#(and just be clear my dentist(s) were lovely and skilled and A+ care)

[mihrsuri]

Healing from dentist thing well and pain decreasing but still OW. Need someone to invent painless dentistry already it is The Future Times.

[diabolik-trash-heap]

the dentist specialist guy called. i go in tuesday :D i just hope i can afford him since for some reason my health insurance is gone. at least the pain lessened more today! (would u pretty please write a small thing of iggy comforting their s/o whos in pain? thank yous)

Hope you feel better soon anon! As for this fluff, what is a fluff?  I guess it’s amusing to having this against the last thing I wrote where Ignis was dealing the pain.  It took a lot to not have Ardyn busting through the wall like the Koolaid guy, lol.

You had just finished up another wonderful meal Ignis had helped prepare with you, and you were now busy clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen alongside Ignis.  You were scrubbing down the counter when the throbbing pain had returned once again, and a low moan passes through your lips within earshot of ignis.  It was an accident - you weren’t normally a fan of outing yourself whenever you had these bouts of pain - especially when it came to him.  It was in his nature to become extra doting around you, and the last thing you wanted was to feel like a burden on top of it.

 “Is something troubling you, y/n?”

 There was no use trying to lie or cover it up, the man’s perception skills was on point, and your eyes were always a dead giveaway whenever it came to your discomfort.

 “It’s just the pain coming back again.  It’s nothing I can’t handle.”  You flash Ignis a weak smile, turning back and silently praying to the Astrals he might leave you be this time.  But you knew better, and Ignis’ was already behind you, his hand over yours and forcing you to drop the washcloth back on the marble counter top.  Lithe fingers claim your wrist, and he swings your arm around so you were now facing him, his arm pressing into your back to meet him in a soft embrace. His fingers gently squeezing the back of your neck, Ignis brushes his lips against your forehead in a lingering kiss.

 “Follow me.”  Ignis presses his hand on the small of your back, leading you to the bathroom.  But you stop him, protesting.

 “We really should clean up this mess before it gets late.”

“Nonsense. You, my dear, are much more important right now.  And I will tend to this later while you rest.”  Ignis tilts your head up, kissing you before you could make up another excuse not to go with him.

You finally relent, following him to the bathroom as he begins to draw a hot bath, adding a few drops of peppermint oil to the water.  The wonderful scent drifts through the air and envelops your senses, and the pain already felt like it was subsiding just a bit.  Ignis starts to unbutton his shirt, and you start to follow suit, but he halts you before you could even shimmy your shirt above your head.

“I will be the one taking care of you tonight.”  

Ignis finishes with his shirt, dropping it from his shoulders and catching it as it slides off, neatly folding it and placing it on top of the sink.  You never tire of the sight of his bare chest, drinking in every taut muscle on his lean, sculpted body.  He was perfection, and your eyes never left him as he sheds the rest of clothing, stacking them on top of his shirt.  Your eyes begin to wander, and snap back to attention once he approaches.

“Normally I would have said it’s rude to stare…but I rather welcome it in your case.”  Ignis grabs the bottom of your shirt, drawing it over your head as you raise your arms up.

You smirk.  “I guess it can’t be helped”.

Leading a trail of kisses down your neck, he unclasps your bra, his face lowering down your chest, and then your stomach, gazing up at you with his piercing emerald eyes before unbuttoning your jeans and rolling them down your legs.  He kept things innocent though, rising back up and leading you over to the steaming bath, the faucet handle squeaking as he shuts off the water.  He leads you into the bath, sitting down first and guiding your hips down between his legs, his arms crossing across your stomach to flush you against his hard chest.  It took you a moment to get used to the heat, but once you did, the water was pure bliss over your aching body.  You lean your head back against his shoulder, moaning in relief.

“I guess this really wasn’t such a bad idea.” you confess, closing your eyes as Ignis ran his fingers through your hair.

“I would prefer you weren’t so stubborn with me when it comes to your weariness.”

“You already have to deal with Noct, so I don’t like putting something else on your plate.”

Ignis exhales sharply, his frustration apparent.  “I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of the both of you.  Now, chest forward.”  

You comply, leaning front and drawing your knees up to your chest as Ignis reaches around you to retrieve the hand shower.  He turns it on, testing out the temperature of the water first before using it upon you.

“Head back, darling.”

Ignis softly touches his fingers to your chin, and you tilt back your head as the steady pressure of water soaks through your hair, relishing the feel as the water flows down your breasts and back.  He shuts it back off, grabbing the bottle of shampoo next to you and squeezing a generous amount into his hand, enough to get a good lather going.  Ignis works his fingers into your hair, massaging your scalp, the feel of his deft fingers rubbing against your skin absolutely exquisite.  Your lips part slightly, and you can’t help but close your eyes and moan quietly as he expertly moves his hands through your hair.  If only you could stay like this forever.

“Keep moaning like that and one might think you’re enjoying this a bit too much.”

Ignis grabs the hand shower once again, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair.  His mouth descends upon the back of your neck, covering your skin with kisses when he begins to massage your shoulders, palms fingers prodding and stroking and trying to work out every knot and ache in you.  You rest your head forward on your knees, permitting Ignis access to every inch of your back.  Whenever the man did anything, he made sure to do it thoroughly, and this was no exception, fingers finding and rubbing out every kink, all the while planting kisses all along the back of your neck.

“Tell me if it begins to hurt.” 

“No, it feels amazing.  Keep going.”

Ignis grins against your skin, and he moves further down your back, thumbs pushing into your lower back as his fingers graze along your hips.  By the time he was through with you, your mind felt clear and your body subdued, and he pulls against his naked form to embrace and cuddle you further.  The humidity of the bathroom began to take it’s toll on his hair, errant strands of his hair becoming loose and beginning to lay down and fall against his forehead.  He always did look the best when he was a little…disheveled.  

“You know that I love you…right Y/N?  So I never want to see you hurting.”  Ignis whispers in your ear, his arms tightening and bringing you closer.

That struck a chord with you, and the tears start to well.  You manage to wriggle yourself loose from him, stirring up the water enough to splash it outside the tub as you straddle his hips, chest to chest and wrapping your arms around him.

“I love you too Iggy.”

Ignis picks up on your sniffling right away, taken slightly aback by the sudden wave of emotion.

“Is the pain getting worse again?”

“No, I just feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes.”

A gentle smile spreads on Ignis’ face, plucking a few stray hair strands away from your face.

“I guarantee you are no trouble to me…and frankly, I am the one not worthy of you.  Now, let us get cleaned up and get you into bed.  And I will do whatever you need of me to help lull you to sleep.”

[underbananamoon]

TED, UNRAVELED

Memoirs are my favorite books to read, along with nonfiction, and also biology and neuroscience, and autobiography and biographies too. I read this one:

Like all of us, he started life as a baby, and then became a child. To be exact, he lived in Massachusetts on 74 Fairfield Street. Many decades later, after achieving a notoriety that surprised him, he revisited that child home. He told the current owner Ron Senez “I just stopped by to make sure you’re taking proper care of the house.” For some time he sat in Ron’s young sons’ room (Ted’s old bedroom as a child) and regaled them with stories. Ted showed them where he’d poked holes in the plaster and he told them a tantalizing story about a mural of “a lot of crazy animals” now covered by their wallpaper.

He started out drawing humorous cartoons for beer, oil companies, and the like, with a long-running very popular campaign for a bug company. (photos found at https://aoghs.org/petroleum-art/seuss-the-oilman/ ) His early work for these ad companies had many touches of the fanciful animals we would all come to know.

Of course he eventually fell into children’s books.

Suess’s wife was fond of saying that although Ted was witty, funny, somewhat introverted, and pleasant he was never happy when he was working on a book; but happiest when he finished one. Writing the rhymes, he’d often fill in the last word as ‘duh-duh’ or ‘dum-dum’ and then he’d toss and turn on his couch in his office, read a nonfiction book or mystery to clear his mind, walk the beachfront property, scour thesauruses, and eventually replace the fill-in words with the rhymes. He kept a paper bullseye of his father’s hanging on his office wall, where his father had gotten the bullseye dead center, to remind him of perfection. He had the bullseye till his end of days. (Ted was a chain smoker and eventually a dentist found cancer under his tongue which spread. He did not like hospitals and often refused treatments that may have prolonged his life a bit.)

When he first started, it was especially hard writing the Beginner Books series. There was a pedagogical rigor to the adherence of the approved word list. 361 approved beginning reader words to be exact. Authors were encouraged to have no more than 200 of the approved words per book. No “ed”, “ing,” or “er” endings of words were allowed either, except if it was specifically listed. Plurals were allowed but only if they were made by adding an “s.” Only approved contractions. No possessives. Finally the list was amended to allow “emergency” words, words not on the list but absolutely necessary to the story. Ted was quite a prankster and sometimes purposefully submitted x rated verse to Random House, and looked forward to the phone call that would surely follow! Truly, he would get a scolding, but he always left them laughing.

Example, an early “Hop on Pop” submission just to see if Stan was paying attention:

When I try to read, I am smart. I always cut whole words apart. Con Stan Tin O Ple, Tim Buk Too Con Tra Cep Tive, Kan Ga Roo.

Or

This prank while working on “Dr. Seuss’ ABC:”

Big X Little x X…x…X Someday, kiddies, you’ll learn about sex!

A more elaborate prank was played on a frequent house guest to the dinner parties at the Tower (he and his wife’s home in LaJolla). The man was always going on about how he collected fine abstract art. One day, Ted made up a fanciful long-syllabled-made-up “artist” name, worthy of his Suess books, and said that he had in his possession a rare abstract artwork by this big wig so and so “famous” artist. The man replied “Oh! I have always wanted an art piece by that artist!” Dr. Suess said he’d be willing to sell. Not long afterward, Dr. Suess presented the man with a framed abstract artwork (paint barely dry) that he’d secretly, and quickly, created himself. The man oohed and ahed! Ted could keep a straight face easily. Just when the man was ready to hand Ted a very large sum of money, Ted’s wife stepped in and said the prank had gone on long enough! Laughs were had all around. I wonder where that art is today.

Dr. Suess (he dropped out before he earned a doctorate but was to go on and be awarded honorary ones) was serious about “brat books,” as he affectionately called them. He felt the Run Sally, run!” books were detrimental to children and insulted their intelligence along with being boring and not stimulating in children a desire to read. Though he never had children, (his first wife, who could not bear children, took her own life in the Tower, devastating Ted), he knew how to be in a child’s world and also how to create worlds for them to be in.

From his home in LaJolla California, where he lived in what was known as “The Tower,” he’d receive more and more mail as time went by. He’d even have children ring his doorbell often asking if he were really Dr. Suess, or to wish him a happy birthday, and then run away down the hill. At first he answered the fan mail but it got to be so much, that eventually most fan mail was answered with a copy of a signed form letter Ted had written and drawn on himself, thanking the letter writer and explaining Dr. Seuss’s mail delivery was slow because he lived on a mountaintop where mail could only be delivered by a Suessian beast called a Budget, pulling a cart driven by a Nudget. Imagine having a copy of one of those today!

He was a true storyteller, granting few interviews, and always showing up for events, especially early on, if there was an arranged deal that he would not have to speak in front of the crowd. About himself, he told and retold stories so much that often many accounts of the same story are different. It was part of his charm. The office at Random House, which he visited when he hand-delivered finished books to read them aloud, much to everyone’s delight, he had a hand in decorating to suit him! The office there was whimsical, as per his decorating instruction.

Ted was terrified of public speaking, but toward the end of his life, he managed  to speak publicly in simple rhymes. They were short, to the point. For example, if asked to speak to college grad students, he’d step up to the podium, deliver four verses of rhyming advice, and amidst cheers he’d quickly leave the podium.

