that wish. This was your tease, not his.

Instants later, after you get comfortable in his lap you lean forward to capture his lips with your own, Chanyeol eagerly parting them, to which you gladly take the invitation, tongue sliding inside. You explore the warm, moist cavern, from behind his teeth, to the roof of his mouth, to the positions of his cheeks, before you eventually meet his tongue breathlessly. Moments past that the kiss gets broken as you move to stroke him once more. Chanyeol instantly croaks your name in utter ecstasy.

What he’s not expecting though is the slow rubbing of your clit along his cock next that his moans grow far noisier. He bites his lip to hush himself but the feeling of you is too exhilarating to keep silent, so he merely lets them out carelessly. “Oh shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!” Chanyeol nearly yells, your own breathing heavy, while you cried your pleasure in his ears, hand holding his dick steady against you while you search for that overstimulating sensation known as your orgasm.

“Ahhh, C-Chanyeol, your cock feels so amazing.” You whine, lifting yourself up some before easing back down. The hardness of Chanyeol’s shaft against your sensitive pearl totally out beats your fingers, bringing your wanted orgasm to occur sooner than you like to. You barely got started damn it, you’ll be damned if you allow this overwhelming rapture to end! But even that seemed impossible considering you haven’t felt this amazing in months.

“Hmm, ahhhh, so-so perfect, you feel so good. I need more.” You mewl, your hot puffs of breath against the conjunction of Chanyeol’s neck. “I’m so close. Channie.” Your body unconsciously quickens its bouncing on top of him, the now unbearable feeling in the pit of your belly almost painful to recite. Even your limbs grew heavy and yet you still proceed to rub against your boyfriend’s cock like it doesn’t bother you one bit; his own noises causing your body to ignite, senses kicking into overdrive.

“Come on baby, cum for me, let me hear your sinful screams, my name leaving your mouth, I want to see just how much you missed my cock.” Chanyeol urges, his fingers gripping the ribbons around his wrist so tightly that you’re worried he might rip them if he continues, hips sloppily meeting on time with your own. It simply makes the friction all the more delicious.

The more your clit slides against him the hotter you get, the quicker your climax nears and in your lust filled mind you cry out in pleasure, fingers griping Chanyeol’s right bicep, stubbed nails clawing the muscles there, the constant flexing he’s doing with them from all his pulling driving you even more insane. He hisses in both the pain and the pleasure. Still, as much as you like to loosen the grip you found you couldn’t because for one it just felt too fucking amazing to dismiss, and two because he clearly was enjoying the mixture.

Your eyes soon close in a white haze and all you can see is Chanyeol, his manifestation as it contorts of pleasure from your doings, the sexy way he licks the corner of his mouth when he’s basking in concentrated pleasure, the loudness of his deep voice as it screams your name, hands finding purchase on your ass, your hips, to keep you against him for as long as he can, fingers deft in their designated place.

For what seems like an eternity to you does your body finally start to spasm, mouth voluntarily parting more, while the once heavy pants that were flaring up from your throat now grew uncontrolled and labored.

Then a massive wave of pleasure hits you tenfold and everything becomes white. You shout Chanyeol’s name, body trembling. Not once do you care whether or not someone hears you.

To you at this moment it seems like time slows, while you faintly feel like you’re releasing something below. Against Chanyeol’s chest now you shut your eyes, breath overly ragged and spotty as you try to calm down from your high. Body exhausted and numb.

It was when you felt arms circle your sweaty back that you slowly open your eyes to reality. You easily come to the realization that Chanyeol somewhere managed to rip the ribbons around his wrist while you were lost in your orgasms. You should be mad about it, but yet you wasn’t, (probably because they were cheap anyway), instead all you can do was smile satisfied, a faint pain jolting into your sides. You too figured that that was where his hands had been at the interim.

However, before you even had the prospect to register it he flips you around to where your back meets the bed. He leans down, a smile appearing on his gorgeous face, his voice dropping in your ear.“Now it my turn…to show you,” A tremor immediately evades down your spine creating goosebumps to rise on your skin as your crouch tingles. “I won’t hold back this time… Not that you’d complain otherwise, you like it when I’m rough don’t you?” He asks smugly. God he looks so sexy when he looks at me like that, you think.

You chuckle when you could breathe again, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him down further, tongue leaving your mouth to suck and taste the sweaty flesh of his neck, lightly biting his Adam’s apple. “I do.” You moan, passing your fingers through the soft tufts of his hair, your own voice a low purr. “I want you to bruise me, to prove to me precisely how much you wanted me, wanted my pussy. Release all the tension in me, please Chanyeol.” You confess. Your smile only widens as he leans down to kiss you, complying with his tongue trailing down your neck, to your collarbones, your breasts. A gasp leaves you, back arching off the bed when he takes hold of an erect nipple between his teeth, lightly squeezing and messaging the other soft breast in his hand. Chanyeol then runs that hand down your stomach, till he’s fingering the soft curls of pubic hair. Sliding through the folds of your soaked cunt now, long fingers find themselves effortlessly sliding into your slick-with-cum slit. “I make you so wet don’t I baby,” he groans, slipping those thick fingers into your hole deeper, digging them in harshly. You nod, mouth creating a perfect ‘o’ shape to let the loud whines out, legs opening wider, hips pushing against his hand for more.

“You have no idea.” You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as the more pleasure washes over you, your head thrown back in cloud nine. “I need more, please, I want you, I need you…” you panted, “—to fuck me. Chanyeol…please!” You beg helplessly, arms pulling him closer as he proceeds to tease your tight walls with his amazing fingers. It was when said fingers pressed against that certain spot that you screamed, a hand unconsciously pulling roughly at his raven hair.

Chanyeol takes this as a sign to seize his actions, and upon stopping his fingers you whimper unpleased having felt yourself nearing a second climax. “Channie,” you whine, hips grinding to find that seeked pleasure once more, but the fingers still refuse to move within you. Furthermore, with the way Chanyeol’s cock against your thigh was leaking pre-cum and pulsing proved he was seeking something just as proficient.

Running his thumb upward to your sensitive pearl now he begins to tease the bud in slow, agonizing circles, curling the two fingers still inside you in a come hither motion. “Scream for me baby, let me hear more of you. Once is never enough. You, your cries, pleads will never once be enough to quench my thirst for you. I need all of what your willing to offer.” He purrs, applying light pressure, sliding and scissoring his fingers inward and out of you again. You gasp at the combined feeling and willingly you scream for him, the sensitiveness of your post orgasm still affecting you. “Tell me again what it is you want from me babe?” He asks calmly, voice alluring.

Taking away his hand from your hole completely now, he moves his head down to your neck, where he bites and peppers new marks upon. The flesh beneath his mouth reddening. “Do you want my fingers?” He inquires huskily, moving further to your breast, taking each nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, littering each with care before he moves on to your stomach. “My cock?” He continues, dipping his tongue into your navel where you moan deeply, shivers shooting up and down your spine as he was nearing the spot you craved most attention on.

Presently at the inside of your thighs now he starts to feather you with teasing kisses, harsh hickeys and possessive bites. “My tongue?” He grins, lips shiny with saliva. You whimper loudly, responding eagerly. Chanyeol grin only widens. He moves closer.

Your shaking now, the need for him is driving you mad. And his reckless teasing wasn’t helping. You give in. “God, yes! Eat me out Channie, please. Please, only you can do it so perfectly! I want all of you! All of what you’re willing to give me.” You blurt out, having no restraint over your will to resist any longer, certainly not with how much he’s wanting to award you with that tongue.

Chanyeol smirk is wide as be spreads your thighs further apart, taking in the beauty of what you’re eagerly willing to contribute, inhaling the musky scent of your arousal. He growls hungrily. Leaning down Chanyeol licks a slow yet gentle drag up against your pussy, tasting the tang of both his and your juices. Of your cum. He moans at the acquired taste, the vibrations bringing an added delight, causing you to grip the duvet beneath you, knuckles whitening. Although, the blankets weren’t giving you much of a leverage so in advance you fetch for something else. Your boyfriend’s hair seemed sufficient. It was when you had that Chanyeol picks up the tempo of his tongue, licking, nipping, suckling ect. at the tender areas of your cunt. You wantonly beg for more of that skilled tongue.

Chanyeol gladly takes your plead.

Angling his head an inch Chanyeol begins to swirl his tongue in a clockwise motion, sucking sloppily at the peril of your clit before he adds his fingers again. Thrusting them in deep and harsh, jaw moving in time with his tongue to stimulate the sensations further.

Oh god was it working.

On the contrast you were a crying moaning mess below him, tears cornering your eyes at the overwhelming rapture of both the deft appendages. “H-harder, deeper. Channie, faster!” You panted heavily, the cries you’re mustering loud enough to dry your throat, bouncing off the hollow walls of the apartment.

Chanyeol like an obedient puppy obeys, the taut grip on his hair going unnoticed to him as he carries on. He digs his tongue to circle your slit now, sliding it in with the digits, lapping up the sweet, delicious taste of your cum, walls tight and squeezed around his fingers as he thrusts them in and out roughly yet not once removing them completely. “Oh, fuck! Channie, don’t hold back. D-don’t stop.”

He does this for a while until you you feel yourself nearing another climax and you pull Chanyeol off by his hair. You regret it but you want to have him within you when you cum, to have him feel your walls grip him. Chanyeol just smirks in triumph, meeting your eyes with desire-filled orbs, tongue seductively leaving his mouth to lick up his swollen lips, fingers not long after. He groans at the taste before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You whimper at the dirtiness of it, before leaning up to pull him forward, lips sliding with one another passionately. You taste yourself on his tongue instantly, the bitter unpleasant taste lingers in your mouth as you pull back.

“No more teasing, baby, please, I can’t handle it any longer, I need you inside me.” You breathe against his cheek, fingers far from gentle behind his back.

Chanyeol is quick to concur with you. Lifting you from the small of your back he scoots you up to the head of the bed, back against the plush pillows. He bites your earlobe, hissing. “I’m going to fuck you so hard,” You shiver in greedy anticipation, his hands lifting you up onto his lap where he wraps your legs around his sharp hipbones till your practically sitting on his thighs. “—you’ll be bruised from the inside out when I’m finished with you.”

“Oh god yes!” After hearing your excitement he grins satisfied. 

Once positioned himself to your dripping hole, he doesn’t waste any time and hastily forces his hips forward, stuffing you full of his cock in one swift thrust, your walls instantly clenching around the intrusion. A muffled scream falls from your lips at the forgotten feeling of his big cock, while he grunts in the euphoria of what he’s longed.

“F-fuck baby, how are you still so tight? God you take my cock so well.” Chanyeol pants, fingers digging into your back as he forces himself to remain completely still so you could adjust to his girth. Still with the way your muscles were convulsing and restricted only heighten his need to move.

You whine, wincing in pain as your insides still have yet to remember the feeling of being stuffed full. Luckily the pain dissipates minutes later and your limbs around him tighten. “M-move please baby,” you plead, needing that delicious movement. Chanyeol nods, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in, a strained gasp falling from both your lips at the notion.

He sets a rigid pace, thrusting in and out of your warmth repeatedly to excite enticing whines out of you. It has been so long for the both of you that Chanyeol’s hip movements were anything but sweet, his thrusts far from docile and yet you find it all the more appealing.

Chanyeol grunts into your neck, pulling out completely just to shove back in with more force than the last, eliciting a shrilling cry of bliss to erupt from your throat. “Harder.. faster.” You cry, tossing your head back, mouth wide to let out the unfamiliar noises he was forcing out of you. Chanyeol complies, breath loud against your neck, hips picking up pace, to where he was literally pistioning into your cunt. They were so powerful that your back slid up the headboard with each thrust. The slight squeak the bed makes as he continues without rest.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good baby, you’re already bringing me closer to the edge. You suck me right in.” He groans, burying his cock deep inside you, rolling his hips against your pelvis in search for that one sweet spot he knew would without doubt get you keen in overwhelming desire. It was when you gasp louder than usual that he knew he’d found it. So pulling out to the tip again, he thrust back in, roughly, aiming at that exact point. Your eyes immediately roll back in their sockets, and you mewl, toes curling, nails raking down his spine. “AHHH! Chanyeol! Yes! Right there!”

You sigh deeply, breath hitching in your chest as he does exactly that, slamming his cock in and out of you, angling only at the one area. The room now only consist of is both your loud breaths of pleasure along with the wet obscene sounds of skin slipping skin. The sound of his balls against your ass. Chanyeol eagerly intent on bringing you to attain your satisfaction first, slides a hand down your chest until he has your clit between his fingers, rubbing you in time with his hard thrust to reach your completion.

Your moans were growing louder the closer you got, breast bouncing with the strength Chanyeol hips were creating between your legs. You gasp, your thighs on reflex moving to close around his waist so to prolong your orgasm, (what good that was doing), the heels of your feel digging into his ass. “I-I’m close, Channie, don’t stop… Don’t stop.”

Chanyeol’s own noises were getting louder, more sexier as he too was reaching his limit, and in his determination to get you off he strokes you more frequently, fucking your tight warmth harder, more deeper. The combination of his cock and fingers on your heated body alone was definitely working wonders on your senses and the tightening in the pit of your stomach was appearing more intense than the last. Your toes curl harder and you cry loudly, Chanyeol seeing this leans forward to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your moans.

You body begins to tremble and you break the kiss abruptly. Your voice overly hoarse as you scream Chanyeol name, your climax finally hitting you. And it makes sure to hit you hard. Said person growls dryly in retaliation, the walls of your cunt tightening almost impossibly around his cock. That alone is all it takes for your boyfriend to reach his pinnacle as well and in one last powerful thrust he’s trembling with you, spilling ropes of white, painting your walls in his cum, your name beautifully falling from his lips.

Both you and Chanyeol grow limp, breathing ragged and harsh against each others sweaty skin. “I bet…” he pants. “—I bet that was better than your fingers, huh?” You let out a short breath, nodding tiredly. You immediately groan when Chanyeol moves to lie his head on your chest, the softening yet still slightly hard dick within you moving against your oversensitive walls.

Once your breathing settles and you get the feeling back into your numb legs you run a hand up your boyfriends back, fingering the small scratches you had given him before you card the fingers through his damp hair. “We— we have to do that again, it was just so perfect.” You admit out of breath. Chanyeol merely grunts a noise of agreement before you’re met with his stunning gaze.

“I was thinking the same thing.” He leans up to where he can murmur in your ear, “I hope you’re ready for a second round.” He smirks smugly and you let out a nervous laugh.

“You’re not serious… Right?” You ask eyes wide, you didn’t even know if your body could take his animalistic thrusts again. 

“How about the shower this time?” He suggests. 