He didn’t preach, but his stories often were about big issues. Yertle the Turtle (who represents Hitler) was written in delightful anapestic tetrameter. It was banned in some areas for being ‘too political.’ Sneetches on Beaches was written in 1961 to teach children about discrimination. He wrote the book to address how different groups of people didn’t like each other during World War II. A number of the Seuss books address the subject of diversity and teach children to be fair and treat people equally. And there’s my favorite The Lorax. I don’t mean the silly movie adaptation, I mean his version, the book. Ted was a stickler on getting every single color in his books the way he wanted. He’d have loud conversations about this. And when a few stories were made into cartoons, he wanted them his way. It was his work. Not so sure he’d approve of the Grinch That Stole Christmas movie that takes liberties with his writing (sorry Jim Carrey.) But who knows… Back to The Lorax which was written in 1971. It chronicles the plight of the environment and the Lorax “speaks for the trees” and confronts the Once-ler, who causes environmental degradation. At the end when the last tree stump remains, there is written upon it one word:

He’s left a legacy. I can’t begin to recount the tidbits I learned from the book. I do know that somewhere in this house I’ve got an “adult” Dr. Suess book, full of his art meant for adults. No I can’t find the book, but I was able to locate a few of the art pieces from this site ( https://www.drseussart.com/secretandarchive ):

CAT FROM THE WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS

THE RATHER ODD MYOPIC WOMAN

Art in My Life and Other Updates

Finally finished the mime video for the event in October. With son Silas’ video production skills much appreciated. Cannot share until after event at CARD (Center for Autism & Related Disorders). It is a great feeling of accomplishment to have something creative come to fruition after much work. And although never really achieving my “unique” artistic vision, nonetheless it becomes an eccentric but heartfelt entity all its own!

Received these from a friend on a day I much needed a smile:

My 19 yr. old cat has been having seizures, one of which he had on my lap. When he does this, his mouth snaps open and closed, biting the air. My finger was in the way. He ended up biting my finger which can be dangerous. I can barely move it and am on antibiotics.

My son is in a highly creative mode of life, having won a contest recently. A pill company sponsored a contest whereby they send you a red and white capsule, and you sculpt art to go inside it. His creation (on the right) is a tiny wax skeleton, a casket and dirt from our yard, all of which fit in the capsule. He didn’t win first or even second prize but the contest judges like his and another person’s submissions so much they created a special category:

Another of Silas’ works:

Like me, he picks up interesting things by the roadside. He made some into this:

Silas and his girlfriend are going to be featured in Keri Bower’s film “Desire,” in fact we have more taping to do later this month. Silas is supplying music for it too.

For the most part, I keep to myself. I enjoy my day job as a QA software tester. I love deeply and am loved deeply by my small circle. I am currently grateful thankful and even at times hopeful that the world is going to be alright. Although the times we live in are painful to bear witness to, a lot of the time. Currently I am enjoying the respite here in the east from the heat. Fall is coming on.

In my free time, I do my house chores and run errands and adore grandchildren and keep up with doctor appointments. But I also do what I’ve always done- fill my need to create. And also to advocate, occasionally consulting with college students when they are studying or writing about autism and/or selective mutism. I occasionally get emails that humble and thrill me. I received two such emails this week. Which I’ll share here. Sometime ago, I was published in this book:

I got an email from Belo recently, here it is in part:

Dear Firsts Authors,

I have some wonderful news to share. Firsts has received a gold medal under the nonfiction anthology category from the Reader’s favorite Awards. This means you are all now award-winning authors!

…..There will be a ceremony in Miami on Nov 23rd, 2019 to recognize all winners.

…..They will make the official announcement on Oct 1st via their website and Publisher’s Weekly. While they haven’t made this entire official just yet, it’s perfectly fine to update your bio and call yourself an award-winning author. Also, I am attaching the seal image and award certificate for those who wish to add it to their websites. Oleb Books will be making the announcement via social later this week.

Congratulations to all of you – and big thanks for believing in me and in this project.

Cheers,

Belo

I really really have to update my website! Belo, who I didn’t realize had a disability (he is blind) all the while we were emailing my contribution back and forth for this book, truly deserves this honor.

Another surprising email came from a literary publication I haven’t been published in for over a decade. Here is the email, in part… and if you are still reading this blogpost, which is always all over the place, I thank you.

“We would like to feature you as an artist, along with some images of your artwork, in an upcoming issue of our publication. …..we have reviewed work on your website and are quite impressed.

Since we only publish two issues per year, January and July, and we only feature one artist per issue, we are thinking of featuring your work in the July 2020 issue of the magazine. I interview the artists we feature and write the article. We typically use 9 – 11 artwork images in each issue. “

I said yes to that. It’s such an opportunity to pick art pieces I feel ‘say something’ about how I feel as a “terrestrial.” Because aren’t we all terrestrials? Not just citizens of this country or that one, but citizens of earth. I read that recently and cannot seem to remember the book I picked it up from. Isn’t that awful! Here is an artwork I may or may not have posted here in my blog (I’ve forgotten!)

Anyway, I see the CARD event I mentioned earlier, and the interview for the magazine as opportunities to say things in ways I could never vocalize from podiums. Through mime-face, and art images and through written word.

my web site which needs work LINK here   

My Book Link Here

Silas Art link

Suess Review (Jones) and My Art Updates TED, UNRAVELED Memoirs are my favorite books to read, along with nonfiction, and also biology and neuroscience, and autobiography and biographies too.

[boschlingtumbles]

It’s a Nice Day for a White Wedding (Chapters 4 - 9)

Chapter 4 – Stannis

Stannis groaned as the phone went off at three in the morning. In the pitch black, he groggily reached for it, his hand groping blindly across the bedside table. Finally he found it and cracked an eye open.

A picture of Robert mid sneeze greeted him.

With a sigh, Stannis sent it to voicemail. Trust Robert to get wasted and decide that three in the morning was an appropriate time for a heart to heart. Didn’t he have practice tomorrow morning? Didn’t his entire job depend on some measure of well-rested sobriety?

Stannis ground his teeth and snuggled deeper into the bed. 

He was just drifting back to sleep when Melisandre’s phone began buzzing.

Stannis groaned again. Not a good sign.

There was a pause as the phone continued to ring cheerily and Melisandre fumbled for it in the darkness. Stannis didn’t even bother trying to see who was calling because there was only one possibility.

“Hi Thoros,” Melisandre yawned. Something inaudible on the other end.

“It’s three in the morning and I’m a two hour drive away, can’t you ask Beric?”

Another pause.

“Ha Beric too?” Melisandre sounded amused. “Well I suppose that’s a sight worth driving two hours for. I’ll see you in a while.”

The phone was placed back on the bedside table. The bed shifted as Melisandre got up.

“Thoros and Robert and Beric are all in the drunk tank at Oldtown. I’m going to drive out there and pick them up,” Melisandre said.

Stannis grunted.

Melisandre went into their bathroom and the light turned on. Stannis rolled onto his other side. He could hear the faucet turn on as she began to wash her face and he moved the pillow over his head to block out the sound.

The bed shifted again as Melisandre sat down to pull her boots on.

“Fine, I’m coming!” Stannis huffed.

“As you like,” Melisandre said serenely.

Stannis continued to brood in the car. It was just like his brother. And her brother for that matter. They were two peas in a disastrous slow-motion car crash of a pod. Selfish, irresponsible, completely disrespectful of authority...

“If you’re going to keep grinding your teeth, I’m going to have to make you another dentist appointment,” Melisandre warned from the passenger seat.

Stannis unclenched his jaw. Robert got this from their parents, who were currently hunting big game in Sothyros. If anything, all three Baratheons had turned out rather well considering they had been raised like feral animals with a checkbook. Where Thoros had gotten it from, Stannis had no idea since he’d never actually met Melisandre’s parents, who had basically abandoned their children in high school.

No, Robert was their father through and through. Steffon had spent years assuring them that the family shipping company was fine being entirely managed by a board of directors comprised of half a dozen of his father’s golfing chums. Of course the moment Stannis had looked into it, it had been clear that the company that had been in the family for five generations was if not hemorrhaging money, not thriving like Stannis knew it could with robust leadership. There had been nothing for it but to graduate college in three years and take over the business and give it the kick in the pants it needed. In the last two years, Stormsend Shipping had consistently beat market competitors and their profits had grown.

Meanwhile, Robert was off playing professional football. Sure he made a couple million a year at it, but it didn’t change the fact that he was wasting his life doing exactly what children did on the playground. So much for being a contributing member of society. And while Steffon and Cassana had never once mentioned Stannis’ feature article in Forbes, there was nothing they liked better at a cocktail party than to name drop their son Robert, the professional athlete. Meanwhile Stannis was the one who graduated early summa cum laude, Stannis was the one securing the family legacy, Stannis was the one making sure he and his brothers would be comfortable for the rest of their lives (not an easy task given Robert and Renly’s spending habits).

“Don’t glower like that, your face will stick,” Melisandre teased, snaking her arm around his elbow and kissing him on the temple.

Stannis slowly felt the tension ebb away. It was not Robert’s fault that their parents could not be bothered to do normal parent things like care. He didn’t need their approval anyway. This life that he and Mel had built together made him happy and that was enough.

They pulled up to the Oldtown police station as dawn broke across the sky. The station seemed surprisingly busy for five in the morning. 

“Do you want to wait in the car?” Melisandre offered.

“Drove all the way here, I may as well get to watch you yell at them,” Stannis smiled. 

“I’m not going to yell, I’m just disappointed,” Melisandre said drily.

“That’s the spirit,” Stannis opened the door for her.

Frankly the police seemed all too relieved to be rid of them. Nobody was pressing charges, nobody was hurt... Melisandre and Stannis were escorted back as the officer talked.

The holding cell was full of all manner of disreputable characters, and Stannis would have taken some pleasure in letting Robert languish for another hour or two were he not convinced that Robert felt right at home. The man in question was retelling some football game to a group of college kids in Maesters jerseys who were eagerly hanging on to every word.

Thoros looked up on their entrance and waved, the movement jostling Beric who had been using his shoulder as a pillow.

“Stanny!” Robert shouted. “This is my bro guys, the one I was telling you about.”

The guys turned to look. Stannis internally sighed at the confused expression. They had the same black hair and dark blue eyes, but that was where the family resemblance ended. He was shorter and significantly leaner than Robert. Robert looked younger than his twenty four years and Stannis looked older than his twenty two. Side by side, it would not have been clear who the older brother was.

“Robert,” Stannis nodded stiffly.

“You three out,” the police officer snapped, putting an end to their touching reunion.

“I hope you are all ashamed of yourselves,” Melisandre said haughtily. 

Robert scratched his ass. Thoros yawned.

“I am,” Beric said mournfully, and then promptly clapped a hand over his mouth. Stannis eyed him warily but Beric managed to relax after a minute with no further incident, although the color had drained from his face.

“Well I’m proud of you,” Thoros said stubbornly. “Douchebag had it coming.”

“Did I have it coming?!” Melisandre snapped. “Did I deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night from my deliciously cozy bed and dragged from the strong arms of my boyfriend—“

“His arms aren’t strong,” Robert interjected. “He’s never beaten me in arm-wrestling.”

“You are a professional athlete!” Stannis snapped. “Maybe if someone paid me millions of dollars to lift weights I would.”

“—drive hours through the darkness across the country to rescue you and now it’s already morning and I’m going to have to use a sick day at the lab and you haven’t even said thank you,” Melisandre ignored the Baratheons entirely as she lectured Thoros who was looking sullen.

“Thank you, Mel, now stop yelling and we can go back to the pub and I’ll make everybody breakfast,” Thoros offered. 

“YES! Gods I’m starving, I could eat a moose,” Robert beamed. “Everything just keeps getting better and better.”

As he said that, the door to the police station swung open with a crack.

“ROBERT!” The scream was pure fury distilled into a sound that cut through the room like scalpel. Robert’s face fell.

An all too familiar willowy blonde stormed into the station, flanked by Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth.

“Hide me!” Robert whispered and dove behind him. Stannis blinked. He was still completely visible, as Robert was significantly larger than him.

Cersei Lannister marched up to them, and treating the rest of them more or less as furniture, planted herself in front of Robert, eye twitching.

“Hi queen—“

“DON’T—YOU—QUEENIE—ME!” Cersei howled, punctuating each word by whacking him with a rolled up magazine. Finally Robert picked up Stannis and put him between them again.

When the next blow of the magazine hit him instead of Robert, Stannis decided he had had enough. He caught the magazine and yanked it firmly out of Cersei’s grip.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Brienne. “Renly said you were in Hardhome?”

“Cersei caught the evening edition of that,” Brienne said glumly, jerking her head toward the magazine.

Stannis unrolled the offending object. Just a normal tabloid glossy, the usual trash, weddings, divorces, bar brawl.... oh.

“Congrats,” he said to Robert. “Your stupid fight made the magazine.”

“Not just any magazine!” Cersei wailed. “That’s Yes! Weekly, they have three million subscribers! What kind of publicity is that for our wedding?!”

Wedding?

“You’re working yourself up again,” Jaime said soothingly, trying to pull his sister away from Robert. “Deep breaths. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”

BABY?!

“Explain,” Stannis growled at Robert. 

“Well when a boy and a girl love each other very much—“ there was a harsh bark of laughter from Cersei, “I mean when a boy loves a girl very much and she’s using him for sex because he has mind blowing skills in the bedroom—“ 

“Robert!” Stannis felt his fraying patience snap. “Did you knock Cersei up and not tell me?!”

“To be fair, I only found out like two days ago. Surprise, you’re going to be an uncle,” Robert patted Stannis on the head.

“That was forty-eight hours ago! Is your phone broken?!”

“Excuse me?” Cersei tried to break in.

“I knew it! I knew this day would come, you irresponsible idiot!”

“See this is why I don’t tell you things Stanny, you don’t have any sense of humor—“

“It’s a child Robert! Not some hilarious misunderstanding with the Myrrish mafia! Haven’t you ever heard of a fucking condom?!”

“Excuse me!” Cersei stomped on Robert foot hard with her stiletto heel and simultaneously smacked Stannis in the back of the head. Ow?

“If the two of you are quite done with whatever hissy fit this is, can we refocus on MY PROBLEMS?!” Cersei snapped. “Robert, I need to convince Vogue to do a feature length story and full spread of our wedding in two months, even though it will require them to completely reshuffle that issue. But maybe, just maybe, I can sell it as a universally adored and admired socialite marrying her childhood sweetheart. What I cannot do is sell it as some kind of appalling shotgun wedding to a drunken second-string football player with ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES!”

There was a pause.

“I’m not second-string,” Robert said sulkily. “I’m the starting quarterback.”

Jaime managed to grab Cersei before she could claw his eyes out, holding her from behind until she ceased struggling.

“Let’s all get breakfast,” Thoros interjected, pushing Robert away from the Lannisters. “Things will seem better once we’ve all had something to eat. Also, those guys totally had it coming.”

“You keep saying that,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. “What did they do, bring up the three interceptions?”

“It was one bad game!” Robert whined. “And yes. And then that guy called Beric maimed and said he must be dating Thoros because he was too fucked up looking to do any better.”

Beric winced.

“What guy?” Melisandre said, in a very serene and calm voice that gave everyone present chills, Stannis included.

“It’s fine, I broke his nose,” Beric mumbled, even as Robert said “Crakehall right?”

Stannis was very quiet as they piled into the cars to drive to Thoros’ bar, because Melisandre was very quiet. He pretty much thought his girlfriend was perfect. She was brilliant and stubborn and completely fearless, not to mention way too hot for him. But if there was one character trait that he possibly liked a tiny fraction less than her other character traits, it was her tendency toward psychotically disproportionate acts of vengeance. The last person who had really gotten on her bad side, one Kinvara Volantis, had been last seen fleeing for Essos. And Thoros was family and Beric as good as—the Dondarrions had basically adopted them in high school—and Stannis was starting to feel like maybe warning this Crakehall fellow to lay low for a couple years might not be the worst thing in the world.

He, Mel, Beric and Thoros arrived at the bar first, followed by Brienne driving herself, Jaime, Cersei and Robert. He was annoyed but not surprised to find that a dramatic reconciliation had taken place between Cersei and Robert and that they were now holding hands. Jaime, trailing behind them, looked vaguely ill.

“And I’ll put a call in to Varys and it will all be sorted. I think we should move on this quickly to beat the evening news cycle. We won’t name any names of course, but it won’t be hard to let something slip to Varys, just between old school friends. We’ll do a follow story next week. We should talk to Stannis about setting up some kind of donation in your name, maybe get some photos with you throwing the football with a couple of tragic looking orphans…”

“Talk to me about what?” Stannis said flatly.

“Oh I’ve sorted everything,” Cersei waved her hand airily. “We’ll just leak a counter story that Beric was being bullied on account of his disabilities, when Robert stepped in to save the day. By the way, Beric, you probably have a Westerosis with Disabilities Act case against those boys, but I think we can probably get them expelled without you having to go to court.”

“Expelled?!” Beric blurted, looking even more ill than Jaime.

“They were harassing you for your disability,” Cersei explained slowly. “Robert naturally feels very strongly about bullying people with disabilities, because Stannis has whatever personality disorder he has…”

“I don’t have a disorder!” Stannis snapped.

“You don’t?” Cersei frowned for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Then why are you so… well, never mind. So yes, Robert stepped in to save the day, and he’s going to start a foundation to provide support for children with physical disabilities to play sports.”

“Robert didn’t save me!” Beric interjected. “And I wasn’t being bullied, or not anything I couldn’t handle MYSELF, and I’m not some charity case that needs a bunch of internet strangers feeling sorry for me! I’m missing my eye, I’m not a quadruple amputee over here!”

“Details,” Cersei shook her head dismissively. “If any photographers try to snap a picture, try to look pathetic.”

Beric glared at her.

“Yes just like that,” she patted him on the shoulder. “Now how is Thoros coming on that breakfast? I’m simply famished!”

“Well you are eating for two,” Robert kissed the hand he was holding, and she beamed at him and Stannis hated them both.

Chapter 5 – Robert

Two evenings previously, Robert had been woken by the sound of someone letting themselves into his penthouse high rise. He had been passed out naked on his bed, still clutching a mostly empty handle of bourbon. Which it turned out was handy, since he was dealing with a creepy intruder in the middle of the night and needed to defend himself. As he listened to the footsteps—definitely two people—moving through his massive open floor apartment he tried to keep his eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. Once they got close he would spring and crack the bottle over the head of the first one and then gut the second with the shards. That was the plan. It was a good plan. “Robert stop being an ass and open your eyes,” an all too familiar voice snapped. “I heard your snoring stop when I let myself in.” Robert cracked an eye. Tywin Lannister was standing in the sunken sitting room area, flanked by one of the Lannister security goons, looking deeply unimpressed. “Well done. Now why don’t you get dressed like a good boy and get me something to drink,” Tywin said in a condescending sneer that made Robert wonder if he shouldn’t just stick with the plan. Robert sat up and put the bottle of bourbon down with a wistful sigh. On seeing Tywin’s arched eyebrow, he decided to double down and dressed himself like a good boy by stripping the bedsheet from the bed and folding it into a toga. Once be-toga’ed, he killed the bourbon and then swaggered past his guests to the kitchen, arcing his bottle into the recycling bin with a perfect jump shot from across the room. “Tallisker?” He asked Tywin. “If you have nothing less peaty,” Tywin sniffed. “Nope,” Robert had already started pouring. “What’s your friend having?” “Mr. Lorch isn’t drinking,” Tywin said coldly. Robert brought him the glass and then proceeded to go back and pour himself a much larger glass. “Another?” Tywin asked drily. Robert turned in some surprise. Tywin’s glass was empty. He shrugged and brought the bottle over when he returned. Tywin poured himself a second glass just as large as Robert’s. Robert flopped down in an armchair and adjusted his toga. Tywin continued to stand. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Tywin began. Not really. More like how? Because this building had like doormen and shit, and his security system was pretty state of the art to keep angry and/or amorous fans at bay. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he is called upon to do the right thing. A test of character, of conscience.” Maybe this Lorch guy had special skills? Was he going to find a bunch of dead doormen when he came down tomorrow morning? “For me, that time came when I was forced to choose between a highly lucrative partnership with a childhood friend and the safety of countless strangers. I speak of course, of the episode the press so affectionately refer to as Robert’s Rebellion.” Hahaha, that’s right. Robert. That was him. They didn’t call it Tywin and Police Rebellion. They didn’t call it Jaime-Lannister-Is-An-Asshole-Who-Got-My-Brother-Shot-Rebellion. “I have always believed in nature over nurture. A child with innate gifts will find a way to rise to the top, regardless of circumstance. Frankly, you have spent your life testing that theory,” Tywin was pacing back and forth in front of the gas fireplace, which he had taken the liberty of turning on. Sure, if you’re going to break into a guy’s home in the middle of the night, why not make yourself comfortable.

“You are not without potential. Your father was much the same way. Unmotivated perhaps. I have spent your entire life watching you squander the many gifts you were born with in relative indifference. I would not have let you get away with this…” Tywin made a vague gesture that somehow encompassed Robert’s stunningly expensive flat, his toga, the bottle of Tallisker he was now drinking from—“puerile nonsense, but you are not my child.”

Thank the gods for that.

“But here we are. You are now facing your test of character, as ill-prepared as you are. And I deeply hope you will do the right thing. Truly,” Tywin glared at him, and even though Robert would never admit it to anybody, he felt just the teensiest bit unnerved. “But if you don’t, rest assured, I can think of plenty of incentives to make your choice easier. After all, accidents happen on the football field every day. Just look what happened to my son. Wouldn’t it be a shame if something like that happened to you?”

“Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want me to do?” Robert said tiredly. Because you know, it was three in the morning and he was hungover and confused and a little intimidated.

“You don’t know?” Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

The funny thing was that Tywin had been so convinced that this would be some kind of crisis for Robert. First, he liked kids. Kids were great. Cat and Ned had just had one last year and they’d named him Robb. Robert loved to visit them up north and toss his little namesake in the air and pretend that maybe one he could do this with a child that looked a little more like him.

Second, it had been increasingly obvious to Robert that even if Cersei claimed she could do better (and psh who was she kidding, he was the best), she didn’t want to do better. Every girl he’d ever dated had found him difficult to break up with, but Cersei seemed to find it impossible. She had dumped him when he graduated, then after getting back together and doing the whole long distance thing, she had dumped him when she got to school because he was being “clingy”. She had dumped him after an imbroglio with a cheerleader who could put her legs all the way behind her head. She had dumped him for flunking his world civ class. She had dumped him, she claimed, for the very last time when he had dropped out of college to join the professional football draft—but they’d still been sleeping together plenty and he knew it was only a matter of time before she yelled at him for looking at another girl because he was HER BOYFRIEND, and then they would be back on again. But that was so much work. This way seemed much easier. 

Plus they got to have a really epic party on Tywin Lannister’s dime. If she wanted him to enter riding on an elephant to greet her as she descended from a hot air balloon, that was fine in his book. Anything Cersei wanted, he was fine with. Including, whatever... this was.

“And would you say you are often subject to bullying?” Varys was asking in a sympathetic tone, pen at the ready.

“What?! No!” Beric spluttered.

“But surely you get some second looks because of your off-putting appearance.”

“I don’t have an off-putting appearance!” Beric huffed.

“So no second looks?”

“Maybe some second looks,” Beric grudgingly allowed.