#control #solifiedjaoreanist21 #admin scyo #mine #chanyeol smut #chanyeol scenario #reader

[boschlingtumbles]

White Wedding (Chapters 10-16)

Jaime (What Have You Done 1 of x)

The first day he kept him at bay through his normal mixture of sarcasm and superiority. Batting down Ned Stark’s pathetic attempts at ingratiation was almost satisfying. He deserved it, really, and Jaime almost laughed when after trudging after him through half the city, Jaime hailed a taxi and jumped in, slamming the car door shut in Ned’s face. Only for Ned to show up at Cersei’s, tired and dirty, two hours later right as Jaime was in the middle of inquiring whether Cersei had ever noticed that Robert talked with his mouth full. “I thought you were going to help Jaime childproof the kitchen?” Cersei eyed Ned’s disheveled appearance disdainfully. “I missed the cab,” Ned ground out, “and had to walk. I didn’t know the area and I got lost several times.” Good riddance. The second day, it was just annoying. Ned always got up to talk to Robert in the painfully early morning before Robert departed for practice, which doubled the volume of noises that Jaime had to sleep through. Even being mean to him wasn’t as fun as it had been the day before, when Ned just stoically endured it as he had yesterday. Plus Jaime couldn’t get a moment alone with Cersei. Ned just kept popping up with a stupid question or a corny joke. It was driving Jaime mad. “I can’t concentrate with his stupid horse face jumping out at me at every corner,” Jaime hissed on the phone to Stannis. “I made a perfectly good list of all the disgusting things that Robert does while eating and I’ve barely gotten through a third of them.” “Did you include the fact that he double dips?” “Everyone double dips, Stannis,” Jaime rolled his eyes. There was a distinct hiss on the line. “It’s so unlucky! Of all the times for Ned Stark to get a crisis of conscience, why did it have to be now?!” Jaime warmed to his theme. “It’s not unlucky. Robert’s fucking with you and he’s winning. Get your head in the game.” Jaime made a doubtful noise. Like that sod was capable of psychological warfare. “I think it’s just Ned. He’s really weird and irritating. I don’t see how Robert stands having him around.” “You underestimate him,” Stannis growled. “Ned? Maybe. Weird, irritating, pretentious, so fucking earnest, dull, mindlessly loyal—“ “Not Ned,” Stannis sounded exasperated. “Robert.” Jaime blinked. He had seen Robert get stuck in a revolving door once. “Look, you have to understand that he’s a person of average to slightly below average intelligence who has realized his life will be much easier if everyone thinks he’s a moron.” “That’s ridiculous,” Jaime scoffed. “Why would anyone ever do that?” “Because he’s very lazy. And I suspect he finds it funny.” “Well have you ever considered maybe he’s just really stupid?” “I did live with him for eighteen years!” That was a good point. Stannis was also weird and irritating. Probably Robert had just built up a tolerance. “Look it’s fine to be related to someone stupid. My cousin Lancel makes Robert look sharp. My point is that Ned is driving me mad and I’ve made no progress on planting seeds of doubt in Cersei’s mind because everywhere I go, he follows after.” “Maybe that will work to our advantage,” Stannis said thoughtfully. “Huh?” Jaime wondered if maybe stupidity didn’t run in the family. “Look we’ve been attacking the Cersei angle. Maybe there’s a Robert angle. And nobody knows Robert’s secrets like Ned.” “Why would there be a Robert angle? Of course the big doofus is happy to marry her.” “Happy to have Tywin Lannister as a father in law?!” Stannis sounded horrified. Jaime considered. “Ok I’ll ugh... talk to Ned,” he said begrudgingly. With a shiver of distaste he hung up, and stepped out of the closet where the washer and dryer were kept. Since Cersei sent all her clothes to the dry cleaner, he’d discovered this was the one place where he could plot uninterrupted. Unobserved, he could sneak into this room and call Stannis or just jot down random ideas in a solo brainstorming session, as Cersei and Brienne did muscle toning yoga or whatever faddish obsession Cersei had fixated on for the day, nobody ever suspecting that he was working from within to bring down this entire— “Hi!” Ned gave a forced smile from where he had been waiting outside the closet. “Whatcha doing?” “None of your business, Stark,” Jaime snapped. Ned flinched but stood his ground. Jaime reminded himself that perhaps this was not the best way to worm out Robert’s secrets. What was the best way? Alcohol. Alcohol was the best way. “Say, all this baby proofing has made me really thirsty,” Jaime said, shifting gears. “Do you want some water?” Ned offered. “Cersei also has some sparkling apple cider in the fridge?” “No,” Jaime shuddered. “I meant a proper drink.” “It’s noon,” Ned blinked. “So are you coming or not?” Jaime raised an eyebrow. Ned’s shoulders fell. “Just let me grab my wallet.” Ned drunk was not an improvement on Ned sober. It had been easy to get him drunk because Jaime had told him he didn’t like the first beer he had ordered and could Ned finish it so he could order a new one. And then he did it again on the third beer. And then he suggested shots and Ned was too tipsy to notice that Jaime was dumping his over his shoulder when he took them. But now that Ned was drunk, Jaime was discovering that he was a really REALLY affectionate drunk. “Stark, people are staring,” Jaime said through gritted teeth as they staggered into the sunlight from the dark cave of the bar. “At what?” Ned hiccuped, his chin resting on Jaime’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him. “At you! Let me go!” Jaime tried to use his words. It was like talking to a rock. “I can’t,” Ned said in a reasonable tone, arms remaining firmly laced around him. “Can you walk slower? It’s very hard to walk like this without tripping.” “You don’t say,” Jaime growled, aiming them for the water fountain in the center of the traffic circle. Ned could clearly use a nice cold bath. “Remind me why you can’t let go?” “Because Robert said not to,” Ned said seriously. What? “What?” Jaime said trying to keep the slowly growing rage out of his voice. “Stick to him like glue he said,” Ned nodded, his chin digging into Jaime’s shoulder each time. Gods. Stannis was right. Jaime could never tell him, he’d be more insufferable than he was already. But that didn’t mean that Robert was secretly a person of normal intelligence masquerading as a moron. He had just gotten lucky. Per usual. “What else did Robert say?” Jaime prodded, now that he had the perfect window of inquiry. “That you were going to try and ruin the wedding,” Ned squeezed him tighter in what Jaime realized with dawning horror was a hug. “But you wouldn’t really do that.” “Of course not,” Jaime said, trying to get them closer to the fountain. “That’s good,” Ned continued obliviously. “Because Robert says that Cersei said if anything went wrong with the Vogue coverage, the wedding would be off.” “He did?” Jaime stopped in his tracks. “Mmmm hmmm,” Ned stopped. Eureka. No more trying to undermine Cersei’s bizarre affection for the idiot Baratheon. No trying to do vice versa for Robert (not that Jaime thought Stannis’ idea had any particular merit). All he had to do was create some kind of disaster that would lose them the Vogue coverage. How hard could that be? “You know Stark, you’re not so bad,” Jaime said magnanimously, patting the reddish-brown head currently lolling on his right shoulder. “Does this mean your forgive me for that Aerys thing?” Ned immediately said hopefully. “What?! No!” Jaime yelped. “But,” Ned finally let go and turned to face him, eyes wide, face pale and practically radiating injured innocence. “But...” “Go on, spit it out,” Jaime sneered. Ned opened his mouth and a stream of bile splashed out, spattering Jaime’s jeans and shoes. Jaime closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ned was still standing in front of him, miserably guilty. With a howl of rage, Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over his back into the fountain. A load of laundry, a shower, and a telephone call later, Jaime reported what he had discovered. “How do we make sure this wedding doesn’t have Vogue coverage?” Stannis said doubtfully. “I mean does it have Vogue coverage to start with?” “Not yet,” Jaime admitted. “But it’s only a matter of time. Unless we do something.” “I don’t see how we take something away from Cersei that she doesn’t already have,” Stannis repeated stubbornly. Ugh good co-conspirators were so hard to find. “Take for example the photographer,” Jaime pressed. “There is a shortlist of trusted Vogue wedding photographers, and the odds of getting a spread increase if you’re already using one. This close to the wedding, there’s only one that’s available.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The famously reclusive Ellyn Tarbeck.” “Never heard of her,” Stannis said flatly. Jaime kicked the door of his closet in frustration before remembering that this was supposed to be a secret phone call. “You’ve never heard of the Tarbecks?! Tarbeck International?! Lannister Corp. destroyed the company, picked it up in a hostile takeover and sold the pieces off for scraps. Walderan Tarbeck, the CEO, committed suicide? Ellyn Tarbeck went on the news and said my father as good as murdered him? Like it was thirty years ago but it’s super famous?” “Were they a shipping company?” “Uh no, mining.” “And this happened before I was born?” Jaime growled. “My father’s about to become your sort of father-in-law, you’d think you’d have done some research.” “But he’s not. At least not if we’re successful. If it makes you happy, I will dedicate an hour to the subject of the Tarbecks after work today.” “No it’s just, it’s general knowledge okay?! And Cersei certainly knows it. That’s why she asked Robert to ask her. Because Ellyn Tarbeck is a crazy recluse who doesn’t read the papers and won’t know that Robert is marrying a Lannister. So he might, just maybe, have a shot at hiring her.” “Okay?” Stannis asked uncertainly. “And that’s why you need to create a distraction for Robert tomorrow, the day he’s supposed to be driving up to Tarbeck Hall to ask her. I’ll offer to go, and the moment I introduce myself to Ellyn Tarbeck as the bride’s brother, it’ll be game over,” Jaime explained. “They’ll have to go with a non-Vogue photographer, Cersei will be furious at Robert for delegating something he said he’d do himself, and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.” “Your plan may have some merit,” Stannis conceded. Was it the accolades that he deserved? No, but he would work with what he got. Jaime left the closet with a jaunty spring in his step. After days of banging his head against the wall, he finally had an evil plan. Who knew evil plans were so hard to come by? He had a newfound grudging respect for Cersei who had always shown a natural aptitude for this sort of thing. And even better, Ned was curled up in Robert’s bed, dead to the world. Jaime had an entire afternoon to himself. What to do, what to do... A short drive to the Citadel later, he found Brienne in an enormous library, struggling to unchain a book with an antiquated wrought iron key that looked profoundly unsuited for the purpose of being a key let alone being a key to that particular book. “Need some help,” he grinned. “Oh!” Brienne looked up startled, and then a smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be child-proofing the apartment with Ned?” She asked, failing to hide the amusement on her face. “He’s feeling under the weather,” Jaime said lightly, taking a seat across from her and resting his chin on his hands. “So how’s this library gig treating you?” “Oh Jaime, it’s absolutely brilliant!” Brienne gushed, her face lighting up even further. “Archmaester Marwyn actually knows a surprising amount about the First Men and the Long Night. I’m learning so much! It’s given me a wonderful idea for my thesis this fall—I can’t wait to get started.” Jaime eyed the dusty leather tomes around her skeptically. He couldn’t imagine finding anything of interest between these pages. But if Brienne liked it, he could make himself take an interest. He reached for a book. “No touching!” Brienne slapped his hand away. “Don’t you want me to get an education?” Jaime pouted, shaking just hand out as if she’d hurt him. “Not with these books, it’ll be my head if anything happens to them,” Brienne eyed the book he’d reached for with some concern, as if his mere presence might have damaged it. “So I’m not allowed to touch anything old,” Jaime furrowed his brow in pretense of thought. “Please don’t,” Brienne turned back to the sticky key, frowning slightly she tried to gently jimmy the lock mechanism. She didn’t even look up as he stood and walked around, although she certainly looked up when she felt his lips on the nape of her neck. “Jaime!” “What wench,” he teased, nuzzling her and letting a hand drift down to the top button of her shirt. “I’m not touching anything old. I just want a proper education,” his hand popped the button and moved down to the next. “Jaime! You certainly don’t need any more education in... that area,” Brienne leaned away from him but made no effort to remove his hand. He popped the next button. “Well a refresher course never hurt. Perhaps I could brush up on a few skills,” he kissed her collarbone. “I don’t think—“ Brienne’s breath caught as he sucked her collarbone. “That’s right wench, don’t think,” Jaime pulled her chair around so he could kiss her properly, cupping her chin in both hands. “I don’t think the reading room is the place for this,” Brienne managed to push him away after a minute. Jaime groaned, but obediently started to rebutting her blouse which he’d managed to get half off. She caught his hand. “No, I meant there’s a bathroom downstairs in the stacks. Give me a two minute head start and knock twice,” her blue gaze met his own evenly. Jaime felt weak at the knees. “I knew there was something you could teach me,” he managed. Brienne’s answering smirk was all the reply he needed.

Ned (What Have You Done 2 of x)

Ned had been dreaming that he’d been sleeping entangled with Catelyn, back in their cozy Winterfell apartment, safely removed from the rest of the world, when the alarm went off. He opened his eyes to discover that he was in fact sleeping entangled with Robert, who let out a completely undisturbed snore in his face.

“I swear if that alarm goes off one more time, I’m going to push you out a window Baratheon!”

And the rest of the world was very much not removed, Ned winced, scrambling over a still sleeping Robert to get to the alarm clock. Jaime growled something from the cot across the room and turned over, pillow over his head. His best efforts to repair relations with Robert’s future brother in law notwithstanding (well his best efforts and two quite unfortunate weak stomach incidents), Jaime still loathed him.

The mornings were the best times. Once Robert actually got up, they’d have breakfast together and it felt a bit like when they were roommates back in Aerie, and Robert would tell him his football stories and rib him about not having enough fun.

“What’s up with Cat?” Robert asked as he slopped some smoothie into a bowl for Ned. He added a sprinkle of granola and some banana and shoved it over to Ned.

“She and Robb are doing well,” Ned took a spoonful, to avoid wincing. His Ravyn conversations with Cat would be the best part of the day, only they had been... sparse. The Summer Islands had bad reception, and it seemed like Hoster always had something that demanded Catelyn’s immediate attention whenever they finally did manage to connect. They were going to give it another shot later this morning. 

“What’re your plans for the day?” Ned asked to change the subject.

“I’ll have practice and lifting until three or so. Then Cersei wants me and Beric to film some footage for the foundation she... I mean I am setting up,” Robert scratched his head sheepishly. “She’s rounded up a couple kids to throw the ball around with. She says the commercial’s going to go live tonight. Whaddaya think Neddy, I’ll be on tv!”

“You’re always on tv, Robert,” Ned laughed. “Every Sunday.”

Robert pretended to sulk at his triumphant moment being taken from him and Ned laughed again, and for a moment, he was having fun, as he’d promised his wife. Then Robert looked at the time and realized he was running late and yelped. Ned chuckled ruefully—the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. How many times had he helped Robert find his missing cleat in college? Then, as he found it (under a still-attempting-to-sleep Jaime’s bed), Robert opened the door.

“I’ll see you this evening to watch my spot! Play nice with my wifey and don’t forget to spend some time planning the stag party!”

Ned had been mid-toss of the shoe when that bomb dropped, and his throw went badly wide. Robert, with the reflexes that had probably earned him a living as a professional athlete, managed to catch it anyway.

“The stag party?” Ned repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice.

“Chyeah!! It’s gotta be the best ever! I am the stag king right?! My last hurrah!!!”

“I thought,” Ned cleared his throat, “you were asking one of the other groomsmen...”

Robert snorted.

“You want Stannis to plan my stag party?”

Ned winced at that image.

“I just assumed Thoros...”

“Look I love the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d be happy camping in the Riverlands. I need five star hotels! I need Michelin Star restaurants! And most of all...”

Ned rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

“I need women!”

“But Robert...” Ned scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “People don’t tend to think I’m... very fun.”

“That’s nonsense! I think you’re fun!” Robert gave him the same smile that he’d always given him right before persuading him to do something he really shouldn’t. And as always, Ned felt his willpower ebbing away.

“Well if you’re sure you want me to do it,” Ned felt his lips forming the words despite himself.

“Attaboy!” Robert grinned. “And don’t forget...”

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned recited dutifully along with Robert.