“The subject was subjected to a persistent whisper campaign that made his life hell,” Varys said into a recorder. 

“I didn’t say that!” 

“Please trust the process Beric,” Varys shook his head. “And would you say that Robert has always been a hero of yours?”

“No,” Beric growled. Ouch. 

“But he’s very protective of the little guy? You know, the downtrodden, the victims, the pathetic losers?”

Beric groaned and buried his head in his arms. 

“I guess,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

“Overcome with emotion, the subject had to turn away. However, before he did, I caught a glimpse of a tear in his lone—”

“I’m not crying!” Beric snapped, lifting his head immediately.

Mostly he just looked acutely embarrassed. 

“I think it’s going well,” Cersei said, tugging at his arm and favoring him with a beaming smile.

“You do?” Robert asked dubiously. The smile faded markedly.

“I mean—you do! It’s going great!” He shifted gears. “

“Well I’ll have my people call your people about setting up a foundation,” Cersei said.

“I’m not sure I have people,” Robert admitted.

“I’ll have my people call Stannis and the Oldtown Maesters’ PR department. Varys’ story will run tomorrow, the follow up identifying this Crakehall character will run Wednesday, and I’m thinking we have a photo shoot with the children Friday to get some good press this weekend.”

“I have to be at practice Friday, there’s a game on Saturday,” Robert pointed out. Cersei narrowed her eyes.

“But the kids could come to practice,” Robert said hastily. “It’d probably be really fun for them to watch?” He hoped that would be okay with the team. Really all of this. He wasn’t in the best standing with the coach. Something about being consistently late to practice and bar fights being bad press for the team. Honestly Robert tried not to worry about it. He didn’t have time for that kind of negativity in his life.

“So how are you feeling?” He asked Cersei.

“I was feeling better before you got on the front page of Yes! Weekly,” Cersei pursed her lips. “I know it was a good cause, but I don’t have time to put out these kinds of fires before our wedding.”

“It won’t happen again,” Robert promised earnestly, squeezing her hand.

“That’s good,” Cersei rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt a giddy wave of happiness.

“Because if I lose my Vogue cover, this wedding is off,” Cersei continued sweetly. “To hell with father and to hell with you. Am I making myself quite clear?”

“Totally,” Robert swallowed. She cuddled closer.

“Oh good. And I told Jaime he could stay with you while he’s in town.”

Robert tried not to flinch. Cersei’s moody, sarcastic brother was the last person he needed to see first thing upon waking up. Well, Tywin hadn’t been a picnic. Second to last.

“He wouldn’t rather stay with you?” Robert tried to sound casual.

“Of course he would. But Brienne’s staying with me and if I let them stay together unsupervised, I’ll have to sit on my couch every day knowing my brother probably just had sex there.”

“Why doesn’t he stay with you and Brienne stays with m—“

“Really Robert, you’ll say something crass and traumatize her. I have a deep exfoliation treatment set up for us tomorrow morning at 5:30 and then one of those new massages where the Ibben masseuse beats you half to death and you feel marvelous after. Then we’re going to the ring maker’s to design an APPROPRIATE engagement ring”—she’d totally dug the soda tab thing, who was she kidding—“and I have an appointment in the afternoon at the boutique where Argella Durrandon got her wedding dress. So there’s no time to pick her up from your apartment anyway,” Cersei waved a hand. Brienne looked forlorn and Robert wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to be traumatized anyway.

“Cool,” he said agreeably. He gave Jaime a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Shall we head out Lannister? I mean, future brother in law?”

Jaime’s expression could have curdled milk and Robert gave his own forlorn glance at Brienne. She was so quiet! He probably would have forgotten she was even there after a couple days!

“I assume your eye sore of a car is parked around here somewhere?” Jaime drawled.

Robert wondered if this was one of those problems that couldn’t better be solved with violence. And then he remembered Cersei threatening to call the wedding off.

“I suppose my car is a little loud,” Robert ground out. “It’s in the back.”

Jaime’s completely unimpressed expression didn’t even falter when Robert pushed the penthouse button on the apartment building elevator, or when the doors opened literally in the apartment to a breathtaking vista of Oldtown harbor.

“Don’t you have rooms?” Jaime sneered, taking in the open space floor plan that some designer Cersei had delivered on his doorstep had created.

“Cersei likes it this way,” Robert said, a trifle smugly.

“Probably so you don’t have anywhere to hide your side pieces,” Jaime sniped back.

Gods it was going to be a long two months.

Robert hit a button and part of the wall folded down into a guest bed.

“Good luck child proofing that,” Jaime snorted.

“This is where Renly and Stannis sleep when they visit,” Robert said, trying to envision a calm tranquil pool. The team’s sports psychiatrist had told him to do this when a referee made a bad call. In the perfect stillness of the pool nothing mattered. 

“Robert?” Jaime snapped his fingers inches from his eyes. “Are you still there? Fricking space cadet, and this is who she wants to marry?!”

Robert’s hand shot out, grabbing Jaime’s shoulder in a crushing grip, fingers digging under his collar bone.

“Oh physical violence too? Yeah that’s a positive attribute in a life partner,” Jaime appeared in acute discomfort but snarked back, determined not to yield. “You’re not good enough to marry my sister, you’ll never be good enough to marry my sister, and this wedding will happen over my dead body.’

Fuck the pool.

“We are getting married,” Robert said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. “And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it. And if you try, well,” he squeezed just a little harder, “I know where you sleep.”

“Like I’m scared of you?” Jaime arched an eyebrow. “Maybe that speech would have been more impressive coming from my father.”

Instead of the pool he saw Cersei’s face, threatening to call off the wedding.

Robert let go of Jaime, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt. Jaime glared at him, rolling his shoulder, which made an audible popping sound. Probably fine. Joints did that sometimes.

“You’re right of course,” Robert shrugged. “It’s just, like, you wouldn’t be the first person to underestimate me. And somehow I usually win. Maybe I just get lucky?”

From Jaime’s visible flinch, that shot at least found its mark.

Chapter 6 – Jaime

Jaime groaned and turned, trying to bury his head deeper under the pillow as Robert’s snoring from across the apartment grew even louder. How did Cersei handle it?! He hoped someday the biscuit would appreciate the lengths to which Uncle Jaime had gone to rescue him/her from the clutches of this ape. Cersei would probably not appreciate it, which was why Operation Derail Wedding had to remain a secret. But the poor darling was just overwhelmed and dealing with pregnancy hormones and the stress of an overbearing father and if she wasn’t going to voluntarily run away to Essos to raise the biscuit with him and Brienne, he would simply have to break up the wedding himself. It was partly for that reason that he had agreed to move to Oldtown for the next two months. Although he had ostensibly started at Lannister Corp after graduation, he considered his hours to be rather... fluid. And his father would hardly object to him supporting the family. Family, after all, came first. The second reason was that Brienne had agreed to move to Oldtown for the next two months, and it was painfully clear that if he didn’t jump in as a human buffer from his sister, her entire summer would devolve into an indentured servitude to the eldritch horror that was the Lannister-Baratheon nuptials. And the fact was that even though they were far too young to be thinking about such matters, Jaime kind of sort of already knew that Brienne was his forever person. So to have her exposed to his entire extended family, very obviously in the context and framing of a wedding—well, he had to do everything in his power to stop her from running away screaming. So the prime directive was to save Brienne from Cersei. The secondary directive was to save Cersei from Cersei. Jaime finally began to drift off to sleep, comforted in the knowledge that if nothing else, nobody knew his enemy better than Jaime. He’d been with her literally since birth. If there was anyone who could subtly undermine the notion that she should marry this loser because she had internalized her need for her father’s approval as a burning desire to run Lannister Corp, it was him. Plus how hard could it be? All he had to do was point out Robert’s many many failings as both a potential father/life partner and functional human being, but in a way that it didn’t seem like he was the one doing it. (Partly because Cersei definitely followed the ethos of shooting the messenger and partly because Robert actually was kind of scary when he was mad. Not in a Tywin Lannister I’ll kill you and bury the body way, but more in a I’ll get really mad and kill you on accident kind of way.) So it was with drowsy dreams of living in a seaside cottage with Brienne and a very single Cersei living next door with her biscuit that Jaime fell asleep. Only for Robert’s alarm to go off at five. And again at 5:15. And again at 5:30. “ROBERT!” Jaime finally yelled. “Get the fuck out of bed before I shove that alarm clock up your ass!” Not that Robert awake was any better. That sound was Robert running a blender to make his morning smoothie. That sound was Robert starting the dishwasher. That sound was Robert gargling. For the stranger’s sake, he even walked loudly! When he finally, thankfully left the apartment at seven, Jaime dared to let out a sigh of pure relief and put his pillow beneath his head instead of above it. First thing today he was investing in some ear plugs. He took some small consolation in the knowledge that even if Robert and Cersei did get married, she would undoubtedly murder him within a week of moving in. But then biscuit’s mother would be in prison! No the wedding really had to be stopped. At eight the phone rang. That was when Jaime discovered the first thing he was doing today was actually painting a nursery. “Pink?” Jaime said doubtfully, looking at the cans that Cersei was shoving at him. “I thought you wouldn’t know what gender...” “Biscuit will be a girl of course,” Cersei sniffed. “I’m sure of it. A beautiful little girl who looks exactly like me. And it’s not pink, it’s blush.” Jaime shot a look at Brienne who was shaking her head. Poor Brienne was already showing signs of the deep fatigue that no doubt lined his face as well. “I’m think of naming her Genna,” Cersei said. “After Aunt Genna? Why?!” Jaime blurted. Because Aunt Genna was almost as scary as their father. “She’s the swing vote on the Lannister Corp board of course. Uncle Kevan always votes with father and Uncle Gerion and Uncle Tygett always vote against.” “You’d name your daughter—I mean your child—after Genna to get a vote at corporate board meetings?!” Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Really Jaime, I don’t have time to explain it all to you,” Cersei frowned. “Brienne and I need to go look at engagement rings and you have to be here for when the crib gets delivered.” “Why?” Jaime asked suspiciously. “It’s a doorman apartment.” “So you can put it together of course.”

The crib had dozens of interlacing parts that were supposed to form some kind of intricate Norvosi forest scene, and just trying to read the directions (which were naturally in Norvosi Valyrian) gave Jaime a splitting headache. 

The first time he was able to be alone with Brienne was when she managed to slip away after lunch. Jaime was spattered in pink—blush—paint, staring blankly at an assembled crib and several parts that were (hopefully) extras? Or maybe optional? He inspected a screw that might or might not be vitally important to the crib’s structural integrity. It was probably a spare. “Jaime,” Brienne said from the door softly and he grinned at her, and swept her into his arms and gave her one of those slow motion romantic kisses from the old movies that Brienne loved. “You’ll get paint on me,” Brienne finally laughed, pushing him away. Seeing her smile made him almost giddy with happiness, that she hadn’t cracked under the completely unnecessary stress Cersei was putting her through. “Be honest, how bad is it?” “It’s not... great,” Brienne admitted. “If I don’t get to eat meat in the next twenty-four hours I might die. Seaweed does not a meal make.” “My poor carnivorous wench,” Jaime murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll take you to a diner. We’ll get burgers wrapped with bacon.” “Mmmm,” Brienne smiled against his temple. “But I only have two months to drop a size. Cersei and I are dieting together in solidarity.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “You can say no to her. I’m serious. And I’ll do it for you if you want. I have a lifetime of practice. Just let me know.” “It’s fine,” Brienne protested weakly. “Only maybe... do you think you could talk to Cersei about letting me go to my real job with Archmaester Marwyn at some point?” “You want me to talk to Cersei about giving you more work?” Jaime raised his eyebrows. “Well it really is such a unique opportunity, and if he’s going to slap my name on some article I was hoping to at least assist him with some research or even get his coffee or something,” Brienne bit her lip. “You’re inscrutable,” Jaime kissed her lightly. That was his lip to bite. “I’ll talk to her.” “She wants to spend her afternoons in some dusty library?” Cersei wrinkled her nose when Jaime finally managed to corner her as she stalked the aisles of a boutique dress store. “These are all too hideous. I really think I’m going to have to hire a designer and start from scratch.” “Yes, and since you made her last job disappear, you are going to let her,” Jaime said firmly. “I suppose she can work from two to five,” Cersei allowed grudgingly, “and we can do the real wedding planning in the morning.” “Thank you,” Jaime squeezed her hand. “I saw Varys’ article made front page of the Daily Raven.”