The door slammed, and Ned wondered what he’d just done. He wasn’t the party person. Robert was the party person. But of course Robert couldn’t plan his own party. And if he didn’t want Stannis doing it, and he didn’t want Thoros doing it...

Let it never be said that Ned didn’t do his duty.

“Have you ever even thrown a party, Stark?” Jaime asked from the cot where his eyes were still closed.

Ned glared.

“It’ll be fine,” Catelyn said, when the Ravyn call finally went through. She was beaming at him, looking tan and happy, and Ned felt their distance as an almost physical ache.

“Gods know you’ve been to enough of Robert’s parties to know what he likes. You can make the hotel reservations and the restaurants and then just delegate the night clubs to Oberyn Martell,” she continued.

“Delegate?” Ned repeated doubtfully.

“Of course! Who’s going?”

“Robert, me, Stannis, Jaime, Thoros, Beric, Oberyn and Mace,” Ned recited. Renly and Tyrion were still not of legal drinking age, despite Tyrion’s protestations that he knew a guy who made the most amazing fake IDs.

“So put Oberyn on entertainment, Mace on restaurants and Beric on hotels,” Catelyn shrugged. “Your work is practically done.”

“But what’ll we doing during the day?” Ned fretted. 

“I guess that’ll depend on where you’re going. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know!!!”

“You’ll figure it out,” Cat rolled her eyes, and then the screen jostled and there was a squeal of ‘Da Da!’ and then he could see his son.

“Robb!” He beamed until his cheeks hurt, his heart practically bursting from his rib cage. His boy, his darling boy. This was what was important, the three of them. They’d get through anything together.

“How is he doing? Is he behaving himself? Has the cough gone away yet?” Ned asked, fingers touching the laptop screen where Cat was struggling to get a squirming Robb situated on her lap.

“The cough is gone, and he’s learned a new word! It’s...”

“Catelyn!” A brusque voice interrupted from off screen. The trace of a frown creased Cat’s forehead as she turned.

“Daddy, I’m trying to talk to Ned,” she said. Robb, sending his mother’s distraction, clambered off her lap and crawled away. Ned’s fingers touching the screen grasped frantically at his vanishing son.

“Our friends the Estermonts just walked in the door. You remember Lomas don’t you? He’s your age and already a city council member! Come talk to him Cat, please,” Hoster Tully said from off screen.

“Daddy—“

“Catlyn!”

Cat gave Ned an apologetic look and he tried to smile back. The screen blinked to black.

Ned sighed.

That day, he accompanied Jaime to Cersei’s. She in turn dispatched them to a superstore with a list of items she still needed for the nursery.

Jaime spent the first hour resolutely not talking to him. Ned resigned himself to his polite ice breakers going ignored, knowing that Jaime Lannister was constitutionally incapable of staying quiet forever. Sure enough, by the time they’d hit the second store to find all the things the first store didn’t have, Jaime had transitioned to casual malice.

“You didn’t talk very long to Cat,” he said, pretending to examine a diaper genie.

“Oh you know,” Ned swallowed. “She’s so busy with her family.”

“They sounded like they were having a great time,” Jaime batted at a mobile, sending it spinning. “So nice of Hoster to try and introduce her to some people her age.”

“Yeah,” Ned looked at the ground.

“Hoster was a little annoyed about your wedding as I recall. I’m glad he’s gotten over that,” Jaime smirked.

As if Hoster Tully has ever gotten over anything.

Mercifully, by the time they got back to Cersei’s, Brienne had returned from her morning at the Citadel. Ned got sent to put together a day bed in the nursery, and tried not to think about Cat and Robb while sitting in a child’s playroom. 

When he was finally released from duty (Brienne had assured him that she would keep an eye on Jaime and Cersei had disappeared to supervise that commercial Robert had been talking about), it was 5:30. Robert wouldn’t be done for another hour or two. Ned felt vaguely at loose ends and more than a little sad. Basically, he could use a drink.

And really, Ned thought, as he walked to High Heart, this was perfect. He could catch Thoros alone and discuss the bachelor party. Everyone was coming later to watch the darn commercial, so he’d already be in the right place, and he could even get some dinner while he waited.

“Why the long face?” Thoros grinned as collapsed on the bar stool. Ned, aware that he had a long face, rolled his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, that was funny,” Thoros poured him a pint of beer without asking and pushed it over.

“Robert wants me to throw the stag party. I’ve never thrown a stag party!” Ned took a long sip of his drink. If nothing else, his alcohol tolerance would be significantly higher at the end of this summer than at the beginning.

“Me neither,” Thoros shrugged. “What were you thinking?”

“Well the first step is deciding what to do. Any chance you have any ideas?” Ned asked hopefully.

“Um camping is pretty fun and easy to plan,” Thoros started.

“Robert already vetoed it,” Ned sighed. “He said you’d say that. He wants five star hotels.”

“Right,” Thoros grimaced, using a rag to wipe down the counter a patron had just vacated. “Maybe I can sell a kidney on the black market.”

Ned winced. He knew that Thoros couldn’t afford casual trips to Braavos or wherever Robert wanted to go. And that of course Robert would pay for him to go if Thoros asked, and of course Thoros would never ask. There had to be a way around this...

“I think Olenna Tyrell has a summer home in the wine country outside of Highgarden. Maybe we can call Mace and get him to ask her if we can go there for a long weekend,” Ned said slowly.

“Wine country?” Thoros looked up hopefully.

“And it’s Olenna Tyrell. Whatever her summer home is like, you know it’s better than a five star hotel,” Ned continued, gears clicking in his hotel.

“The restaurants in the Reach are supposed to be amazing...”

“We won’t need plane tickets, everyone can drive...”

“Highgarden has plenty of nightlife...”

“We’ll go wine tasting during the day, maybe even go boating on the Mander one afternoon,” Ned took another deep gulp of his beer and they grinned at each other. This could really work!

“That won’t work,” Mace said flatly, when they Ravyned him from Thoros’ laptop. From off scream there was a howl.

“Loras, no screeching when Daddy’s on the phone!” Mace protested. A glob of food hit him in the face. “And no food fights!”

“Sorry,” Mace winced at the two of them through the screen, “just hold on—“ there was a pause as he wrestled a cherubic toddler into his lap. The cherubic toddler landed a chubby fist in his eye and then blew a raspberry at the screen. Mace gave them a haunted, desperate look. Behind Ned, Thoros was stifling a snicker.

“Daddy can’t go wine tasting because Daddy’s losing his fucking mind,” Mace crooned, bouncing little Loras up and down. “Daddy needs strippers and booze and cocaine. Daddy wants to do a line off a stripper’s ass Ned. Not discuss the Honeywyne burgundies. Please.”

His voice broke on the last note. Ned realized that he had the dark shadows under his eyes of someone whose child was not sleeping through the night.

Thoros was still snickering.

“Don’t laugh you bastard,” Mace hissed. “Alerie knew he had chicken pox and left me with him all week. I’ve put on twenty pounds since we got married. I spend my working hours as a glorified errand boy for my mother. This stag party is the only thing that is keeping me going, I swear.”

His eye had started twitching. Loras began attempting to gnaw at his arm.

“It’s okay Mace, we understand,” Ned began in a pacifying tone.

“Do you? If I have to watch Frozen one more time, I will use this stupid plastic spork to remove my eyeballs, so help me Stranger! Promise me Ned!” Mace gestured at the screen with a happy green spork.

“Frozen?” Loras burbled looking up.

“Oh no,” Mace breathed.

“FROZEN!” Loras screeched. The screen went black.

“So it sounds like a no on wine tasting,” Thoros said glumly.

“Back to the drawing board,” Ned mumbled. Five star hotels for Robert, night clubs for Mace, budget for Thoros. What was he going to do?

“Maybe I should just develop an illness,” Thoros poured a glass of beer for himself as well. “A debilitating illness that prevents me from going.”

“As long as you plan to rent a hospital room for Robert to visit you in,” Ned shrugged.

“What if I said it was a work emergency?”

“Robert would probably hire a bartender to replace you on the weekend in question.”

“Do you think I’m being stupid? It’s just he’s done so much for me already, and I really don’t like the idea of taking his money...”

“It’s not stupid at all. I’m sure we can find some place in Westeros that has nice hotels with good discounts...”

When Robert and Beric joined them an hour later, they had made little progress. It didn’t help that summer was the height of the tourist season. Ned shut Thoros’ laptop guiltily.

“Turn on the television!!” Robert demanded, already grabbing at the remote.

“Relax, it’s not running for another twenty minutes,” Thoros laughed. He turned to Beric. “Ready to be famous?”

“I just want to be left alone,” Beric said dolefully.

“What’ve you been up to?” Robert asked Ned.

“Oh the usual. Um, I talked to Mace today.”

“How is the old windbag?!“

“Um...” Ned was unsure how to describe the nervous sleep-deprived wreck he’d seen. “He’s very excited for your party.”

“Obviously,” Robert smirked. “It’s only going to be the —“

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned, Beric and Thoros recited dutifully in unison.

“Hey! Here it is!” Robert suddenly interjected, turning up the volume.

“Yo, EVERYONE SHUT UP!” He shouted are the rest of the bar, who fell silent.

There was a brief highlight reel of Robert playing football, then a cut to him walking down the Maesters’ field.

“Hi! I’m Robert Baratheon, the quarterback of the Oldtown Maesters. Sports teaches us leadership, teamwork, and drive. But it’s not just for professional athletes. Ask my friend Beric.”

The camera panned out to include Beric, who waved. Thoros wolf whistled.

“Stop it,” the real Beric groaned.

“Shhhh, my boyfriend’s on tv,” Thoros shushed him.

“I played three years of football with Robert, until a motorcycle accident ended my career. I might have lost an eye, but I didn’t lose my love of the game.”

Now the camera panned to a whole group of children adorably doing drills.

“Here at Oldtown, we want everyone to have a good time,” Robert said cheerfully. “Even children with physical limitations.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” a boy with a prosthetic leg tugged at Robert’s sleeve, pointing to a footwork drill.

“No worries, Lommy, let’s work on throwing instead! Hey, Beric, go long!” Robert shouted cheerfully and snapped the ball to the boy. With a cute grin, he slung the pig-skin and Beric caught it, diving dramatically through the air to hit the ground and roll.

“Touchdown!” Robert shouted and high-fived Lommy. Beric came jogging up, a tad mud-spattered.

“So the next time you’re looking to make a donation, I hope you’ll consider Storm’s Ending,” Robert winked at the camera. “Where all children get the chance to be kids.”

The last shot was Lommy waving from Beric’s shoulders, giving a gap-toothed grin as a little jingle played with the number to dial.

The commercial ended.

“AWWWWW,” Thoros ruffled Beric’s hair. “That was adorable!”

“Not bad,” Ned admitted, trying to disguise the fact that he had gotten a little teary eyed. He just missed Robb so much!

“I still don’t see why you need a commercial asking for donations when you’re planning to privately fund the whole thing,” Beric sulked, batting Thoros’ hand away.

“Publicity,” Robert shrugged. “Cersei’s going to run the spot every day until our wedding. It’ll elevate my public profile outside of sports and ensure that everyone who thinks of me thinks of summer camps for kids and not...”

“Public drunkenness,” Thoros offered.

“Assault and battery,” Ned offered.

“Three interceptions in one game,” Beric said under his breath. 

“... other stuff,” Robert finished, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

“Well it’s great. Nice catch, Beric! Back to your old form,” Ned patted his former teammate on the back.

“Where did you get that outfit?” Thoros asked. “Because you looked like... really good.”

“Cersei picked it out. I think the shirt was tailored. I don’t even want to know how she got my measurements,” Beric shook his head.

“Well I thought you looked good,” Thoros repeated slightly dreamily.

“So did I,” a new female voice breathed behind him. They all turned. A pretty if innocent looking high school girl was staring at Beric in fascination.

“Um guys, this is Jenny, the owner’s granddaughter,” Thoros said blinking. “Jenny, this is Ned, Robert, and Beric.”

“You were awesome,” Jenny giggled, still ogling Beric who had begun to blush. She took a step toward him. “Are you like, an athlete?”

“I’m in law school,” Beric took a step back.

“I’m an athlete,” Robert said hopefully. Ned smacked him in the back of the head and Thoros took that as his cue to usher Jenny away from the bar.

“Dondarrion, did you see that?” Robert craned his neck to look at the clearly underage girl’s ass. Ned smacked him again.

“You’re like... a sex symbol now!” Robert continued cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head.

“It was one girl,” Beric mumbled, his face now fully red.

“Says you,” Robert snorted. “Take it from somebody kind of famous, you gotta enjoy it while it lasts. Because the next thing you know, you have ONE BAD GAME...”

“I’m not a sex symbol am I?” Beric shot Ned a panicked look. 

“Of course not,” Ned said soothingly. He looked over his shoulder where another group of girls were giggling and pointing at them. He put his arm around Beric’s shoulders and angled them so their back was to the rest of the bar. “Everything will be better with a good night’s sleep, you’ll see.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Beric or himself.

At any rate, when he and Robert finally got back to the apartment, it was with a deep sense of relief that he let himself collapse back into the bed. 

It had been a long day, but it was finally, thankfully over. 

Ned wasn’t sure what woke him up, only that he woke with the uneasy sense that there was someone picking their way through the apartment.

A soft rustle.

He squirmed deeper into his blankets. Robert was snoring next to him, he could dimly make out Jaime’s back across the living space.

A floorboard creak. Closer this time.

What if it was a burglar? Worse, what if it was Tywin Lannister?!

Ned felt his heartbeat racing. He could see it now, a shadowy figure approaching the bed.

“Who’s there?!” Ned demanded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. If it was a burglar he’d wake up Robert. If it was Tywin Lannister, he’d wake up Jaime.

“Oh good, I thought I’d find you here,” said a smooth slightly over-confident voice that Ned knew and struggled to place for a moment.

“...Oberyn?!” 

The shadow sat down on the bed.

“The man, the myth, the legend,” it said cheerfully.

Ned laughed, partly in relief and partly in disbelief.

“What are you doing here, Martell?!” 

“Scoot over, you’re hogging the bed,” Oberyn kicked off his shoes and proceeded to slide under the covers with them. Ned was mildly relieved that Jaime was still asleep. He got enough jokes about him and Robert.

“There, now you’re comfy, now answer the question,” Ned prodded.

“If you must know, I was visiting my eldest, Obara. Her mother is an escort here in Oldtown.”

Ned sighed. Oberyn had always lived a little faster than the rest of them, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he already had two daughters. Obara and... Nymeria. That was it.

“Do you always break in to Robert’s flat for a quick snuggle when you’re in Oldtown?” Ned snarked.

“Maybe I’m here to see you, Stark,” Oberyn smirked.

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually. At the behest of a mutual friend who called me in deep distress during a break in the Frozen marathon.”

Ned sighed.

“Look, I told Mace I’d do my best. And I will, I’ll find something.”

“See this is why you should be nice to me,” Oberyn flashed his perfectly white teeth and even in the dark Ned could see his sharp smile. “I’ve found a solution to your problem. Well, rather Mace and Thoros’ problem. It was for Thoros that you suggested a free summer house right?”

“I’m not made of dragons either,” Ned protested.

“But your father is,” Oberyn stretched languidly. “Anyway, you think too small.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why settle for a summer home, when you could settle for a summer palace?”