Cersei’s lips curved into a smirk.

“It was brilliant wasn’t it? And such a good photo of Robert. And did you catch the reference to our wedding? I’ve already had a call from Agora about covering the wedding—no Vogue yet, but it’ll come.”

Jaime had personally thought that Robert looked exactly the same as he usually did. Sort of good-naturedly vacant. Beric Dondarrion, nearly swamped in the photo by Robert’s larger frame, was looking at him with an admiring expression that bordered on pathetic. Jaime wondered how they had managed to produce that effect, since when last seen, Beric had been close to giving both Robert and Cersei a stern talking to, which was about as mad as Beric could get.

Regardless, he knew he had to get Cersei focused on the actual concept of marriage (which he knew she’d always been more or less bored by) and not on the social coup that would be a feature in Vogue.

“So when will you actually move in with Robert,” Jaime asked.

“When will Robert move in with me, you mean. Can you imagine child-proofing that apartment?!” Cersei laughed lightly.

“Have you ever actually lived with him for an extended period of time?” Jaime prodded.

“We’ve gone on trips together,” Cersei shrugged.

“A little loud isn’t he?”

“You mean the snoring?” Cersei smiled. “Doesn’t he sound like an adorable snuffly bear?”

“I would not have described him as an adorable snuffly bear, no,” Jaime said stiffly.

“Oh really Jaime, it’s nothing a pair of ear plugs won’t fix,” Cersei waved a hand. 

“And will he be helping with the nursery?” Jaime huffed.

“He bought the crib,” Cersei beamed. “Not quite my taste, but I thought it was a sweet gesture.”

Jaime shoved his hands into his pockets where they were promptly scratched by severally hopefully spare parts.

“Very sweet,” Jaime ground out. Robert Baratheon may have won this round, but he was only just getting started. Clearly reinforcements were needed.

“No,” Brienne sighed, possibly in dismay, possibly in pleasure, as Jaime kissed her shoulder from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I will not help you break up this wedding,” Brienne managed, despite Jaime nuzzling her with his stubble in a way that he knew secretly drove her crazy.

“Please wench? What if I put on a suit and asked?” Brienne had been known to gush over Jaime in a suit.

“Mmmm... I mean no! Jaime, I realize this isn’t a traditional wedding, but they both seem very happy and I think you’re letting your jealousy—“

“Jealousy?!” Jaime sputtered. “I’m not jealous of that buffoon! What could I possibly be jealous of? Being one concussion short of brain dead? His alcoholism? His anger management issues?”

“That he has a career in football like you could have if you hadn’t shattered your hand,” Brienne turned to face him, her enormous blue eyes warm with empathy. “That you saved the entire city of King’s Landing and somehow he walked away with all the credit. But those aren’t really his fault, and he has always been nice to you and he’s always been nice to me and…”

Jaime ground his teeth.

“I have known him my entire life and I have never liked him and it has nothing to do with those things! And you expect me to watch my sister throw her life away because he’s NICE?!”

Brienne looked unimpressed. His wench had clearly been brainwashed. Sleep deprivation, a restricted diet, beatings at the hands of Ibbenese masseuses...

“I’m sorry,” Jaime leaned forward and kissed her. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I’m just being silly. I promise not to put on a suit and ask you to help me derail this wedding.”

“Thank you Jaime,” Brienne smiled, and watching how her face brightened sent a warm rush of endorphins through him.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to give up this nonsensical idea,” she said as she melted against him. He stroked her hair.

Oh sweet naive Brienne. He wasn’t giving up shit. He could find somebody else to help him. Not Tyrion, who had always found Robert hilarious. Ugh, siblings. No he needed someone else who appreciated the gravity of the situation. Wait a minute... Very serious siblings...

“I’m sure you can appreciate the gravity of the situation,” Jaime said smoothly, cradling the phone in one hand as he hid from Brienne behind a couch.

“It’s going to be a train wreck,” Stannis said flatly.

“They’re completely unsuitable.”

“Indeed.”

“And you hate to see somebody with so much potential shackle their lives to somebody who will just drag them down!”

“I know! Are we even sure she’s actually pregnant?! This is exactly the psycho next level shit that she pulls all the time!”

Jaime blinked.

“Wait, you think Cersei is the shackle that’s going to drag ROBERT down?” He said.

“Well yeah, she’s a vindictive, manipulative, completely crazy control freak and she’s been obsessed with him since high school and...”

“My sister is a SAINT and he’s an obnoxious boor who has broken her heart countless times...”

“A saint?! What about the time that she spread a rumor that Lysa Tully had an abortion?!”

“She fixed that...”

“Or got that girl Ros expelled by planting drugs in her locker...”

“That wasn’t proven...”

“Or set up a website dedicated to Euron Greyjoy’s autoerotic asphyxiation obsession?”

“He deserved that...”

“My point is that she’s evil!”

“And Robert is a fucking choirboy?!”

“It’s an impulse control problem, not a demented god complex!”

Jaime forced himself to take a deep breath because if he screamed at Stannis then Brienne would definitely hear him and he would be caught.

“We need not get into specifics,” he continued, trying to keep the edge out of his tone. “The point is that I think we can both agree that this wedding should be stopped.”

“Hmph.”

“And the two of us have a strong track record of teaming up to stop the forces of darkness.”

“Do we?”

“Duh! What about when we teamed up to stop Gregor Clegane?!”

“You ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think Beric technically died.”

“Well what about when we teamed up to stop Aerys Targaryen?!”

“You ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think I technically died.”

Jaime ground his teeth. Then inspiration struck.

“What about when we teamed up to rig the school elections?!”

“Beric and I ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think Beric almost died. Were you even there?!”

“I played a very important role!” Jaime huffed. “Look, we will avoid locked rooms and Beric Dondarrion, and we will rescue our siblings from this temporary bout of insanity by any means necessary.”

There was a long silence punctuated by Stannis muttering something about Tywin Lannister not being his father in law. 

“Fine,” Stannis said presently. “I accept.”