Ned blinked.

“You mean...”

“I called my brother Doran. He said it’s fine. We are all cordially invited to the Water Palaces in Sunspear.”

Ned’s brain clicked frantically. Sunspear, in Dorne. In a friggin’ palace. Dorne with its famously beautiful women, its incredible cuisine, its reasonably accessible location...

“Thank you Oberyn... that’s amazing,” Ned stammered out. “I owe you one, seriously.”

“Great,” Oberyn yawned. “Then scoot over more. I’m going to crash here.”

“Wait, what?” Ned blurted.

“Had a fight with Obara’s mother. Took Mace’s call while we were... engaged,” Oberyn gave another slightly feral smile.

“You’re as bad as Robert,” Ned huffed, but he obediently scooted over further.

“I’m worse,” Oberyn said smugly. 

Ned rolled his eyes and reminded himself to kick him out before Jaime woke up.

Brienne (What Have You Done 3 of x)

Brienne tried to ignore her growling stomach as she gently blew the dust off a tomb that Archmaester Marwyn had sent her to fetch. She felt the normal tickle of incredulity as she thought his name. She was working for Archmaester Marwyn! In the Citadel! He knew her name! Well, he often called her Brian, but it was with affection. Like a nickname. Archmaester Marwyn had given her a nickname!

These precious hours in the afternoon that she spent managing Marwyn’s bibliography were a much needed oasis of peace and quiet from the raging storm of Cersei Lannister beyond. She thought forlornly of Jaime’s attempts to save her from this fate. He had such a good heart. If only he hadn’t become one of the many nuisances she had to manage.

It was bad enough that she was running around with florists and musicians and club promoters and septons on speed dial. But now she was constantly running interference between Jaime and his sister, because he never stopped using those moments to try and get in some digs about Robert.

“He’s so clumsy, his apartment is full of things he’s managed to break and hasn’t replaced yet. And lazy. Have I mentioned how lazy he is?” Jaime had pretended to complain about his accommodations, while watching Cersei under his golden lashes to see if any of his words were having an affect.

Brienne also glanced at Cersei nervously. Her blond head was bowed over her phone, her expression hidden behind her hair.

“He’s not clumsy, he’s just strong,” Brienne interjected from Cersei’s other side. “And he’s very tall and big, it’s not surprising he has a little more trouble than most getting through an apartment. And he’s not lazy, he’s only a professional athlete who is really busy and doesn’t have time to replace the mixer or whatever it is you’re complaining about.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure staying out at all hours to go drinking with friends is really appropriate father material,” Jaime tsked on another day, when he’d managed to evade Ned Stark yet again.

“But I’m sure he’ll give that up once you’re married and the baby is here,” Brienne hastened to assure Cersei.

“Have you noticed how he always talks with his mouth full,” Jaime snorted after they’d all had dinner and Ned and Robert had been dispatched to do the dishes.

“It was only because he was so excited about what you were saying about the wedding,” Brienne offered weakly to Cersei. 

Honestly it was a little exhausting spending all this time defending Robert, when most of Jaime’s critiques were true. But she knew that Robert’s heart was in the right place, even if Jaime couldn’t see it. Jaime was protective of Cersei, and maybe yes a little too stubborn for his own good. Brienne felt another surge of affection for her prickly knight in shining armor.

“And what exactly will Robert do once his football career is over? Be a house husband while you run Lannister Corp?” Jaime asked snidely as they watched his car pull up below.

All the same, she would kill him if she had to take much more of this.

“Robert has plenty of ambitions beyond the football field,” Brienne replied rather waspishly.

“He does?” Jaime’s lip curled into a sneer.

“He does?” Cersei turned, looking genuinely surprised.

Shit. Ummmmm think. Think think think. He must have said something to Renly? 

“He wants to start a bar,” Brienne announced triumphantly, grasping at a wisp of memory. Or was it a brewery? “With Thoros.” Or was it Ned?

“Huh,” Cersei said, and then went back to deciding who could be trusted to sit at her father’s table.

“See, maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think you do,” Jaime said triumphantly, shooting Brienne a smug look. “Why not postpone the wedding? Really take some time to learn everything there is to know about each other?”

No! How could he twist it! Brienne glared at him. Jaime winked back.

“Why even Brienne probably knows Robert better than you do,” Jaime said lightly and sauntered out.

“That’s definitely not true,” Brienne assured Cersei. “I just spent a lot of time at their house because Renly...”

“Oh Brienne,” Cersei took her hand and patted it. “You don’t have to worry, I know everything.”

“You do?” Brienne said, a wave of relief flooding her senses. Because finally, this whole ridiculous charade could be over and Cersei could talk some sense into Jaime and they could go back to planning this wedding which really was spinning somewhat out of control.

“It was so obvious,” Cersei smiled somewhat pityingly.

“It was rather obvious wasn’t it?” Brienne blushed, thinking of Jaime’s borderline blatant hostility.

“And you’ve been such a dear helping as you have.”

“Well of course! You are my fa—friend,” Brienne stammered, realizing she’d been about to say family. Which of course she wasn’t, it’s not like she and Jaime had ever talked about it, it was just all this nonsense about weddings that was making her fanciful...

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” Cersei said sympathetically.

Brienne cocked her head. Something about the gushing empathy felt a little... excessive? She flashed back on her conversation with Melisandre.

“What do you think we’re talking about?” Brienne asked suspiciously.

“You’re in love with Robert,” Cersei said matter of factly. 

Brienne felt her eyes bulge slightly and her mouth twist in an expression of involuntary disgust at the idea. Because... Robert?!?!

“Oh please don’t cry, I’m not mad,” Cersei mistook her expression for something else entirely. “I should have realized that’s why you befriended Renly all those years ago. To be closer to him. You knew it was hopeless of course, but you just couldn’t help but torture yourself. And then you finally got over him and moved on to Jaime, but me asking you to be the maid of honor at our wedding has dragged up all these suppressed feelings and I just think you’re so... brave,” Cersei suddenly enveloped her in an awkward hug. Brienne stood stiffly, not really sure what to do with her arms. At length she settled on a gentle shoulder pat.

At least Cersei could no longer see her expression, because... Robert?!

Robert who could never remember anybody’s name, who leered at every girl in a short skirt, who belched and farted and scratched his ass in public. It wasn’t that he was aesthetically unattractive, quite the opposite (although Renly would definitely be the best looking of the three, Brienne added loyally), but the idea of thinking about him romantically was just... ugh!

But how could she say that to Cersei, who actually despite all odds and every indication to the contrary, really did like him?! There was no helping it.

“It is very... hard... sometimes,” Brienne tried to sound a little tragic.

“You mustn’t worry that I’ll tell Jaime, this is just between us. These old feelings will go away as soon as the wedding is over, you’ll see,” Cersei squeezed her more tightly. “And you and Jaime will live happily ever after. You know Brienne, you’re so much more than a friend to me. I’ve felt it for some time. You’re like... a sister,” Cersei stepped back and beamed at her.

Caught in the floodlights of Cersei’s dazzling smile, the warmth of her gaze, the faint scent of her perfume, light and feminine and perfectly Cersei, Brienne had no choice but to smile uncertainly back. Because more than anything, she wanted Jaime’s family to like her, to support their relationship. And she had just won over another member. All she had to do was make sure that this wedding didn’t blow up in her face.

Naturally the first person she wanted to tell was Jaime. She caught him shrugging his coat on to take the car back to Robert’s.

“Guess what?” She hugged him from behind.

“You’ve forgiven me for being better at this than you,” Jaime smirked.

“You are, but it doesn’t matter,” Brienne let him go to kiss him lightly on the lips. “She won’t listen, because she’s in lo—“

“Oh look at the time,” Jaime checked his watch ostentatiously. “I’d better get a move on if I’m going to get to Tarbeck Hall.”

“Tarbeck Hall?” Brienne frowned. That was where that photographer lived. The one Cersei was so hellbent on getting. “Isn’t Robert going?”

“Oh something came up with Renly, he had to run back to King’s Landing,” Jaime said nonchalantly. Brienne raised an eyebrow. Renly was at theater camp.

“Where is Ned?” She asked slowly.

“Stannis thought it would be better if he drove Robert. You know how Robert is with driving on highways. Stannis didn’t want him to get a speeding ticket.”

“So Stannis suddenly needed Robert and Ned in King’s Landing, and you just... volunteered... to get the photographer out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I do have a terribly good heart,” Jaime gave her a roguishly crooked grin.

“It’s not that good.”

“You wound me, wench.”

“Jaime!” Brienne hissed, the picture snapping into focus. “You’re going to do sabotage the photographer! You’re going to say something terribly rude or be an ass or a jerk or... or... SOMETHING, and then Cersei will blame Robert because he was supposed to go!”

“Cross my terribly good heart, Brienne,” Jaime crossed his heart easily, “I will not be rude or an ass or a jerk. I will be completely normal and polite.”

Brienne stared at him. He never lied to her, but he wasn’t above holding things back. What was she missing?

“Right then,” Brienne said matter of factly. “I’m coming with you.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Jaime started to protest. “Doesn’t Cersei need you here for moral support?”

“She has phone calls all morning, an appointment with her publicist this afternoon, and then she’s meeting Melisandre in King’s Landing to discuss cakes. If you’re going to be a gentleman, I don’t see what the problem is,” Brienne tilted her head, voice treacly sweet.

Jaime rolled his shoulders back, prepared to do battle.

“As you wish, milady,” he took her hand and kissed it. “I will not have my gentlemanly credentials impugned.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but still blushed as she retrieved her hand.

Tarbeck Hall was in the northernmost reaches of the Westerlands, and Oldtown in the Southwest of the Reach. It was a six hour drive, and Jaime didn’t miss an opportunity to show off his chivalric bonafides. She emerged from a rest stop to discover that he had picked her a garland of wildflowers.

���For my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he bowed and placed it on her brow.

“You know I’m nothing of the sort,” Brienne huffed, removing it gently so not to damage his hard work.

“I beg to disagree,” he frowned, looking a trifle sulky when she placed it on their dashboard instead. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do, it’s just, it’s hardly historically accurate. Those were reserved for princesses and ladies and great beauties,” Brienne stumbled a bit trying to explain. “Not for big athletic sorts like me.”

“I happen to think you are a great beauty,” Jaime said gently.

“Well the world disagrees,” Brienne snarked back, and slammed the car door to show she was done with the conversation.

A pensive, somewhat stilted silence ensued, and of course Brienne began to feel a bit badly. It wasn’t Jaime’s fault that Ron Connington had called her “Beauty” in fifth grade. It wasn’t his fault that the boys would throw flowers at her and run away laugh-screaming in terror lest the Beauty get too close.

Jaime would have never done that. Jaime had never been anything less than caring and protective. She loved him endlessly, adoringly, down to the last hair on his ridiculous blond head. She loved his harebrained ideas and his ridiculous family and... wait! She hadn’t even told him!

“I forgot to tell you!” She blurted into the awkwardness. “Cersei said I was like a sister to her,” she said proudly.

Jaime looked over, although he did not match her excitement, somewhat to Brienne’s disappointment. Instead his features seemed to be conveying more of an affectionate bemusement.

“You know she’s always liked you fine.”

“But that’s not good enough! I want her to like me more than fine, and now she does!” Brienne poked him, trying to prod him into some enthusiasm.

“That’s Tyrion and your father and now Cersei,” she smiled.

“Is that what all of this is about?” Jaime arched just eyebrow. “Getting my family to like you?”

“No...” Brienne said, not entirely convincingly.

“What on earth would make you think I cared one whit what my family thinks of us?!”

“But I care!” Brienne protested. “I don’t want to cause problems with your family!”

“And I don’t want my family to drive you away!” Jaime ran a hand through his hair. 

Brienne paused.

“Why would you think they would drive me away?” She asked gently.

“Because they’re completely nuts! My dad is literally blackmailing my sister into marriage, she’s fine with it as long as it helps her raise her public profile, Tyrion’s fine with it because apparently he thinks forced marriages are a thing that can work, and I don’t want you to spend all summer in this black hole of insanity and decide I’m not worth it,” Jaime admitted.

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will never think you’re not worth it,” she said quietly. “You are worth everything.”

Jaime leaned his own head against hers carefully, eyes still on the road.

“You’re just so good Brienne. And my family really REALLY isn’t.”

“I don’t think you have the clearest perspective on them,” Brienne sighed. “But even if you’re right, it wouldn’t matter. At the end of the day, nothing matters but you.”

“I love you,” Jaime lifted his head so he could kiss her temple. 

“I love you too,” Brienne answered. “Is there any chance this was why you’re trying to torpedo the wedding?”

“Nope. Cersei needs to be saved from herself and as usual, I’m the only one willing to do what needs to be done. Well me and Stannis.”

“She doesn’t need to be saved from herself, she’s marrying the father of her child.”

“She’s marrying a promise that she’ll be CEO of Lannister Corp when father steps down.”

“She loves him.”

“She doesn’t,” Jaime squared his shoulders stubbornly.

“How can you be so smart and so wrong,” Brienne groaned, breaking their cuddle.

“Maybe the same way you won’t wear my flower crown,” Jaime huffed.

“If I wear your flower crown, will you stop trying to sabotage the wedding?” Brienne tried.

“Not a chance.”

They finally found Tarbeck Hall an hour past Lannisport, where the smooth highways had given way to crumbling pavement. They almost missed the shabby sign, which directed them up a winding dirt road.

Brienne was starting to think Jaime was deliberately hitting all of the potholes on purpose, but finally they arrived at the ramshackle mansion. Brienne shivered. She wasn’t superstitious but this place definitely looked haunted. She half expected storm clouds to suddenly gather and a thunderclap to greet their arrival, but the summer afternoon remained oppressively hot as ever.

“What do you know about Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne whispered.

“Elusive and world famous photographer who’s features have headlined every major magazine in Westeros?” Jaime smiled at her, and Brienne felt like he was making a joke that she wasn’t quite getting.

“And she lives here? She must be loaded!”

“It’s her husband’s family estate.”

“Is her husband... with us?”

“No he killed himself maybe thirty years ago. They say she went quite mad for a while.”

Brienne swallowed. A madwoman in a haunted house and she had to convince her to photograph a high society wedding while Jaime did... something nefarious. No pressure.

She walked up to the front door and pressed the buzzer, fully expecting some kind of trap door to open up beneath her feet. Instead a doleful bell sounded, chiming eerily off the crumbling stonework.

Jaime was humming something under his breath, still seeming oddly at ease.

“What are you so chipper about?” Brienne arched an eyebrow.

“I’m on an adventure with you, why wouldn’t I be chipper?” Jaime asked innocently.

“Huh,” Brienne gave back, unimpressed. She rang the bell again, trying not to wince at the sound. There was the sound of a door unlocking.

“Rush rush rush, all you young people nowadays in such a rush,” a woman with silver hair and sharp blue eyes stepped out. She was tall and slim, with a faded glamour about the sundress she was wearing, paired rather incongruously with hiking boots. Her skin was a walnut brown that spoke to long days outdoors, and made the blue of her eyes and the silver of her hair stand out all the more starkly.

“Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne asked politely.

But the woman had frozen, her eyes fixed on Jaime. For a moment, nobody spoke. And then her gaze narrowed.

“You!” She pointed at Jaime dramatically. “Lannister!”

“Jaime Lannister, specifically,” Jaime said politely.

“Why is a Lannister darkening my doorstep?” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed at Brienne.

Brienne opened her mouth, completely at a loss for words. 

“I’m the bride’s brother,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“The Baratheon bride?!” Ellyn Tarbeck took a step backward, hand on her heart.

“Yes, Robert Baratheon intends to marry my sister Cersei Lannister. Tywin Lannister’s only daughter. Since he’s paying for the wedding, you can really think of him as your employer,” Jaime replied in a faux helpful voice that Brienne distrusted deeply.

“Get out,” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed.

“Am I to understand that you no longer wish to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister nuptials?” Jaime said in a voice that fell a couple miles short of shocked.

“GET OUT!!!” Ellyn Tabeck screeched and then slammed the door in their faces.

Brienne blinked as the echo of the slam ricocheted off the world around them.

“Well I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Jaime smiled brightly.

Brienne glared.

“What?!”

Jaime (What Have You Done 4 of x)

Jaime didn’t feel bad. He really didn’t. It wasn’t his fault Brienne had decided to come along and shoulder the burden of trying to stop his evil plan. She could have stayed in Oldtown and had a perfectly pleasant day off instead of schlepping across all of the Reach and the Westerlands in an impromptu road trip.

“Cersei will be so upset,” Brienne twisted her hands as she paced to and fro in front of the car. She had her cell phone out and had been debating calling her for the last twenty minutes.

“Neither your fault nor your problem,” Jaime tried to give her a shoulder massage, but she shrugged him off.

“I can’t tell her Robert asked you to do it, because then she’ll call off the wedding. Maybe I can tell her that I insisted on doing it? But she’ll be so mad! What if she hates me?!”

“Then I would have a stern talk with her. She’s not allowed to hate you,” Jaime sighed.

Brienne gave him a very doubtful look and then resumed pacing. Jaime cast about for ideas.

“Look, just put the phone down. Let’s do something while we’re here. Didn’t we pass a turn off sign for a waterfall a mile back? Let’s go see a waterfall.”

“I’ve seen waterfalls,” Brienne fretted. “This is serious.”

“All the more reason not to make any hasty decisions,” Jaime said soothingly. “Some fresh air, some exercise, some nature—it’ll help you think clearly.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Brienne hesitated.

“When will you learn?” Jaime grinned. “I’m always right.”

There was a little empty parking lot for the waterfall, which they eventually found about a mile down a pleasantly wooded trail. Jaime had forced Brienne to leave her phone in the car, and she already seemed more relaxed. He could tell by the way the line of her neck had lengthened, the slight bounce of her blond hair, the spring in the step of her sinfully long legs... not a Queen of Love and Beauty indeed.

“What are you looking at?” She said, sensing that his gaze had wandered from splashing of the small waterfall. 

“You know what I’m looking at,” Jaime dropped his voice, just to see her cheeks pink.

“Stop,” she pushed him.

“Let’s go swimming,” he proposed, not eager to return to the car, pending call to Cersei or otherwise.

“Now? Here?”

“Why not, it’s a perfectly lovely natural pool. There’s nobody around. It’s hot as balls.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“As you wish,” Jaime shrugged, but proceeded to kick off his shoes and strip to his boxers.

“Jaime! What if someone comes!”

“I’m not naked,” he laughed. “Unless you’d like me to be...”

While she stammered for a response, he picked his way down into the pool below them. It was even better than he had hoped, the crisp bite of the fresh water. He plunged his head under and then shook his hair, aware that his gaze was not the only one who had wandered from the waterfall. With a mischievous smirk, he started paddling out toward the center.

“Jaime, get back here!” Brienne whispered, as if someone might hear them.

“Not a chance,” he treaded water as the pool became deeper. “And you know I got a candy bar from that gas station. I’m going to get cramps, Brienne. You’ll need to rescue me.”

“I will do no such thing,” Brienne lifted her chin.

“You were a lifeguard in high school! Didn’t you take an oath?”

“Lifeguards don’t have to take oaths, Jaime,” Brienne laughed.

“I bet you took one anyway,” Jaime teased. He let himself slip under the water and pop back up with a sputter. “There it is! The cramp!”

“You don’t have a cramp!”

“Brienne, I’m drowning!”

“You’re not drowning!”

“Brienne, you need to rescue me!”

“You don’t—“

Jaime let himself slip beneath the water for a second time, and sure enough, he heard the splash seconds later. Brienne took easy sure strokes out to him, and towed him on with her to the other side. They collapsed on the bank dramatically. Jaime tried to give a pathetic cough.

“Oh stop it,” Brienne smiled down at him, resting on her side. She was still wearing her white tank top, but had removed her shorts to reveal the cotton panties underneath. 

“Traditionally the rescuer gives the kiss of life,” Jaime pointed out.

“You’re incorrigible,” Brienne leaned down and kissed him. He savored the kiss for a moment and then slid his hand down her back to cheekily squeeze the swell of her ass.

“That is not part of the kiss of life,” Brienne joke scolded him. Then she pushed off and paddled backward toward the fall.

“Come back here!” It was Jaime’s turn to scold. She only splashed him in response. With a huff, he dove in after her.

Perhaps an hour later, they clambered back up toward the trail, retrieving their shoes and discarded clothing. Brienne seemed vastly more at ease, and Jaime found that his own restless anxiety had correspondingly subsided.

“I know you were peeking during Marco Polo,” Brienne butted him with her shoulder.

“Wench, I am shocked and appalled at your distrustful nature. I’m just naturally intuitive!”

“Naturally intuitive when your eyes are open!”

“Who hurt you to make you like this? Was it Renly? It was probably Renly. Little shit never met a rule he couldn’t br—“

They rounded the corner and Jaime trailed off abruptly. Ellyn Tarbeck, still wearing her hiking boots and sundress, now with a large camera complete with bulky lens, was leaning against their car.

“Hello again,” Ellyn said at last, when neither of them seemed inclined to speak.

“Ms. Tarbeck,” Jaime said cautiously, trying to edge between her and Brienne. She wasn’t supposed to be violent-crazy, but that camera would pack a wallop if she started swinging it. 

With a snort, Brienne stepped back around him.

“Needless to say, I found your unexpected arrival very upsetting,” Ellyn Tarbeck said, fixing Jaime with a steely look. 

He swallowed, and wondered what he would do if she sprung. Could he hit an old lady? He looked at her arms, dark brown and wiry. He rather thought he could.

“I went on a hike, as I often do when I want to be alone with my thoughts. Some of my deepest wells of artistic inspiration come from my time in nature, and this afternoon was no exception,” she cleared her throat, looking off to the side. Was she nervous? 

“Young lady, I saw you at the Castamere falls. I had been taking some shots of the light beams on the water when the two of you quite rudely interrupted. But since I was already there... well I took some shots. And I am very pleased with them, and will need you to sign a waiver allowing my further use of your likeness should I wish to use the images in my work,” she rattled off in a rush.

Jaime arched an eyebrow. Brienne looked dumbstruck. Seeing that she appeared incapable of speech, he stepped in.

“May we see the images?” He asked, partly to buy her time and partly because he was intrigued.

She glared at him with an expression of undisguised loathing. He smiled sweetly back.

“Here,” she grunted, thrusting the camera at him. “Use that black switch to toggle. If you touch anything else, I will bury you.”

Jaime ignored that last part and blithely began to toggle away. The light on the water shots were he supposed well done, but it was all rather artsy and dull and not his thing... then he came across the first picture of Brienne. This was his thing.

It caught her mid backstroke, lips partly open in an infectious smile. The sun had caught her eyes and ever bead of water that cling to her windmilling arm—it was joyous, it was beautiful, it was... Jaime’s eyes slid to the way her white shirt clung to her curves... hot.

“Let me see,” Brienne pushed him gently. Mouth dry, he handed it over. She looked down at the screen and abruptly her face flushed.

“No, I’m sorry, but no. You can’t use this,” she firmly shoved the camera back into Ellyn Tarbeck’s chest.

“If it’s a question of money,” the woman said uncertainly.

“It’s a question of looking a fool for strangers to gawp at,” Brienne huffed. “Jaime, come on. Let’s go.”

He let her pull him into the car, where she carefully pulled it out into the highway without ever so much as looking at Ellyn Tarbeck. It wasn’t until they were a mile down the road that she pulled over, and he realized that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching around her shoulders to pull her into a one-armed hug.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” Brienne mumbled into his shirt. He stroked her hair tentatively.

“That she was spying on us? I don’t think we were really doing anything...”

“No! Of that picture, I look ridiculous!”

Jaime pulled back so he could stare at her.

“Brienne, you looked athletic and happy and pretty sexy. What on earth is wrong with that?”

“I look like I don’t know...” Brienne bit her lip. “that I’m ugly.” 

Jaime sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Remember on the ride up when I said that was in your head?”

Brienne nodded, eyes sliding down to the ground. He lifted her chin up to catch her gaze again.

“I can’t see better evidence. Why would Ellyn Tarbeck, a perfect stranger, care about embarrassing you? She took the picture because it was beautiful. She doesn’t know you from Addam.”

“Maybe she does that,” Brienne mumbled.

“Does what?”

“Takes pictures of... big girls.”

Jaime wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bang his head against the window or cover her in kisses to prove how beautiful she was.

“Ellyn Tarbeck is a wedding photographer for Vogue. She doesn’t take pictures of big girls. She does artsy crap like a groom lifting a bride’s veil at sunset. Now get out of the car.”

“Why?” 

“Because we are driving back to Tarbeck Hall and she is going to show you her photography. Let’s make a deal. If you look at her other photos and think they’re beautiful, then it means the photos of you are also beautiful, and that voice in your head belongs to a prepubescent Ron Connington and he can go to hell. If you don’t like her other photos, then I’ll smash her camera to little bits.”

Brienne gave a watery smile.

“Even if I don’t like her other photos, you can’t do that. Just make her delete them.”

“Deal,” Jaime leaned over and kissed the tip of her perfectly freckled nose.

Had he thought the ride up was tense? It was nothing compared to the return, when he was so close to vanquishing this demon. If he’d fucked up his sabotage mission, he would have just moved on to the next plan, and the next, and the next. Never would he get such a perfect opportunity to make Brienne see herself as he saw her again.

They pulled up to the mansion and Jaime hopped out determinedly, before Brienne could change her mind. He rang the doorbell.

There was a pause, during which Brienne slowly let herself out and joined him with a hangdog expression.

The door opened.

“Have you changed your mind?” Ellyn Tarbeck demanded of Brienne while ignoring Jaime completely.

“I... I mean we,” Brienne stammered.

“Brienne would like to see some of your other art. She wants to know in what kind of context you might conceivably reproduce these images,” Jaime cut in.

“Oh,” Ellyn Tarbeck looked blankly surprised. “Well I suppose there’s no harm.” 

All the same, she seemed dangerously close to shutting the door on Jaime. Only Brienne lacing her fingers into his stayed the woman’s scowl.

“I’ll let you look at a few coffee table books,” the photographer ushered them into an enormous library. She began pulling out large books, seemingly at random, and tossing them on a sofa for Brienne to peruse. “If I’m not working on commission, this is my bread and butter. I like that one there—Life in the Ruins of Valyria. Here’s a couple wedding books; not my best work, but it’s what the public wants. Here’s one from my time in the Iron Islands. I’ll give you a few minutes to flip through, while I make some tea. Please let me know if you have any questions.” 

Brienne nodded with a polite smile and Ellyn Tarbeck excused herself.

Jaime claimed the book of the Iron Islands, flipping through it efficiently, and shortly finding a similar photo of some girls sunbathing on a rocky outcrop. There could be no doubt that they met all traditional definitions of beauty—one caught lowering herself into the water could well have been a mermaid. He turned to show Brienne, but caught her looking down at a photo from old Valyria, a child touching her mother’s face, oblivious to the melted spires of rock behind them. Brienne was smiling down at it a trace wistfully. Jaime decided to let her explore at her own pace, though he did leave the Iron Islands book open to the page he’d found.

There was a companionable silence while Brienne buried herself into the books, meticulously studying each page. Jaime meticulously studied the way she wet her lips in concentration, the way the light caught her white-blonde eyelashes.

Just as he was starting to feel rather drowsy, the Tarbeck woman returned, holding a mug of tea. She had not offered to make them any, Jaime noted with some disdain.

“I can’t promise I’d ever use your photos, but I might include it in a collection, or a similar installation in an art gallery. If it were in an art gallery, it could be conceivably purchased for a private collection,” she explained crisply. “You could neither limit its distribution nor would you be entitled to any profit I might make. On the other hand, they are quite stunning. My models are typically happy with the results. What do you say?”

“I think,” Brienne blushed, “that might be acceptable.” Jaime squeezed her hand encouragingly. His girlfriend the model! Suck it, Ron Connington.

“But,” she bit her lip. Oh no, was she second-guessing herself? She was making such strides!

“I have a condition,” she said finally.

“No strings on the distribution and no profit-sharing,” Ellyn Tarbeck said sternly. “I will not have you interfering with my artistic expression. And certainly not my bottom line.”

“It’s not that,” Brienne squared her shoulders. “I will sign your waiver if you agree to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister wedding.”

Wait what?

“That is, if it’s okay with you?” Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand back, an almost imperceptibly triumphant look in her eyes. Jaime managed to smile through gritted teeth.

“Of course...That’s... why we came out here, after all.”

“Good,” Brienne nodded, then turned back to Ellyn Tarbeck. “Do we have a deal?”

Maybe she’d say no. It was only a handful of photos after all. A handful of insanely gorgeous photos. What was that compared to a decades-long blood feud?

Ellyn Tarbeck delicately set down her glass of tea.

“We have a deal.”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. This had been such a perfect plan. How had it failed? Well he knew how it had failed, and even now he couldn’t be completely upset about the way things had turned out. Still. It had been such a good opportunity. But there would be others. Of course there would. That’s what they had to focus on. That this was just one bite at the apple. One bite that he had slightly screwed up, but only with the very best of intentions. He wondered what Stannis would say to that.

Stannis (What Have You Done 5 of x)

Stannis gently closed the door to his office. He walked over to the couch where he typically had important clients, board members or investors sit and laid down. Delicately he inserted the ear buds into his ears, and closed his eyes as the classical music washed over him.

Today had been... appalling. First, he had to deal managing Robert’s estate, and Cersei’s hare-brained idea for a charitable organization. He knew the Lannisters created “charities” for any passing fancy that they promptly abandoned, but that was not how the Baratheons did business. It didn’t help that she had been swigging a glass of champagne during their Skype call. How was he the only person who didn’t think she was actually pregnant?! The signs were right there!!! It was SO OBVIOUS!!

Then he’d had to deal with a shareholder’s meeting regarding unexpected storms in the Jade Sea that were playing havoc with their shipping routes. There was a possibility that they might miss their projected earnings for the quarter, and everybody was in a testy mood. It didn’t help that Melisandre had been making him sleep on the couch. He was developing a terrible crick in his neck and could barely keep his eyes open.

All because she was annoyed at him for keeping secrets. Of course he was keeping secrets! She certainly wouldn’t approve if he had told her the truth!

After he’d half dozed through the shareholder meeting, he’d had to hurry over to the hospital to meet Robert and Ned, who he had convinced that Renly had been injured in an accident at drama camp.