Chapter 7 – Thoros

Thoros did not consider himself a morning person. All the same, when the alarm went off at six in the morning, he turned it off before the second ring and was out of bed before Beric had even rolled over. He pulled on some clothes, cursing slightly when he managed to get his shirt on inside out and then deciding it didn’t matter and throwing a sweatshirt over it He stepped out into the small landing of the fourth floor walk up they rented in whatever Oldtown’s equivalent of Flea Bottom was. Even only paying half the rent, it was all he could afford on a bartender’s wages, and even though Beric and his parents would have been happy to foot the entire rent, Thoros was doggedly determined that they would do no such thing. And if Beric minded walking down four flights of stairs in the morning, waiting at an exceptionally sketchy bus stop and then taking two different buses across town to get to the Citadel because his boyfriend wasn’t good at accepting handouts, he had never betrayed any sign of it. Which was part of the reason Thoros was getting out of bed at this ungodly hour. He stopped at the newsstand that Beric walked by every day to get to the bus stop. Sure enough, on the front page of the Daily Raven, there were Robert and a frail looking Beric. Thoros rolled his eyes. “How many Daily Ravens do you have?” He asked the surly proprietor. The man was glaring at him like he could tell a petty thief when he saw one and Thoros better not try shit. Prejudiced jackass. “How many?” The proprietor sneered. “I dunno, two hundred at the start of the day, bit less now?” “Right,” Thoros sighed, fingering his not particularly fat wallet. “I’ll take them all.” Despite some aggressive haggling, the man refused to give him a discount for buying in bulk. Thoros retaliated by lifting several packets of gum on the way out. It turned out it was not especially easy to walk back to the apartment with a teetering pile of one hundred and eighty three newspapers. Thoros stopped at every garbage and recycling bin he could find (carefully ripping the first page of every copy just so nobody would fish it out of a dumpster and spoil the whole thing), and had winnowed it down to about twenty leftovers when he reached the apartment building. Fine. He would stuff the remainder into the crawl space in their apartment where Beric refused to go because there were spiders. He trudged up the four flights of stairs and had inserted his keys into the lock when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of Beric moving in the apartment. Fuck. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to!” Beric called cheerfully. “I’m making waffles!” Thoros looked around their spartan and sad little landing for a hiding space. He managed to fit exactly one newspaper under their doormat. Great, just nineteen more to go. “Thoros?” Beric called, and his voice was definitely coming closer. Hastily, Thoros shoved all of them into the back of his shirt, tucking it in so they wouldn’t promptly spill out. With the sweatshirt concealing most of it, he thought he stood up to inspection reasonably well. The door opened. “I thought I heard you,” Beric grinned, still looking a little tousled from sleep. He was wearing one of the matching sets of silk pajamas that his mother was always buying for him, and his eye patch was a little askew, and Thoros felt his normal surge of affectionate incredulity that somebody like this was living in a shithole with him. “Morning,” Thoros leaned up to give him a quick kiss, already edging toward the back hallway. “Where are you going so fast,” Beric’s fingers wrapped in his sweatshirt. “Bathroom,” Thoros disentangled with a gentle push. It was a moment’s work to hide the papers and he returned much relieved and ready to resume that conversation. Beric however had turned his attention to carefully pouring the batter into the waffle iron. Thoros, who did most of his cooking in industrial kitchens for an already drunk and indifferent audience, was often amused at the strange gadgets that Beric seemed intent on filling their apartment with. The waffle iron had earned its keep though. “When will they be ready?” Thoros wrapped his arms around Beric from behind, eyeing the batter with interest. “Patience is a virtue,” Beric said absent-mindedly, head bent to the task at hand. Thoros stealthily reached a hand out for the bowl of batter. Beric swatted it away without looking. “What’s the occasion?” Thoros asked nonchalantly, continuing his stretch just a little further to try and reach the whip cream can. “Us being awake at the same time,” Beric pushed the can further away. “Beric,” Thoros pouted. “Thoros,” Beric turned with a teasing smile. He placed a drop of batter on Thoros’ nose. Thoros scowled and wiped it off with a finger, sucking that finger sulkily. “It’s all ending up in my stomach anyway.” “It’s not always about the destination,” Beric smirked, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Thoros’. “Sometimes the... anticipation is half the fun.” “If we’re still talking about waffles, I’m going to be very disappointed,” Thoros arched an eyebrow. Beric stepped back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I’m going down to check our mail. I’m expecting to find everything exactly as I left it,” Beric said over his shoulder. “If you can manage that, I think I can manage not to disappoint.” Thoros promptly removed himself from the kitchen area and settled himself into a couch. He was watching a sportscast with utter disinterest when Beric returned. To his surprise, all of the earlier energy seemed to have dissipated. Beric tossed the mail on their kitchen table and went into their bedroom without even glancing at the waffle iron. Thoros blinked. Then he looked at the kitchen table. There, with all the usual bills and junk mail, was a copy of the Daily Raven. Thoros cursed and grabbed the offending copy and dumped it into the garbage. He went back and poked his head out the front door, nudging the door mat with his foot. The copy he had stashed under there was gone. Fuck. Twenty minutes later, Thoros knocked on the door with his head, his hands being otherwise occupied cradling a plate with a waffle generously dowsed with syrup and whip cream, a mug of hot chocolate, and some cutlery. When there was no response one way or the other, Thoros pushed it open. Beric had gotten back into bed, buried deep under the covers. Thoros sighed and sat down on the bed, putting the plate down on the nightstand. He wafted the smell toward the lump under the covers. Beric’s face peeked out from under the comforter. “Take it—mine’s getting cold on the counter,” Thoros prodded. Beric pulled himself up and took the mug, cradling it in both hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Thoros went and got his, gave it a healthy kick of Baileys and then with a deep breath returned to the lion’s den. Beric could get a little self-conscious about his appearance, and on an already introverted person, extra social anxiety wasn’t... ideal? And it didn’t help that Thoros was acutely aware that if this situation were somehow reversed, Beric would be all understanding and sensitive and know exactly what to say. Beric was big on talking out problems. Thoros, not so much. So instead, he crawled into the bed next to Beric and snuggled against him, slurping loudly from his mug. Beric look at him with a spark of tired amusement. “So are you going to eat that waffle or admire my handiwork,” Thoros nudged him. “Not hungry.” “What if I cut it up into little bites and made airplane noises?” “Please don’t.” Thoros ignored him and cut a piece. “Air traffic control to Beric, air traffic control to Beric, do you copy?” Beric sighed and took the fork from him and obediently took the bite. Thoros pulled the plate over and balanced it in his lap. For a while they alternated taking bites of the waffle, eating in companionable silence. “I just don’t get how the newspaper even ended up under our mat,” Beric said abruptly and a little sulkily. “We barely even know our neighbors.” “Er right,” Thoros scratched his head sheepishly. “I might have hid it there.” “You bought up a copy?” Beric groaned. “Why, to torment me?” “Um I might have bought a lot of copies? To keep you from seeing them because I knew you would be upset?” Beric stared at him. Thoros took a defensive sip of hot chocolate. “How many copies?” Beric asked finally. “A hundred and eighty three?” Thoros winced. There was a pause and then Beric gave a snort of laughter. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! You know the moment I got to class somebody would have said something right?” “Well saying something is different from seeing it!” Thoros protested. “Right, they would have said something and then I would have gone to the website...” Beric picked up his phone from where it was charging and typed in an address. The picture immediately popped up. “And we would be at the exact same place.” “Well I didn’t think that far ahead!” Thoros huffed. “I know,” Beric kissed him, tasting of maple syrup. “And you have terrible instincts.” “What?” Thoros finally registered what Beric was saying because he’d been distracted by the kiss. “I have great instincts!” “If our apartment caught on fire, you would freak out and pour gasoline on the flames,” Beric laughed. “I would not!” “It’s okay, I think it’s adorable.” “I’m not adorable,” Thoros protested. “Sweet then.” “I’m not sweet either!” “You just don’t want people knowing that you’re nice. That’s different.” “I stole two packets of gum today,” Thoros crossed his arms. “Not sweet.” Beric kissed him again. “Objectively false. Very sweet.” “That’s the maple syrup!” Beric smiled, and it seemed like they were in the clear. “That was a composite photo you know,” Beric said. “Hmmm?” “I wasn’t really looking at Robert when they took that, you had just come out from the back kitchen.” “Well I’m glad you weren’t looking at Robert,” Thoros joked to distract from his blush. “I’d have to beat him up.” Beric rolled his eye. “You don’t think I could?!” Thoros poked him playfully. “I don’t think you could and I don’t think you WOULD.” “What’s that supposed to mean?!” “That you can’t stay mad at Robert. It’s okay, it’s hard for me too. It’s like some kind of weird conversational jujitsu he does.” “I can stay mad at Robert! In fact, I AM mad at Robert. He needs to get his woman under control! I don’t have the money to keep buying every issue of the Daily Raven!” Thoros downed his hot chocolate and set it down with an emphatic thump. “Sure,” Beric pushed him. “I’m serious. I am marching over there as soon as he gets back from practice and giving him a piece of my mind!” “If you say so,” Beric shrugged. “But that’s not for another six hours.” “Whatever shall we do in the meantime?” Thoros drawled. Six hours later, Thoros was chewing some gum and reading one of his many editions of the Daily Raven in the third row of the Oldtown Maesters Stadium. “What up?” A very sweaty Robert vaulted the wall and landed in front of him. “You’re an asshole!” Thoros snapped, shoving the paper in his face. “How could you let them embarrass Beric like this?!” “Woah! What the fuck is that picture? We never posed for that! Ha Beric looks like such a dork!” Robert pulled the paper from him and studied it. Thoros paused, his head of steam a little stymied. “How did you not know this was going to happen?” He scowled, shoving Robert. Robert shoved him back and he tripped backwards over the stadium seating, landing hard on his back. “I swear I didn’t, dude. Cersei doesn’t run this shit by me,” Robert lifted him to his feet. “Well she’s put him in a shitty situation! You know how much he hates to be the center of attention, and how much he REALLY hates people talking about his scars. He totally skipped class today and you’re a bad friend for letting your baby mama walk all over him!” “Okay first, he’s an adult who is just as capable or incapable of standing up to Cersei as I am, and second, she is the mother of my child! This shit is so delicate, you have no idea. She could get cold feet at any moment, I swear Jaime is plotting against me, Stannis just sent me a fucking Venmo request for his gas bill to Oldtown and I need to submit my picks for the bands to Cersei by Friday.” Thoros opened his mouth and then shut it. “Thoros! I’m stress eating! I think I’m going to get fat!” “You work out too much to get fat,” Thoros offered. “You’re supposed to say, don’t be ridiculous, Robert, it’s all going to be fine.” “No these all sound like real problems. Except that Stannis thing. Just pay him.” “It means he’s mad at me! If I pay him, we don’t resolve our issues!” “Your issues are incapable of resolution. Just learn to treat them as a charming facet of your relationship with him.” “Fuck,” Robert groaned, collapsing into one of the seats and burying his head in his hands. “Why does everything have to be so hard?” “I’m sorry buddy,” Thoros leaned over and pat him on the back. “Is there anything I can do to help?” “Could you pick up Ned from the airport?” Robert looked up hopefully. “Sure?” Thoros frowned. “When?” “Friday. It’s the soonest he could come.” “Why does he need to be here?” “Evil forces are on the move,” Robert tapped his nose. “We must gather our strength.” “For the night is dark and full of terrors,” Thoros rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with him once Robert had gone into conspiracy mode. “Alright, text me the details.” It wasn’t until he got home that he realized Beric might have a point. “How’d it go?” Beric looked up from a legal textbook. Poor boy didn’t know the first thing about cutting class. “What go?” Thoros yawned, checking his watch. Only an hour before his shift. “Telling Robert off?” “Huh,” Thoros opened his mouth and then shut it. “Really great. He was very sorry. There was some groveling. He’ll never do it again.” “You’re a terrible liar,” Beric told him. “I’m an excellent liar,” Thoros snorted, poking through his dirty laundry to try and find a work shirt. “I just don’t like lying to you.” “Then what really happened?” Beric laughed. “I don’t know exactly,” Thoros scratched his head. “I went over there to yell at him and then all of a sudden I was promising to pick Ned up from the airport.” “Conversational jujitsu,” Beric nodded wisely. “Since when could he do that?!” “He could always do that. Your problem is just you usually don’t need any convincing,” Beric sighed. “Why is Ned coming anyway?! Doesn’t he have a child to take care of?!” Thoros shrugged. “Dunno. Robert just said that the forces of evil were on the move.”

Chapter 8 – Melisandre

Melisandre’s face brightened when her phone buzzed with Brienne’s name. She started to reach for it only to be cut off by the disapproving cough of her lab supervisor.

She gave a haughty sniff. As if she cared one whit for lab supervisors and their petty concerns.

“Hi Brienne,” Melisandre said in a hushed voice from the women’s restroom, her voice dropped into a whisper so that nobody would hear her. Petty concerns or not, she really needed this job on her resume to apply for medical school. The good news was that there were only a handful of female researchers, so the odds of being interrupted were low.

“Hi Melisandre,” Brienne said warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to call you! I assume we both know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Oh did Thoros say something?”

“No why would he? I just figured it out. I can’t believe this is happening, it’s such a nightmare!”

“Oh,” Brienne cleared her throat uncomfortably. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked, it’s such an imposition. You don’t need to help—“

“Of course I need to help! I can’t leave you to deal with this on your own! We both remember the last time, they’ll get themselves killed!”

“Errr, last time? What are talking about?”

“That our nincompoop boyfriends think they’re going to stop this wedding?” Melisandre prodded impatiently. She’d seen that dreadful Yes! Weekly cover, and had picked up a phone to call Thoros to warn him that he should probably burn down the newsstand by his apartment before Beric saw it, only to hear Stannis talking to Jaime Lannister of all people. 

“Wait, THEY WHAT?!” Brienne snapped. “Jaime specifically told me he was past this!”

“Wait, what were you talking about?”

“Oh, um, Cersei really really needs a fourth bridesmaid and she asked me to find someone.”

“WHAT?!”

“I mean your thing is objectively worse—“

“No it’s not! Brienne, you know how I feel about the wedding industry! It’s a gross capitalist swindle that corrupts both the sanctity of religion and the purity of love!”

“I’m not sure the sanctity of religion or the purity of love will be big selling points at this wedding,” Brienne coughed.

“Well I can’t! As a follower of R’hllor, I am forbidden from participating in other religious ceremonies!”

“Are you just doing that thing you do where you make up facts about your religion because nobody knows enough to correct you?”

“...NO!”

“Well okay, because Thoros is going to be a groomsman—“

“He’s a heretic! I refuse!”

“I really wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, but I’m desperate! I called every girl in Cersei’s sorority! Do you know how many people hung up on me? And those were the good ones! I got a ‘May that witch burn in hell’, somebody who just sobbed on the line for twenty minutes, another girl who asked me to tell Cersei she still loves her and would do anything for her...”

Melisandre groaned.

“And if Jaime and Stannis really are teaming up to stop this wedding, we need to have an excuse for us to be hanging out as well! Otherwise I don’t even want to know what Tywin will do when he catches up to them!”

Melisandre groaned again.

“Please Melisandre? I know you hate all this crap, but I’m at the end of my rope and I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“Catelyn Tully.”

“Already a bridesmaid. And so is Lysa.”

“Ellaria Sand.”

“She said she would consider it if I flew down to Dorne and... persuaded her.”

Melisandre had to snort at that, imagining Brienne’s blush on the other side of the phone. Honestly, she was as bad as Beric.

“I’ll think about it,” Melisandre sighed.

“Could you think about it really fast?” Brienne said nervously. Melisandre’s phone buzzed with another text.

“Why?” Melisandre said suspiciously.

“Um because I might have already told Cersei you would do it and we’re going to be in King’s Landing this evening for a dress fitting?”

“What?!” Melisandre’s voice dipped into permafrost territory.

“Surprise?” Brienne squeaked.

“There’d better be champagne,” Melisandre growled. 

She hung up. The buzz had been an invitation from Cersei to her wedding calendar. With a feeling of doom, Melisandre clicked accept.

There was not champagne. It was sparkling apple cider, which was not the same thing at all, but Cersei had given a delicate bell-like laugh and said she didn’t want to tempt herself with the biscuit around and it really tasted about the same. It did not.

“I didn’t even realize bridal boutiques stayed open this late,” Melisandre confided to Brienne.

“They don’t. They made an exception for Cersei because she’s custom designing her gown with them.”

“Shouldn’t Catelyn and Lysa be here?” Melisandre looked around, trying not to gag at all of the frills and tulle.

“Catelyn said that Robb has whooping cough and her family is coming to visit any day now and there’s no way she can fly down to King’s Landing just to try on a dress. And Cersei told me not to bother inviting Lysa because she’ll do as she’s told and like it.”

Melisandre eyed the dresses dubiously. 

“It’s all set,” Cersei said briskly. “I’ve instructed them to bring out every shade of pink they have.”

Melisandre stared at her.

“Er pink, Cersei?” Brienne asked hesitantly. “Three of your four bridesmaids are redheads and two of Robert’s groomsmen... you don’t think—“

“Oh it’ll clash hideously,” Cersei agreed blithely. “Which is perfect, I really want to accentuate the difference in attractiveness between everyone else and me. I’m thinking pink flowers as well, just to make sure you all blend into the background in photos. Don’t look so glum! At least it’ll bring out the roses in your cheeks. Yours too Melisandre. You both have skin that’s so...”

“Alabaster?” Melisandre offered with a shade of snark.

“Corpse-like,” Cersei continued. “Excuse me miss? I’ve narrowed it down to these seven shades.”

“But,” Brienne shot a nervous look at Melisandre. Melisandre only shrugged indifferently. She had spent a lifetime wearing various shades of red and was used to things clashing with her hair. Plus she refused to involve herself in this enterprise more than she absolutely had to. But if Cersei thought she was wearing anything with frills, she had another thing coming. Difference in attractiveness? Melisandre was fairly deft with a needle. They would see who would be blending into the background.

“Of course you’ll have to wear flats. Melisandre stand up for a second?”

Melisandre stood.

“I’m wearing three inch, so nothing higher than one inch for you, dear.”

She made a mental note to wear the tallest heels she could find.

“Excuse me, Susayn, was it? I’m think a mermaid dress with lots of frills. Oh and plenty of tulle at the bottom. What do you have like that?”

Melisandre shot a look at Brienne, who had the decency to blush.

The situation did not approve once the dresses arrived. Cersei insisted Melisandre try on them all, claiming that Brienne’s figure was much too unique for her to visualize what the others would look like wearing off the rack. 

Melisandre stood, chin lifted haughtily, in one monstrous pink confection after another, as Cersei prowled around her, determined to find ways to make the dress ever more awful.

It was nearly ten o’clock at night before they were done, and both Melisandre and Brienne’s stomachs were growling loudly.

“Time for a slice before you head back to Oldtown?” Melisandre asked Brienne, pointedly ignoring Cersei.

“Pizza? Heavens, you must work out a lot,” Cersei smiled, putting her hand on Brienne’s arm. “Better to skip dinner tonight I think, there’s so much sugar in apple cider as it is.”

Brienne looked like a childhood friend had died.

“Well if you change your mind about anything,” Melisandre arched an eyebrow to encompass every terrible life decision that had led Brienne to this point, “do let me know.”

Brienne swallowed. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she said weakly.

“See, she’s fine,” Cersei cooed. Melisandre considered whether Stannis and Jaime weren’t on to something.

“You were out late,” Stannis eyed her as she let herself into their flat. It was just where Stormlands gave way to downtown King’s Landing, which let Stannis drop in on Renly when his parents had been away for exceptionally long periods. The style was sleek modern, all clean lines and impeccably clean. It was all very Stannis, except for the artwork which was all very her. Poor dear didn’t really understand that you couldn’t have too much red.

“It was ghastly,” Melisandre said tiredly, balancing a large pizza box, of which she’d already managed to devour half. “What’s up with you?”

“Robert hasn’t responded to my Venmo request,” Stannis huffed, helping her with her jacket and then taking the box from her so she could collapse dramatically across the sofa. She did, and then watched fondly as he carefully put the pizza down and then hung her jacket on their rack just so. She reminded herself that she really should be annoyed with him—after the whole Robert’s Rebellion debacle, he had PROMISED her no more secrets—but it was hard to be annoyed as he rehung the jacket when it didn’t fall exactly right.

“Oh leave it,” Melisandre as he prepared to give it a third go. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s not,” Stannis scowled at the jacket.

“You’re perfect then,” Melisandre stretched out on the couch. “Speaking of Robert, anything you want to tell me?”

“I know you said not to send the Venmo request, but it’s the principle of the thing! He can’t just expect that I’ll drop everything and run to help him clean up his messes! I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, I can’t just fuck off to bail my brother out of whatever disaster he’s created! And now I’ve got Cersei breathing down my neck to sign off on this trust agreement for that stupid charity she’s creating, and I need a speech for the shareholder’s presentation on Friday and I’m not remotely close to prepared, and...”

Melisandre stuck a piece of pizza in his mouth. Stannis glared at her as he chewed mechanically and then gulped.

“Anything else,” she toyed with the collar of his dress shirt, unbuttoning the top button. 

“That seems like a lot,” he said doubtfully, distracted by her hands which were continue to unbutton.

“I just thought,” Melisandre breathed against his ear, her lips brushing the shell. Stannis shivered and she pressed a kiss against his neck. “That there might be...” she began to unbuckle his belt, “... something new.”

“Nothing new,” Stannis managed, his hands falling to her hips. She pushed him off playfully, even as she slipped the belt out of his pants and tossed it on the couch.

“You’re sure?” She asked coyly, sliding the pants off him. They hit the ground in a puddle. Stannis was staring at her hungrily.

“Well?” She pushed him lightly back into an arm chair and then stood over him, starting to take off her own top.

“Well what?” Stannis asked, voice dazed. She dropped the top, leaned forward. Automatically he reached to unclasp her bra and again she pushed him off.

“Nothing you want to tell me?” She purred.

“Nothing,” Stannis rasped.

Melisandre blinked. She pushed herself back upright and retrieved her top. 

“Mel?” Stannis looked bewildered. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to watch television and then I’m going to bed,” Melisandre said. 

“Um, did I do something?”

“Apparently nothing at all,” Melisandre snarked.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Don’t be silly. How could I be mad at you when you’ve done nothing?” She grabbed the pizza box.

“Wait!” Stannis called, as she opened the door of their bedroom. She smiled, but carefully wiped the expression back to neutral before she turned to him.

“Can I have another slice of pizza?”

The entire apartment reverberated with the force of the door slam.

Chapter 9 – Ned

It had been a long night, punctuated by Robb’s hacking cough, and when his one year old son woke up at day break, Ned had the peculiar sensation that he had never actually fallen asleep. He was across the room to the crib before Catelyn had fully woken, lifting Robb into his arms. 

“There there little man,” Ned whispered, and Rob gurgled at him, the soft morning light catching the blue of Robb’s eyes. Catelyn’s eyes, and Ned had to give him a quick kiss on the forehead because it was constantly hitting him all over again, how much he loved his son.

Robb was one now, had followed almost nine months to the day after his and Catelyn’s marriage. And every day he became a little more of a person, a little closer to walking and talking, a little closer to growing up. Ned kissed him again, and then wandered into the kitchen with him to heat up some formula. Catelyn had planned to breast feed until about eighteen months, but was not so secretly hoping that Robb would lose interest sooner. To that end, they were mixing in formula, especially in the morning and at night, and Catelyn deserved to savor her sleep a little longer.

Ned glanced briefly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. His brownish-red hair was rumpled and he badly needed a shave. There were dark circles under his eyes like bruises. Abruptly, he turned to go back to the kitchenette and managed to bonk Robb’s head on the door. Robb immediately started to wail.

“I’m sorry!” Ned rubbed his head. “Daddy didn’t mean it, Daddy’s sorry.” Inwardly he cursed this awful graduate student housing for making such tiny spaces and having no conception of what family living entailed. Both he and Cat were graduate students at Winterfell—Cat in Medieval Literature and Ned in Westerosi History—and trying to study and grade papers and write their theses and raise a child in an oversized closet was driving them both slightly mad.

If that didn’t make things worse, Catelyn’s entire family was coming this weekend as a prelude to the annual two-week Tully family summer holiday. He didn’t know where they were all going to fit. He tested the temperature of the formula and then put it into the sippy cup for Robb. Robb stopped crying and began working at it with greedy sips.

Honestly, Robert’s invitation/command/desperate cry for help couldn’t have come at a better time. If they blew up an air mattress in the nursery, Catelyn and Lysa could sleep there. Edmure could sleep on the couch. Hoster could sleep in the master bedroom. Plus that got him out of the dorm. It was no secret that Hoster was deeply disappointed in Cat’s marriage. He had always liked Ned’s brother Brandon better, and had been convinced that their relationship was just puppy love that would run its course. When it hadn’t—when Ned had proposed their senior year, and Cat, crying and laughing through her tears had said yes—Hoster Tully had been furious. Ned didn’t have the ambition of his older brother, the earning potential, the connections. If Cat married him, she would just be some professor’s wife. Cat knew that of course. She just didn’t care.

Ned knew that Cat felt the estrangement with her family keenly. This visit, ostensibly to see little Robb and for Catelyn and Robb to join them on the Tully family vacation, was their chance at reconciliation, a chance at putting the past behind them. Ned knew that Cat hoped her father would thaw in Robb’s presence, would be so pleased with his grandson that he might unbend over her less than strategic marriage. Ned also knew that his presence was a hindrance in that effort.

Robb was already asleep again in his arms when Ned made his way back to the master bedroom and put him in his daybed. He climbed back into bed, pausing to brush the hair out of his sleeping wife’s face. Softly illuminated in the morning light, Catelyn Tully was as beautiful as the day he’d married her.

“Mmm,” she shifted in the bed, rolling toward him. “Is it time to get up already?”

“I think we have a minute or two longer,” Ned whispered, his voice rough with sleep still.

When he had tentatively brought up Robert’s request that he visit as soon as possible, Catelyn had been more than supportive. She would never deliberately hide him from her father, but if he happened to be gone while Hoster happened to be there... Ned wasn’t sure who would be more relieved, himself, Cat or Hoster.

Not to mention, he had been feeling rather guilty that he wasn’t there to celebrate with Robert. He could still remember Robert’s delight when they had told him about Robb—he’d been playing for Sunspear then and had driven all the way up to take Ned and Cat out to celebrate at Moondoor, driving through the night to surprise them in the Vale the very next day. Now it had been ten days, ten days since his best friend had found out he was going to be a father AND gotten engaged—and Ned was still watching his wife sleep and wondering if he shouldn’t just stay here and squeeze in three last days with his family, Hoster be damned.

As if sensing his thoughts, little Robb started to cry again, this time punctuated by the cough that Ned had grown to dread.

“Well it was nice while it lasted,” Cat yawned, and rolled out of bed to collect him.

“Mmm,” Ned said noncommittally.

“What are you thinking about so hard this early in the morning,” Cat teased as she brought Robb back to their bed and cuddled against Ned’s shoulder.

“Robert’s wedding. And flying to Oldtown, I guess,” Ned admitted. “Are you sure you won’t need me here?”

Catelyn rolled her eyes.

“You know Lysa is obsessed with babies. She’ll take care of Robb the entire time, I’ll be lucky if I even get to see him. And with Daddy and Edmure... I’m not so sure your presence will be much of a help,” she smiled wanly.

“I never meant to take you from your family,” Ned frowned, taking her hand.

“You haven’t,” Catelyn squeezed back. “As you can see, they are very much still in the picture. I haven’t regretted our marriage for a moment, and Daddy can accept that fact or not. I just hate how much stress it’s put on you, when you’ve done nothing but love me. Knowing that you’re off in Oldtown goofing around with Robert instead of listening to my father’s snide comments about you and Brandon makes me happy. Promise me you’ll have fun Ned? I want to think about you having fun while I’m on this horrendous family vacation.”

“I’ll try,” Ned said doubtfully. It would be his first nights apart from Cat and Robb since Robb had been born.

Catelyn put a hand on her hip.

“Do better than try,” she scolded. “Don’t make me take Cersei up on her offer to relocate all of us to the Citadel.”

Ned winced at the mention of Robert’s on and off again girlfriend turned baby mama turned fiancée.

“I promise,” he sighed, a doleful sound completely at odds with the sentiment expressed.

“Such enthusiasm,” Catelyn had to laugh. “Well who knows, maybe some fun will sneak up on you.”