“So it turns out it wasn’t him,” Stannis said, as they hurried into the waiting room. Ned came to a halt and Robert promptly plowed into him, sending Ned sprawling.

“What do you mean it wasn’t him,” Robert growled.

“Erm, there was a mixup with the campers,” Stannis said tentatively, having not particularly thought this lie through beyond luring Robert and Ned away from Oldtown.

“And you didn’t think to call us?” Ned pushed himself stiffly to his feet.

“Errr... no,” Stannis said blankly. Well playing dumb worked for Robert.

There was a long pause as Ned and Robert stared him down.

“That was very inconsiderate,” Ned said at last.

“I’m sorry,” Stannis offered tepidly.

“We traveled three and a half hours to get here. Robert had engagements he had to cancel,” Ned continued sternly.

“I’m very sorry,” Stannis tried insincerely.

“It’s unlike you to be so careless,” Ned went on. Stannis wanted to grind his teeth, as Ned continued to lecture him on the importance of thoughtfulness, selflessness, family, duty, honor.... Who did he think he was talking to? Robert?!?!? As if Stannis had ever fallen short of the standards of good behavior. Even this was a thoughtful and selfless attempt to save his brother from his worst instincts, and did he get any credit? Of course not!

Speaking of his brother, Robert had been quiet the entire time. Something of a record. When Ned FINALLY ran out steam, Robert only eyed him suspiciously.

After a long pause, Robert cleared his throat.

“You know you can always... talk to me,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course,” Stannis said quickly, the biggest lie he’d told yet.

They stared at each other again.

“Well come on,” Ned finally tugged at Robert’s arm. “We have to get out of city limits before rush hour hits.”

It was with some relief that he had headed back to his and Melisandre’s apartment. Only to confront someone heading down the stairs with an enormous box.

“That looks heavy, let me help,” Stannis scrambled to assist, even as his brain was registering that the person was too short to be Melisandre.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said the allegedly pregnant Cersei Lannister, shifting her grip on the giant box and continuing down the stairs.

How was he the only person seeing this?!

After a brooding pause, Stannis had decided to go back to the office.

Now as Bach soothingly lulled him into calmness, he was able to let go of some of the outrage that had dogged him all day. It was all about to be over. No more lying or subterfuge, which he had always been terrible at. No more distractions from work. And most importantly, no more Cersei Lannister.

Yes, any moment, Jaime would call on his cell to let him know that Ellyn Tarbeck would be photographing the Lannister-Baratheon wedding over her dead body. Cersei would let Robert know she would be marrying him over her dead body. And this would all be gloriously over.

His cell phone rang. He glanced over. It was Jaime Lannister.

“Success?” Stannis picked up immediately.

“Um... not exactly,” Jaime answered cautiously.

Or it wouldn’t be over. Because nothing ever went according to plan.

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Stannis bit out.

“Well I introduced myself and she naturally freaked out and told us she would never do the wedding and to get the hell off her property.”

“Okay?” Stannis sighed, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“And then she might have snapped some photos of Brienne while we were taking a dip at a local watering hole. Brienne was terribly embarrassed and I encouraged her to go back and meet with Ellyn Tarbeck, so she could see that the photos really were quite lovely. And then one thing led to another, and Brienne said she’d let Tarbeck have the rights to the photos if she did the wedding,” Jaime blurted.

Stannis slowly slid off the couch onto the floor.

“If you think about it, this is actually a good thing,” Jaime said nervously into the silence.

“How?” Stannis asked hollowly.

“Well it’s really done wonders for Brienne’s self-esteem. You know how fixated Cersei is on appearances, and I think it was starting to mess with Brienne a bit, but she’s been pretty proud of the photos. I actually heard her telling her dad about them, and she never brags about things like that.”

“I understand why it might be good for Brienne Tarth’s esteem. I fail to see how this development is good for out objectives,” Stannis ground out.

“Oh,” Jaime said. There was a pause. “Well it’s not.”

There was another long silence.

“I’ll come up with something else,” Jaime said a tad defensively.

“I think you have done QUITE enough,” Stannis retorted. “I will come up with a plan to interfere with the Vogue coverage without your assistance.”

“You?” Jaime sounded doubtful.

“Me!” Stannis huffed. And then he hung up. Because he had been taking a lot of guff from people all day, but one person who was in no position to cast stones was Jaime-can’t-even-take-advantage-of-a-perfectly-good-blood-feud-Lannister.

But Jaime maybe had a point. Hadn’t he just been thinking how bad he was at lying and subterfuge? He wasn’t a particularly sneaky person. How was he going to subtly interfere in the runaway train that was this wedding? Subtly interfere in a way that didn’t make Robert hate him forever?

He needed help. He needed advice.

“Why are you still here, everyone’s gone home,” Davos Seaworth stuck his head in, blinking at finding Stannis sprawled on the ground.

Stannis stared at him. Thank you gods.

“Are you... er... alright?” Davos raised an eyebrow.

“You are my best friend, Davos,” Stannis began. “I hope you know that. I would literally trust you with my life.”

“Did you like have a fall or something? Should we be taking you to the hospital?”

“And I have the utmost respect for your intelligence,” Stannis continued, ignoring him.

“What did you even fall off of? Can I drive you or do we need to call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Stannis struggled to a sitting position, looking up at him. “If you were going to stop a wedding and nobody could know it was you, how would you do it?”

“Bribe the priest?” Davos tried to joke. Stannis considered.

“It’s the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor, he probably doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Stannis decided.

“Great Sept of Baelor?! Stannis, are you trying to stop your brother’s wedding?” Davos glared at him.

“Not the wedding per se. Just certain media coverage,” Stannis frowned.

“Well don’t piss off the Sept of Baelor or you’re screwed. I can’t believe Robert and Cersei even managed to get that place. It’s super orthodox you know, and I can’t really picture them taking pre-Cana,” Davos laughed.

Stannis tried to smile, but he really had no idea what Davos was talking about.

“Um pre-Cana?”

Davos saw his expression and sighed.

“Have you ever even been to sept?”

Stannis scratched his head. Cassana Baratheon was the sort of person who considered herself ‘spiritual’ rather than ‘religious’. And Steffon Baratheon was the sort of person who considered himself neither.

“Maybe a couple times at Sevenmas?” Stannis frowned. He definitely remembered Robert getting into the sacramental wine and puking on Renly’s shoes. Renly had cried the whole way home.

“Uh right, the big septs don’t let you get married unless you meet with a septon beforehand. They talk to you about the sacredness of marriage and kids and sex and divorce and stuff. It varies from sept to sept how intense it is. Sometimes it can go for like six months.”

“And you were saying...”

“Just that picturing Robert and Cersei sitting there promising some septon that they’re virgins is a funny thought.”

It was a funny thought. Somehow he couldn’t picture either of them doing that. Something was fishy. And Stannis was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Thank you Davos, you’ve been very helpful.” Stannis stood, brushing himself off.

“I have?” Davos asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Now I’ve got to go make some calls.”

“What about the hospital?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For your concussion?”

“I assure you,” Stannis gave a slightly unnerving grin. “I am thinking perfectly clearly.”

The easiest way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Robert. And as luck would happen, Robert had been brought up talking quite recently.

Stannis once more picked up his cell phone.

Robert answered on the third or fourth ring. (While such response was not particularly prompt, that he picked up at all was unusual. Stannis was used to having to call several times, and leave copious voicemails and texts before getting any kind of response. Usually in emoji form.)

“Stannis, what’s up?” He said, sounding a little stilted. Like he was on stage but didn’t know his lines. Well that made two of them.

“I was thinking about what you were saying earlier,” Stannis began tentatively.

“Oh?”

“About how we can always talk.”

“Um right.”

There was a pause.

“Did you want to talk?” Robert finally asked, sounding as though he rather hoped the answer was no. Stannis face palmed.

“Yes.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?”

Stannis racked his brain.

“I just feel like we haven’t really... talked... in a while,” he finally said tepidly, cursing his lack of a good segue.

“Oh is that what the Venmo request was about?”

Stannis frowned.

“What Venmo request?”

“You were mad I didn’t tell you about the wedding and you’re worried that we’re drifting apart? Awww Stanny!”

Stannis had literally no idea what he was talking about. He habitually split everything. He knew Robert tended toward the belief that over the long run, all expenses would eventually net out. But as far as Stannis was concerned, the best way to net everything out was to split everything and that was that.

But Robert seemed markedly less cautious, and this was at least a path toward discussing the High Sept of Baelor.

“Yes,” he said. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

The statement was ludicrous. He could literally turn on a television and see what was going on in his brother’s life.

“I’m sorry, that makes complete sense,” Robert said. He could practically feel Robert nodding along earnestly on the other side of the phone.

“How’s er... wedding planning going?” Stannis asked.

“Eh it’s fine. Did I tell you I booked Tom Sevens for the after party? It’s going to be epic!!! And on Tywin Lannister’s dime too, ha!”

Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Cersei does most of it, honestly. The only thing she really put on my plate was getting the photographer today. Good thing Jaime was there to cover right?”

“Yeah, good thing,” Stannis growled.

“He’s not my favorite, but he really saved the day you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“Credit where credit is due right? The whole wedding might have been sunk without him!”

Stannis tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Say, I had a question about the Sept of Baelor,” he said.

“Ugh, church is such a drag. Remember when we got kicked out because Renly wouldn’t stop crying during Sevenmas mass?”

“We got kicked out because you drank a bottle of sacramental wine!”

“No, it was definitely because Renly wouldn’t stop crying.”

“He was crying because you threw up on his new shoes!”

“Hahahahaha that’s right. See, I told you it was his fault. So what’s the question?”

“Well Davos said there’s some kind of pre-ceremony education course you have to do?”

Robert groaned.

“Ugh it’s the worst. Cersei had her father make a huge donation to get the space, so they’re letting us do most of the classes online. It’s like three hours on Sundays. Cersei just texts me the answers.”

Stannis frowned, first at the flagrant rule bending for those with money, second at the flagrant rule breaking by Robert, and third at the fact that there didn’t seem to be an angle here.

“So it’s a done deal? You just have to do some stuff online?”

Maybe he would have to bribe the septon...

“Well that and meet with some deacon next weekend to get the final nod. They just want someone to talk to you and make sure you’re living in the light of the seven and all that jazz. Cersei is worried they’ll be able to tell she’s pregnant, so she’s sending me with Brienne.”

“How’s that work? Won’t they notice when you show up with a different bride?”

“Nah, it’s not the same guy. This is just some little foot soldier. As long as we seem like good sept-going people, it’ll be fine. Anybody could show up really, it’s not like they check.”

Stannis blinked. And then he smirked. Anybody.

“That gives me an idea,” he said casually. “It seems so silly for you and Brienne to come all this way to King’s Landing when you’re both in Oldtown. Why don’t I take Melisandre?”

“Really? You’d do that?!”

“I would be delighted to assist.”

“Wow that’s… huge. You’re such a good brother. I don’t think you’ve ever let me down in your whole life.”

Stannis shifted uncomfortably.

“Well let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious! I would trust you with my life. You would never deliberately screw me over and there’s not many people in the world I can say that about.”

Stannis was having an acute pain somewhere in his gut. He wondered if this was acid reflux.

“I would certainly always act in your best interest,” he managed finally. His gut uncurled slightly.

“No it’s more than that. You always keep your word to the letter,” Robert continued blithely. The stomach ache intensified. “If you give me your word that you’ll go the High Sept and impress the deacon, I know you’ll do it.”

“Eh,” Stannis managed, clutching his side.

“So I have your word that it’s done? I can’t afford something like today’s mix up happening on Sunday!”

Stannis sat heavily, bringing his knees to his chest.

“Stannis, I have your word right?”

There was no helping it.

“Yes,” Stannis managed. He wondered if it was too late to get Davos to take him to the hospital.

Melisandre (What Have You Done 6 of x)

Melisandre did not do weddings. She just... didn’t. She hadn’t liked weddings at the red temple, which were simple hand-tying ceremonies followed by a jump over a pit of coals. She didn’t like weddings, but if you were going to have a wedding, that’s how a wedding should be. Just a pledge of love before R’hllor and maybe a little fire. But even back then, when she had been going to temple, she had felt suspicious of all the guests, the dress, the ring. 

It felt performative. Like love wasn’t love unless all your friends and family saw you declaring it. It felt ostentatious, with the five thousand dollar dress that you’d wear once. It felt... fake.

And this wedding, this Frankenstein horror of white lace and pink tulle, was everything that was terrible about weddings rolled into one. Weddings under the faith of the seven already were especially irritating. Melisandre didn’t think it was crazy to point out how completely sexist and archaic the concept of a father giving away his daughter to take on her husband’s family name was. Sure, why not treat an adult woman as chattel? And don’t even get her started on the vows. The woman was supposed to love, cherish and OBEY?!?! Get a fucking dog.

Then add in Cersei, for whom the ostentatious and performative aspects of the wedding were the whole point. 

Then add in the part where Stannis was plotting behind her back, thus undoing literally six years of working on their communication issues together.

Then add in... whatever this was.

Cersei delicately put a bite of red velvet cake with vanilla frosting in her mouth. She chewed, an expression of concentration on her face. Then she spat, into the bucket held by the Crossroads Inn pastry chef’s assistant.

“Too moist. The cake overpowers the frosting,” she announced. The chef and his assistant and the owner of the Crossroads Inn all nodded gravely. Melisandre looked out the window.

“Are you getting this down, Melisandre?!” Cersei snapped. With a sigh, Melisandre produced her notebook.

“Sample 63: Too moist. Frosting overpowered,” she read dully.

Cersei nodded in satisfaction, previous equanimity restored. She took a swish of her sparkling apple cider to cleanse her palette and waved an imperious hand for the next sample.

But the worst part of this whole wedding nonsense, hands down, was her involvement. It had been a terrible confluence of needing to beat Stannis at his own game and needing to save Brienne from her silly self-effacing self. And now, she was watching as Cersei took a mere sniff of carrot-cake before bellowing “NEXT!”

Sample 64: Carrot-cake.

The dreary fact was that Melisandre was the only bridesmaid in King’s Landing. There were good, sensible reasons that she should be shouldering some of this burden. At least if she didn’t want Cersei Lannister, Queen of the World, to pitch a fit and ban her from the wedding. Cake tasting, at the time, had seemed like a low-key, even fun activity to choose. But she didn’t even get to try the samples!!

Cersei spit a piece of what looked like German chocolate cake into the bin.

“Too rich!”

Sample 65: Too rich.

“I think I’ll do four layers, each with a different flavor,” Cersei said to Melisandre as Melisandre carefully drove them both back to her apartment.

“The largest base layer will be vanilla and vanilla cream icing. Simple, elegant, and it will taste completely boring. I can give it to the second tier wedding guests and anyone who has displease me,” Cersei turned the rear view mirror so she could fluff her hair.

Melisandre turned the rear view mirror back to its original position.

“The second layer will be that devil’s deluxe chocolate with the sea salt sprinkles,” Cersei continued, ignoring her entirely.

Melisandre tuned out the discussion of the third and fourth layer, idly wondering what she would have for dinner. And what Stannis would not be having for dinner. Let’s see how he liked fending for himself when he got home from the office.

She pulled into her parking garage. She had gotten into the service elevator, gotten out on her floor, walked down the hallway and had her key in the lock before she realized that Cersei was still trailing after her, wondering where she could get a tiny bride and groom of spun sugar perfectly modeled on her and Robert. 

Melisandre grudgingly let her in, while fantasizing biting the head off a tiny spun sugar perfectly modeled on Cersei Lannister.

“This is nice,” Cersei looked around their lofted apartment. “It will be so easy to child proof when you and Stannis get married.”

Melisandre schooled her features into a smooth blankness so that she wouldn’t flinch at Cersei’s remarks. She hated weddings.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” Melisandre said politely to change the subject. Unfortunately that meant Cersei pursing her lips over every streak of dust—“you should just get a housekeeper, that’s what I do”—and shaking her head over every pot in the sink—“you don’t have a chef?!”—and even the box that the tv had come from that she hadn’t bothered to ever move out of their bedroom—“really it’s an empty box, I’ll move it myself.”

It was as Cersei accomplished the latter task that Stannis came in. Melisandre took some dark joy in the expression of frozen outrage when he spotted her.

“Stannis, don’t mind us. We’re just doing some wedding prep,” Melisandre slid her arm around Cersei’s waist. Cersei beamed at her. “You know how excited I am about the wedding!” Melisandre added, just to twist the knife.

“Excuse me... I... I forgot something at the office,” Stannis muttered, looking like he might puke. He hurried back out the door.

“Melisandre, I’m touched,” Cersei said. “You know, maybe this is silly, but I always got the sense that you didn’t like me very much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melisandre said weakly.

“And you seemed very unenthused about the wedding,” Cersei continued.

“Nothing to do with you,” Melisandre said, this time truthfully.

“I suppose it is silly. Well I’m glad to share this moment with you,” Cersei squeezed her into a hug. Melisandre went stiff. She didn’t do hugs. “It’s nice to have another friend I can trust.”

“Well off you go,” Melisandre gently disentangled herself. “I’d hate for you to hit the rush hour traffic getting out of here.”

“Oh so true,” Cersei dropped the tender act briskly. “Let’s circle up regarding the final menu. Toodles.”

And she was gone.

Melisandre went to the freezer and got out a pint of ice cream. She proceeded to collapse on the couch. 

She was still there when Stannis came back several hours later.

“Is she gone?” He asked abruptly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at him, and took another spoonful of ice cream.

“You’re being so childish, just tell me what’s wrong,” he huffed.

Like he didn’t know exactly what was wrong.

After a brief staring contest, Stannis looked away.

“I signed us up for some more wedding duties,” he said stiffly.

What?

“What?” She said, ice cream forgotten.

“Well you did say you were so excited about it,” Stannis said in a faux innocent voice that wouldn’t have fooled Robert.

“What are we doing?” She growled.

“Pretending to be Robert and Cersei to meet with a deacon at the High Sept of Baelor this weekend,” Stannis shrugged.

Huh. Obviously he was planning something, but this sounded kind of innocuous? 

“You know it would be highly unethical to volunteer to help, and then use that opportunity to mess up this wedding,” Melisandre pointed out.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“As a matter of fact, I do. So let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Melisandre inquired suspiciously.

“You’ll do all the talking,” Stannis said.

Melisandre considered. If there was a trap here, she wasn’t seeing it. What better way to make sure Stannis behaved?

“Deal,” she said firmly. And caught just the tiniest glint of triumph in his eye.

Honestly, between her job at the research lab and staying mad at Stannis and Cersei’s incessant wedding related chatter, she kind of forgot about it. The engagement party was coming up, and Cersei had been doing her level best to drum up the publicity to an unbearable level. Some tidbit of news about the wedding was front page of the Daily Ravyn every day—Melisandre could only imagine what strings Cersei was pulling with Varys to make that happen. She’d given the exclusive engagement party coverage rights to Agora (but confided that both Varys and Petyr Baelish had been invited as guests, so if they happened to snap a photo or two or write about their own experiences, it was hardly her fault). 

She’d even had that thrice damned advertisement for Storms Ending Summer Camps playing non-stop every day. It was bad enough that the jingle at the end was unbearable catchy. Melisandre had found herself humming it in the shower. Much worse was the uncomfortable realization that in a certain light, her brother’s boyfriend might actually be... hot? 

Which was terrible! It was BERIC. He was shy and awkward and if he and Thoros were doing anything, it was like holding hands or cuddling or something. That’s how Melisandre preferred to think about it anyway, and any intrusion upon that world view was most unwelcome. 

And don’t even get her started on the invitation to the engagement party. It had come in a package, and Melisandre had immediately gotten excited, because who doesn’t love surprise packages? She’d opened the package and inside was a beautiful carved wooden box. She’d opened the box, and some kind of trigger activated a song—a music box? It was a jaunty little ditty, and the box was fully of sandalwood shavings that smelled heavenly. There had been a scroll in the shavings and she had plucked it out with some curiosity. Only to discover with horror that it had been sealed in red wax with a golden lion etched in the center.

Grimly, she had grabbed a letter opener and given the lion a sharp thrust to the heart.

In perfect calligraphy, she had been invited to a party at Casterly Rock to celebrate the engagement of Miss Cersei Joanna Lannister to Mr. Robert Orys Baratheon. The party was naturally on the weekend of Westeros’ national heritage day—so like Cersei to claim a long weekend when everybody might have better things they wanted to do, when the price of flights would naturally be higher and... Melisandre had suddenly realized that the tune was in fact a remixed version of “Rains of Castamere”, a folk song long associated with the Lannister family. With a shudder of horror she had slammed the box shut. Only to see that the wooden carvings which she had dimly registered initially were a border of intertwining lions and stags. Melisandre had hissed and shoved the box away.

So yes, with the lead up to the engagement party on top of everything else, it might have slipped her mind that Stannis had uncharacteristically volunteered them for this sept thing.

Slipped her mind, that was, until Stannis unceremoniously shook her awake at 8am on a Sunday morning.

“It’s the weekend!!” Melisandre groaned and snuggled deeper.

“We’ll be late to the High Sept,” Stannis said patiently. “I mean that’s fine with me...”

“Ugh no, I’m getting up,” Melisandre sighed. Then it turned out she didn’t really have any sept appropriate clothing. She ended up using one of her work outfits, and then putting a sweater on over that and then buttoning it to the top just to be safe.

Stannis frowned when he saw her outfit.

Melisandre blinked.

“Were you expecting me to go to the Sept in one of my red dresses?” She asked slowly.

“No!” Stannis said, but his gaze skittered away from her. 

Melisandre brushed a bit of lint of this sweater, which she had worn in the lord knew how long.

“Are you expecting me to tank this meeting?” She scowled. That was totally it, wasn’t it?! He thought she was going to be all fire and brimstone and salt and smoke and get Robert and Cersei kicked out of the sept!

“No,” Stannis repeated, still staring out the window.

“Good,” Melisandre bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Because I’m not going to.”

A promise that was perhaps easier said than done.

As VIPs, they were ushered first through the Great Sept itself, then through a series of gardens and courtyards and shrines to various aspects of the Seven, then, standing before a small unassuming door, they were asked to wait in an alcove with a beatific Maiden statue.

Melisandre scowled at its vacuous expression. Each successive space, overflowing with opulence and the kind of wealth that could be working to improve the lives of the faithful rather than smother their senses in unthinking awe, had left her in a worse mood.

It was quite different from the spartan halls of the Red Temple, and Melisandre felt a nostalgic ache for the smoky steps in High Hill. She and Thoros had left their temple on bad terms (well Thoros had been thrown out and she had left), but it didn’t mean that she didn’t miss it.

In contrast, here she was standing in front of a marble statue of a simpering Maiden some fourteen feet tall, clutching some kind of fabric in a strange pretense of modesty from what was an undeniably erotic piece of art. This is exactly what was wrong with the Seven, Melisandre sniffed. It fetishized and sexualized purity and demonized sex. You were an innocent, a mother or a witch. Those were your options. Melisandre would choose witch every time.

The door opened, and Melisandre pasted a demure smile on her face. 

Except this time.

“Welcome my children, I’m Brother Ray,” the deacon beamed at them, and Melisandre fought not to roll her eyes.

He ushered them into a cozy room that had been furnished like a study, taking a seat in a plush armchair and waving a hand at the couch across from him. Melisandre sat, smoothing her skirt carefully, and Stannis followed suit.

“The online process is just so impersonal. We felt it was important to spend at least one afternoon getting to know you as people,” he gave a saccharine smile. “We just want to make sure it’s a good fit.”

We just want to make sure you conform to our oppressive, gendered and outdated mold, Melisandre snarked to herself.

“Of course,” she said instead, and tried to give a little laugh like Cersei did. When the deacon looked alarmed, she turned it into a cough.

“Are you frequent sept-goers?” The deacon asked Stannis.

“She’s really the religious one,” Stannis squeezed her shoulders.

R’hllorites didn’t believe in hell, but maybe she could make an exception for Stannis.

“And you Miss Lannister? Do you attend sept often?”

“Every Sunday,” Melisandre answered stoically.

“How would you say the Seven guide you in your every day life?”

Melisandre felt her mind blank out. This was like one of those nightmares she used to have in school about taking a test she hadn’t studied for. That was, if the test was also on principles that she loathed with every fiber of her being.

“Well... I pray to the Maiden, obviously,” Melisandre finally blurted. 

“Do you? What do you pray for?” The deacon asked mildly.

“Ummm, protection? From... from... temptation!”

“Temptation? Like...” the deacon prodded.

“Sex! And um, lustful thoughts?”

Beside her, Stannis snorted. Ass.

“So you’re a virgin?” The deacon inquired.

“Of course,” Melisandre said through gritted teeth, kicking Stannis sharply in the ankle.

“My, that’s rather unusual in this day and age,” the deacon frowned. What?! Wasn’t that what she was supposed to say?

“I’m just... rather old-school in my beliefs,” Melisandre managed.

“And you?” The deacon turned to Stannis.

“I hadn’t had any sexual relations before we met,” Stannis replied, an answer which managed to be both literally truthful and situationally appropriate. Show-off.

“And have the two of you discussed family planning?” The deacon asked.

The ensuing lecture on remedial sexual education left even Stannis blushing. Melisandre FULLY believed in body positivity as much as the next person, there was something about being encouraged to explore an anatomically correct model of the vagina by a man who went by Brother Ray that left her thinking celibacy was underrated.

Finally, they were off that topic. Thank the lord. 

“Now let’s discuss healthy conflict resolution,” Brother Ray beamed.

Shit.

“Open communication is key to any relationship,” Ray began.

“So keeping secrets would be bad,” Melisandre said sweetly.

“Or being passive-aggressive,” Stannis glared back at her.

How about just aggressive? Melisandre thought as she narrowed her eyes.

“I love how you’re engaging with this material,” Brother Ray piped in. “Now why don’t we try some role play. Robert, why don’t you pretend to be Cersei. I’m going to give you some criticism, and I want you to react as Cersei would.”

He cleared his throat.

“Cersei, it’s your turn to take out the garbage and I’m frustrated that you keep putting it off.”

Stannis crossed his arms and sat silently.

First, that was a terrible Cersei impression. Second it was an even worse Melisandre impression! She didn’t just launch into silent treatment when she was in the wrong, this was clearly when she was in the right and Stannis was being a frustrating asshat! He had failed at communicating first! She was just giving him a taste of her own medicine!

“So you’re saying Cersei shuts down,” Brother Ray leaned forward. “Cersei, what would you say to that?”

“Robert knows why I haven’t been taking out the garbage,” Melisandre growled. “It’s because he’s keeping a secret from me even though the last time he did that, things got really out of control and he ended up in the hospital.”

“Okay but first it’s not really a secret if you know about it—“

“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and second it’s not that kind of secret and you know it—“

“AGAIN IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and third you’ll just yell at me!”

“Okay well why don’t we talk about yelling,” Brother Ray interjected hastily. “It’s important when resolving conflict for each party to feel heard. I want you both to start by paraphrasing the other’s point, leading with ‘I appreciate that you feel...’ and going from there. Robert?”

Stannis didn’t respond. Melisandre kicked him.

“Oh right! Ahem, CERSEI, I appreciate that you feel worried about me when I keep secrets. That it... hurts your feelings,” Stannis swallowed. “Please know that it was never my intention. I just knew you wouldn’t approve and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Huh. Okay maybe Brother Ray wasn’t a total waste.

“Robert,” Melisandre began, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate that you get frustrated when I won’t talk to you. Because... because you love me and it makes you feel shut out. And I only get so frustrated because I love you too.”

Stannis squeezed her hand. Melisandre swallowed.

“Wow, really well done,” Brother Ray nodded his head enthusiastically. “Okay, I admit I had some doubts initially, but I think we’re done here.”

“Done?” Melisandre frowned.

“Yes, I think the two of you are ready to get married,” the deacon stood. He shook Stannis’ head firmly, and as Melisandre reeled, he pulled her into a hearty hug. Ugh, hugging. Still, she had to admit, this Brother Ray gave pretty good hug.

They exited the Sept complex in kind of a daze. They didn’t speak to each other at all until they got back to Stannis’ car and sat. Automatically, Stannis locked the doors.

“I meant what I said back there,” he said quietly.

“I know. I did too.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“A little mad. But Stannis—I need you to call Jaime Lannister up right now and tell him you’re done with this. Please—I don’t know how much more wedding warfare I can take,” Melisandre said, trying to hold his gaze.

“You... might be right,” Stannis sighed heavily. “I just don’t want Robert to throw his life away on this. She’s not really pregnant!”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“I assure you, she really really is,” she ground out. “Now call Jaime. On speaker.”

Stannis huffed, but did as she commanded.

“How did the High Sept go?” Jaime asked immediately. 

“There was an issue,” Stannis scowled. 

“...being?”

“That it went really well. The deacon assures us we’re ready to get married.”

“How very nice for you,” Jaime sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any more bright ideas?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t,” Stannis looked over at Melisandre. “I’m done.”

“Wait wait wait.... you don’t mean...”

“I’m out,” he said firmly. Melisandre gave him a small smile. She hoped Jaime wasn’t too upset.

“I should have known,” Jaime drawled.

Okay, not upset.

“Excuse me?!” Stannis sputtered.

“It’s just like you to give up when things get hard! This is exactly like when we tried to stop the mayor!”

“I GOT SHOT!!!”

“I’m disappointed in you, Baratheon. Melisandre got to you didn’t she?!”

“I’m evaluating my priorities,” Stannis growled. “Much as I believe you did in your interaction with Ellyn Tarbeck.”

“Hey!”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“FINE! Well I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What? Are you going to call Robert and tell him I won’t help you break up his wedding anymore?” Stannis rolled his eyes.

“I’m activating my fail-safe. Just remember, you brought this on yourself.”

“If you had a secret atom bomb that would nuke this wedding, I think you would have dropped it by now,” Stannis said suspiciously.

“Maybe I was worried about collateral damage. And maybe I was holding back. But I’m not so worried any more,” Jaime growled.

“You’re bluffing,” Stannis scoffed.

“I assure you I’m not,” Jaime replied evenly. “But I suppose you’ll find out. See you at the engagement party.”

He hung up.

Melisandre and Stannis sat staring at his cell.

Why did she feel like things had not improved?

Thoros (What Have You Done 7 of x)

Thoros got to the bar early, as it was his turn to open. Honestly, he was a little relieved that he could go to his full-time job and just get a break from thinking about the hit his finances were going to take from this stag party, keeping Beric from having a nervous breakdown over that commercial and where he was going to find time and room in his budget to rent a tuxedo (naturally the engagement party was black tie... like everyone just had tuxedos lying around?!).

No sooner had he opened the bar than Jenny Oldstones and her grandmother appeared. He would have called it spooky timing, except Jenny had been basically stalking him to get closer to the love of her life. Which was great. She was a good kid. He just wished she had chosen someone more age-appropriate to have a crush on. Who didn’t happen to be his boyfriend.

“Ember,” the old woman beamed at him. Thoros gave a gallant bow back and she laughed. She always claimed he smelled of smoke, and he had learned to just play along.

“Wood witch!” He tossed her the keys and she made them disappear with magical swiftness.

“C’mon gran, he isn’t here yet,” Jenny whispered, tugging her toward the door to their apartment above.

“Um actually, Mrs. Oldstones, may I have a word?” Thoros asked.

She lingered as her daughter retreated with a wave.

“I’ve worked here part time for three years and full time now for three, and I was hoping I could get a raise,” Thoros said, holding his breath.

“I see two stags running with a wolf and a viper,” the tiny gnarled woman said wisely. “There’s a fat flower and lightning and I see you too. Not a lion in sight, but lions are far-seeing.”

“Um okay,” Thoros blinked. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a no,” she patted his hand. “But I’ll give you time off.”

The door swung behind her and Thoros sighed. He wondered if Dorne would take IOUs. Maybe he could just show up with a huge handful of paper notes and hand them out everywhere they went. That would be fine right?

With a snort at the image, he started unloading the clean glasses. Maybe he’d get lucky on tips. Sure a lot of the students didn’t bother, but classes at the Citadel had finished last week and they were due to see some tourist traffic. Probably the very next person to walk into this bar would be some heavy drinking heavy tipping out of towner.

The door swung open and Thoros looked up expectantly.

Oberyn Martell strolled in.

Fuck. Well two out of three was a start.

“What do you want?” Thoros said suspiciously.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend,” Oberyn grinned.

“You’re just here for the free drinks,” Thoros sighed.

“Yup, got twenty minutes to kill before a date.”

“Aren’t you here visiting your daughter?” 

“Can’t a man do both?”

“Apparently,” Thoros laughed and started to pour Oberyn one of the dry Dornish ciders they had on tap.

“Getting excited for the Water Palaces?” Oberyn asked cheerfully. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried the Dornish spiced wine.”

“I can’t believe your brother has a summer palace,” Thoros said. Sometimes he forgot that while Beric’s parents were pretty wealthy, Robert and most of his other friends were like astronomically wealthy. 

“I can’t believe he’s letting us use it,” Oberyn gave a languid shrug. “He doesn’t typically trust me.”

“I wonder why,” Thoros said drily. 

“Is that any way to speak to the guy who rescued you from faking a coma to get out of the stag party?” Oberyn shook his head.

“Ned told you?!” Thoros groaned.

“I guessed. But you’re sorted now right?”

“Just need the money to pay for this rental tux, and then the restaurants in Dorne, and then the stupid morning suits and pink pocket squares Cersei wants us to wear,” Thoros rubbed his temples. “And nobody fucking tips around here,” he shot Oberyn a meaningful glare which he ignored. “But I’m the bartender, aren’t you supposed to be telling me your problems?”

“I’m worried about Mace,” Oberyn sighed. “Ever since he knocked up that Alerie Hightower in college, he’s been a nervous wreck. He was plucked before his prime, Thoros. He never got a chance to bloom.”

“We can’t all have two children with two mothers on two continents,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Three,” Oberyn said with some modesty. “Ellaria’s expecting.”

Thoros topped off Oberyn’s glass and poured one for himself to toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Beric came in, still wearing his suit from his summer internship at the courthouse and looking a little woeful.

“Oberyn’s a dad! Again!” Thoros laughed.

“Third time’s charmed,” Beric patted Oberyn on the back. Then he swiped Thoros’ glass and drained it.

“What’s wrong?” Thoros frowned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric said miserably.

“See this is why I don’t use social media,” Thoros replied patiently. Suddenly, they heard someone running down the staircase at the far side of the bar.

“Hide me!!” Beric blurted, his one eye huge.

Thoros sighed and let him around the back of the bar, where he crawled into the space normally occupied by the garbage bin, dragging the bin back in after him.

Jenny burst into the bar panting slightly.

“Hi!” She said to Oberyn, her face abruptly falling when she realized he wasn’t who she thought he was.

“Hello,” Oberyn put his phone away and gave her a smirk. Thoros smacked him in the back of the head.

“I thought I saw your roommate come in from the window upstairs,” she mumbled to Thoros. (Thoros hadn’t had the heart to embarrass her by breaking the news of their relationship yet.)

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Thoros was reaching to hit him again when Jenny saved him the trouble.

“Gross, I’m fifteen, old man. Now get lost, PERV!”

She stomped out.

Thoros tried to swallow his laugh. From Oberyn’s glare, not very successfully.

“Is she gone?” Beric whispered from behind the garbage.

“What in the seven hells is going on?!” Oberyn said slowly. “Since when does Beric have more game than me?!”

“You haven’t seen the commercial?” Thoros asked, dragging the garbage out. “Coast is clear,” he nudged Beric with his foot.

Beric emerged looking sheepish.

“With him and Robert? How could I miss it,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“It’s made him irresistible, but only to young women,” Thoros grinned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric repeated, shoving his phone in Oberyn’s face. Oberyn inspected it.

“#oneeyedhottie,” he read. Then he smirked.

“Hey Beric, while you’re back there, can you get me a bottle of that good tequila? The one Thoros can’t reach?!”

“I’m taller than you!” Thoros growled at Oberyn. 

“No problem,” Beric meanwhile said politely, reaching up to get it. Oberyn lifted his phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey what—“ Beric turned back flustered on hearing the sound.

“#oneeyedhottie tends bar at #highheart,” Oberyn narrated as he typed in his phone, fending off Beric with one arm at the same time. There was a whooshing sound as he uploaded the photo. 

“What in the seven hells?!” Beric snapped.

“Yeah, Oberyn, what gives,” Thoros frowned. 

Sure he did kind of think it was good for Beric to internalize that not everybody just saw him as an eye-patch with scars, but Oberyn wasn’t the one that had to lure him out of the apartment every day.

“I’m solving your tipping problem,” Oberyn yawned. “Do you have a sharpie?”

“Here,” Thoros handed it over. Oberyn wrote ‘TIPS’ on one of the now empty cups.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” Thoros snarked.

“Not the cup idiot. Beric. His many female admirers will come flocking to the bar to be served by him, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to impress.”

“First, they would be Beric’s tips not mine. Second, did it ever occur to you that maybe he doesn’t want to do this?”

“I’ll do it,” Beric said immediately.

Thoros turned and Beric blushed.

“I just... I know it’s been an expensive summer and you’re worried about it. And this is mortifying already, why shouldn’t we get some tips out of it? Plus I can’t actually make the drinks you know. I’m just handing them to people. It’s your money.”

Thoros considered.

“We’ll split it. If it works.”

“My post has... four hundred and sixteen likes,” Oberyn checked his phone.

“Well as always, the pleasure has been all yours,” he winked and strolled out.

Thoros and Beric looked at each other. From the far end of the bar, there was the sound of someone running down the stairs.

“Hi Jenny,” Beric said politely.

“Ohmygoshareyoutendingbartonight?!?! That’s so cool!!”

“Do you want a ginger ale or something?”

“Sure!” Jenny beamed at him, and stuck a dollar in the jar.

The bar was two-deep with mostly legal customers and Thoros felt serenely happy. He’d had to empty the tip jar twice. Oberyn might make a lot of trouble, but he wasn’t such a bad guy, Thoros decided. Also life was great. Beric was stammering and blushing his way through flirting with the customers and it was adorable. Plus this meant he’d be around when the bar closed. And Thoros could think of plenty of ways for Beric to... help him close the bar down. Heh. Nope, nothing could ruin this night.

Jaime Lannister walked into the bar.

Thoros mentally facepalmed and continued making the cosmo-tini a sorority girl had just ordered with renewed focus. If you don’t make eye contact, he probably won’t even notice you, he told himself as he twisted a lime peel. 

Jaime arched an eyebrow at the crowd surrounding Beric and instead made a beeline to the stool across the bar from where Thoros was working. 

Thoros kept his head bent to the task at hand, emptying another container of cranberry juice. Had they ever run out of cranberry juice before?

Jaime cleared his throat.

Thoros arced the cranberry juice into the recycling bin, and then bent down into the fridge to see if there was any more. 

“Hey! Asshai!” Jaime yelled.

Oh! There it was in the back. Thoros started to reach in, only for someone to grab his top-knot and pull. Hard.

“What can I get you?” Thoros asked glaring and rubbing the top of his head.

“A fucking miracle,” Jaime huffed.

“Not on the menu,” Thoros gave an apathetic shrug. Great, another non-tipper.

“Of course you can’t help,” Jaime sulked, slouching deeper on his stool. “How could anyone understand what it’s like to have a sister that you would DO ANYTHING for, and have to watch her throw her life away on someone who’s not nearly good enough?!”

Thoros blinked.

“And the worst part of it is that she’s so friggin’ vicious when she gets mad! I can’t even tell her he sucks to her face! She would just marry him out of spite!”

Thoros sighed and poured him a beer.

“Nobody understands me,” Jaime sulked. He took the beer absent-mindedly without acknowledging it in the slightest.

“I need a fail-safe plan. Do you have a fail-safe plan?”

“Run away and live in the woods,” Thoros said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you don’t have a fail-safe plan. How could you? How could anybody have a plan to stop this disaster of a wedding?”

Thoros finished the next drink and passed it to Beric, who gave him a bemused smile as a girl wrote her number on a cocktail napkin. He really REALLY couldn’t wait until everybody left.

“If Cersei can’t ruin this wedding with her unreasonably high expectations, and Robert can’t ruin this wedding with his laziness, WHO WILL RUIN THIS WEDDING?!” Jaime demanded the moment he returned, waving his empty glass for emphasis.

Thoros yoinked the glass from his grip before he could break it and refilled it for him. He tried to be polite and neutral through the ensuing six hours as Jaime proposed increasingly absurd and/or illegal solutions to this disaster, including but not limited to burning down the High Sept with wildfire.

“I shouldn’t have threatened Stannis with a nuclear option when I didn’t have a nuclear option,” Jaime groaned, feebly pushing his glass toward Thoros. “Now I need to find a plan that ruins the wedding AND sticks it to Stannis.”

Thoros had been considering charging him for this drink but decided not to. Maybe that would teach the crazy old bat to give hard-working loyal employees the raises they deserved.

He refilled, and pushed it back.

“Thoros,” Beric whispered. “They keep ordering sex on the beach and winking! What do I do?!”

“Wink back?” Thoros teased. Beric glared.

“I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful, my lord,” Thoros ruffled his hair. “I will make the cocktails, you just focus on survival.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Beric snarked, but he leaned into Thoros’ hand anyway. “They’re completely besotted. It’s worse than ever!”

“It’s the bartender effect,” Thoros said wisely. “Everyone is hotter behind the bar. It’s magnifying your already dangerous levels of the hotness.”

“I don’t have dangerous levels of hotness!” Beric stammered, loosening his tie. There was a thud as a girl fainted.

Beric flushed.

“I need an exit strategy.”

“Don’t we all,” Jaime sighed, abruptly joining the conversation.

“You be quiet,” Thoros said sternly. “Your thing is completely different. Beric, you do a last call. I’ll hit the lights and you can duck under the bar. Then I’ll say you went out the back.”

Jaime rested his head on the bar and poked at the ‘TIPS’ cup that needed to be emptied once more. 

“You’re just smug because Oberyn solved your money problems with the whole Water Palace thing. And pimping out your boyfriend on Ravengram.”

“How do YOU know about my money problems?!” Thoros growled. 

“Do you have to put it that way?!” Beric called over his shoulder as he tried to signed a girl’s very tight t-shirt without actually making contact with any part of her.

“Oberyn said something about it in bed with Ned and Robert,” Jaime yawned. “And yes I do,” he turned to look at Beric.

“This is the last call!” Beric raised his voice while glaring at Jaime.

They managed to refill their ‘TIPS’ cup one more time before Thoros obediently hit the lights. And poof, Beric had disappeared. It was like magic, if magic involved his boyfriend once more cowering behind the garbage.

“I think he went out the back!” Thoros exclaimed in a shocked voice when the lights came back on. There was a general stampede, and as he hung the ‘Closed’ sign, Thoros let himself imagine a perfectly empty bar with just him and Beric.

The dust cleared.

Jaime Lannister was still perched on his stool, the very last customer.

Thoros glared.

“I said last call Lannister. Don’t you have a girlfriend to visit or something?”

“I am not moving from this stool until the answer to my problems comes walking through that door,” Jaime said stubbornly, shoving the glass at him.

Thoros gritted his teeth and began to fill it, resolving to DEFINITELY charge him for this one, when the door opened.

Jaime and Thoros both turned to stare. Even Beric furtively popped his head out.

Ned Stark came shuffling in.

Jaime began to bang his head on the bar.

Thoros considered joining him. He had closed the bar! He had hung the sign and everything! Why were people still here?! It was supposed to just be him and Beric!!!

“It’s last call,” Thoros said to Ned, trying to be polite.

“I hate you, now leave,” Jaime added, not trying to be polite.

“I got a text Jon Arryn,” Ned said in a hollow voice, ignoring them both and collapsing onto a stool.

“Our Lit teacher from high school?” Thoros frowned. Weird. He avoided contact with teachers as a rule.

“He’s like a second dad to me,” Ned said dully. “He’s in the Summer Islands this week, and he’s friends with Hoster Tully so they had drinks. Hoster tried to set him up with Cat! He said our marriage is on the rocks and if Jon had any interest he could arrange a date.”

Ugh fine. Thoros poured him a glass of beer too.

Ned took a long swig.

“Her father is trying to ruin our marriage!! And I know she can think for herself, but she places way to much importance on his opinion and I’m getting super freaked out!”

Jaime had straightened and was looking at Ned blankly.

“If her father demanded she dump me, would she do it??” Ned asked the world at large.

“Why would he ask? The whole marriage was his idea,” Jaime mumbled to himself.

Thoros started to tell Jaime to stop talking about his thing, that it was Ned’s turn, but Ned got there first.

“Her father hates me! And Jon Arryn’s his best friend! Like from childhood!”

Jaime opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. A slow smile was spreading over his face.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered, and Thoros felt the back of his neck prickle with a sense of foreboding.

“Stark, c’mon. It’s late and we’ve gotta get back to Robert’s,” Jaime straightened and slung an arm over Ned’s shoulders.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Thoros heard Ned ask as Jaime ushered him out of the bar.

Thoros noted that neither had bothered to tip. His friends were assholes.

“Is it safe?” Beric asked, looking sheepish as he emerged.

Well, except for one.

“Just you and me,” Thoros drawled and Beric blushed. What to do, what to do, what to do…

That weird feeling of foreboding hadn’t really gone away, but Thoros resolutely ignored it as he hopped up on the bar and grabbed Beric’s tie to pull him closer. Jaime’s evil plans were somebody else’s problem. He just hoped he was somewhere far away when the bomb dropped.