And for an afternoon it seemed like Catelyn Tully Stark had been right. He got off the plane to a markedly warmer climate, a sunny afternoon and a high school friend leaning against a beat up sedan.

“Did Robert make you pick me up?” Ned groaned.  “I’m so sorry, I could have totally gotten a taxi.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t send flowers and a mariachi band,” Thoros Asshai laughed.

Ned had only gotten to know him senior year of high school through Robert (he had an anti-authoritarian streak that made Ned a little nervous sometimes and meant the two of them would have been unlikely to really bond one on one) but he was easy going and good natured, and after working for two years with exclusively high strung academic types, it was nice to talk sports and commiserate about Cersei’s crazy plans to get publicity for the wedding and hear about Robert’s latest misadventures.

By the time Thoros dropped Ned off at Robert’s apartment, with the assurance that Robert should be home from practice within an hour or two, Ned was feeling almost relaxed. He had time to get unpacked, take a shower, call Cat... the elevator whooshed open and there was Jaime Lannister, looking up in surprise.

Ned froze. Jaime’s surprise melted from bewilderment to scorn with a heaping side of malice in the shade of an instant.

“I should have known you would eventually turn up. I don’t suppose you’re here to confess your undying love for Robert and beg him to call off the wedding?” Jaime arched an eyebrow. Ned was at a loss for words, but a response did not really seem to be required.

“Pity, that would have made my life easier. Well Robert’s bed is over there. I assume you’d prefer sleeping with him over a murderer,” Jaime said lightly, before walking past, his shoulder hitting Ned’s in the process. Then the elevator doors whooshed closed again, and Ned dropped his bags really wishing he’d stayed up north with Cat.

The worst part about it was that Ned had nobody to blame but himself. He and Jaime Lannister had never gotten along particularly well—he found Jaime to be rude and sarcastic, and he suspected that Jaime found him annoying and dull. But they had more or less co-existed without incident until the end of senior year, when the mayor had gone mad and tried to burn the city down.

Ned had helped though! He and Robert had corralled the police and gotten them to the mayor’s house where he had taken Jaime hostage. And when they finally broke the door down, Ned had only said the first thing that popped into his head—“you shot him in the back”—okay was it kind or tactful, no, but it was a factually accurate description of the scene, he was a high schooler looking at a dead body, what exactly was the right thing to say?! And then the police body cam video had leaked and Ned’s accusation had become immortalized as incontrovertible fact and Jaime had never forgiven him.

Ned groaned and slumped on Robert’s bed. And now Jaime Lannister was going to be Robert’s brother-in-law. They were literally sleeping under the same roof! Jaime hated him and Ned was a terrible person and Robert was going to be so disappointed that they couldn’t get along and absolutely everything was a complete disaster.

“Everything is going exactly according to plan!” Robert beamed in the car on the way to dinner.

“Wait what?” Ned blinked. “Jaime looked like he was about to murder me! I mean, not that I actually think he does that, of course, except for that one time and I’m sure it was self-defense but...” Ned realized he was babbling and shut his mouth. Fuck, see, this was why he shouldn’t be accountable for things he said when he was nervous! 

“I know!” Robert gave him a one armed hug and the car swerved. Ned shut his eyes as they narrowly missed oncoming traffic.

“Jaime’s trying to sabotage the wedding. Or he will. Or he might. He’s plotting something Ned, I know he is,” Robert told him.

“Robert, we’ve talked about you reading comic books before bed time,” Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. “And how the entire world doesn’t actually run on vast conspiracy theories?!“

“Except for that time that Rhaegar was murdered by his father and then it was covered up as a political assassination gone wrong? And that other time that Aerys tried to destroy the city with wildfire?” 

“Yes except for those two times which were actually one time because they were connected,” Ned sighed.

“And I totally called it and nobody believed me?!” 

“Actually you managed to convince like a weirdly high number of people. All things considering.”

“Whatever! The point is that this isn’t a conspiracy because Jaime told me to my face!” Robert huffed.

Ned massaged his temples.

“What did he say exactly?”

“You’re not good enough for my sister, you’ll never be good enough for my sister and this wedding is happening over my dead body.”

Okay, well that was a little difficult to misconstrue.

“And I can’t have anything go wrong! Cersei said if I did anything to fuck with her Vogue coverage she would call off the wedding!” Robert groaned as they sat down at the table for dinner and buried his head in his arms.

“Hey it’s going to be okay,” Ned frantically summoned the waiter. “Everything will look better once we’ve had a couple beers, you’ll see.”

“Maybe,” Ned said thoughtfully on his fourth beer and their third bar, “maybe he means he has a terminal health condition and won’t survive until the wedding.”

Robert groaned.

“If only. Appreciate the positive thinking Neddy. Also how long has it been since you were out drinking?”

Ned blinked at the beer in his hand.

“Umm definitely before Robb was born. And then we were so busy with classes... maybe the wedding?”

“Hmmm,” Robert yoinked the beer from him and drained it himself. “Maybe we should let me do the thinking.”

Ned blinked at his now empty hand.

“Okay,” he said amiably. “What do you want me to do?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Robert grinned. “Almost nothing. I just want you to stick to Lannister like glue. It’s perfect! He hates your guts! He’ll be so freaked out that he won’t be able to focus at all!”

“I don’t want him to hate me,” Ned said plaintively. “I really think if we could spend some time together he would understand how sorry I am about what happened.”

“That’s the spirit!” Robert clapped him on the back.

It was that thought that kept Ned cheerful through his fifth and sixth beer and the taxi home. When the doors whooshed open at three in the morning and they staggered back into Robert’s apartment, Ned was even inspired to wander over to the guest bed.

“Jaime,” he whispered loudly. The lump under the covers twitched. Ned sat down heavily on the bed next to him and prodded him a couple times.

“Jaime, I want you to know—“ he hiccuped, “how awful I feel about what I said that day with Aerys—“ this one was more of a burp, “I’ve never doubted that it was self defense, I’m sorry it seemed like I didn’t, I—“ woah like a really BIG burp, “I just think we should start over you know? Like a blank—“

His entire stomach rebelled and he threw up the contents of his dinner on to Jaime’s bed.

[marcusssanderson]

7 Ways to Set Yourself Up for Happiness

There’s NO secret on how to be happy. But there are ways to set yourself up for happiness everyday.

If you’re reading this, you are literate and likely have the freedom to choose what you read. Start there. Thank a teacher and environment that allowed this.

Below are small ways to create happiness in your life each day.

  7 Surefire Ways on How To Be Happy

1) Notice what is good and amazing within and around you right now.

If you slept in a bed or place of your choosing last night, that’s noteworthy. Not everyone in the world has that pleasure.

Are you thinking about what you want for breakfast or dinner today? Are these choices easily accessible to you? Wow! Look at how amazing your life is already!

Do you have an older relative or friend you could visit, get to know better, and learn about their lives or your family history? I promise you that you’ll wish you did when they are gone.

Avoid letting the news and negative people distract you from your good. Make a practice of looking for what’s good and amazing within and around you. Express gratitude for it.

It’s the little things that we too often take for granted that ultimately teach us how to be happy.

2) Insist on doing what gives you inner joy, not just short-term gratification.

Resist the urge to think “I’ll be happy when I get this or that material thing” OR “earn this or that income.”

Yes, basic comforts are essential and we count on our income to get them. But external possessions only give temporary pleasure.

Avoid settling for activities that drain your joy or compromise your values. You may have held many jobs as you explored career choices, for example. But for the sake of your happiness, choose the ones that fill you with joy and give you a sense of accomplishment.

As one of the world’s top floral designers demonstrated how to create an elegant upscale design at a flower show, he shared a few details about his life with the audience.

His father was a dentist who insisted that he follow the family business and become a dentist too, rather than focus on his love of gardening. So he followed his father’s advice and became a successful dentist.

But while he enjoyed his lucrative career in dentistry, he decided to develop his life-long love of flowers and plants as well. He developed floral design skills that are so unique and stunning that he was invited into an elite group of top international designers whose arrangements can be seen in corporate spaces and elegant events.

You don’t have to choose. You can enjoy more than one endeavor. The days of staying on one job for an entire lifetime are over. Perhaps you’ve made a satisfactory income in one career but are now ready to reinvent yourself.

Some people turn hobbies into new careers. If you’ve stayed fit all your life, for example, you may find joy in offering fitness training for seniors.

Or as part of our shared economy, you can earn money by renting all or part of your home through services like AirBnB. If you’ve always loved to drive, you may find joy getting paid to drive for services like Uber or Lyft.

Happiness is the by-product of finding the gift(s) we came to this world to share. How to be happy means creating a life of wholeness around it. Once you discover this, you will be able to love yourself with all your human imperfections and experience a joyful life.

3) Focus on what YOU want, not what you don’t want. 

“Everything in the universe is within you. Ask all from yourself.” – Rumi

Avoid griping about the circumstances around you. Think deeply instead about what you DO want in your life. Then take small steps daily toward those things, even if at first it means​ just making a list of your ideal life OR creating a vision board of the situations you believe will bring you joy.

When you find your mind drifting to what you don’t have or want, let those pass and replace them with what you want.

Did you ever long for a bike, doll, or other toys as a kid? That’s probably all you could think about. Right? You drove your parents nuts with non-stop requests.

Perhaps you even pressed your nose against the store display window imagining yourself wheezing down the street on that bike or dressing your doll.

Let your imaginations go wild like you did as a kid. See yourself enjoying the setting and the people you want in your life. Feel the emotions and excitement.

Avoid making an elaborate plan. Focusing and believing is your job. The plan will unfold as your focus and belief get stronger.

4) Say “yes” to yourself, and “no” to others.

Catch your breath! I’m not suggesting you turn into a Negative Nelly. It’s just that putting others’ needs before yours and neglecting yourself makes you resentful. It chips away at your self-esteem.

Think about the last time you loaned money to your cousin who never calls except to borrow money. Or remember the time your nomadic friend asked to spend the weekend on your couch until he got his own place and it turned into months. Or the time you cancelled very special plans to cover for a coworker who wanted time off to take care of her very special plans. You got annoyed and upset when you realized you’d been used again, right?

Don’t waste energy feeling bad for falling victim to manipulative people. We’ve all been there. Just vow to say “NO” next time when that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach signals you’re about to be had.

Just say no. Keep it brief, don’t apologize and don’t explain. If you can’t resist saying something after no, say very pleasantly, “It’s not a good time for me” OR “I have a previous commitment.” Then stop talking.

Just thinking about it makes you feel better already, doesn’t it? It’s okay to say yes when doing so gives you joy and your needs are being met and respected, of course. In these situations, you empower yourself and increase your happiness.

5) Surround yourself with people who have accomplished and experienced what you want in your life, then create your own version of you.

“Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” – Rumi

You can’t control the family you were born into, nor can you choose your coworkers. Y​ou can, however, limit contact with anyone who isn’t whole and who seeks to tear people down instead of build them up.

Surround yourself with people who are seeking to grow, learn, and contribute to the world in positive ways. You will recognize these people because they encourage, support, and uplift other people’s dreams and goals.

Notice the self-care strategies they practice. Observe how they handle challenging situations. Ask for their advice or help on how to be happy.

While you can learn from others, however, you can’t be them. Chart your own path. Be willing to risk doing things a little differently. You will make some mistakes along the way but you will grow in the process.

6) Look for the lessons in your failures, setbacks, and hardship.

Did you think happiness was the absence of sadness, mistakes, and adversity?

Sorry. Part of being human is experiencing lows and highs in life. As a matter of fact, even labeling something as low or high, good or bad, is up to us.

Instead of running from challenges or feeling like a victim, face them head on. Work through them, and be grateful for the resilience you built as a result.

Some things we first see as failure may have hidden opportunities, or be a blessing in disguise.

When I was driving over 37 miles to a teaching position, I sought to cut down my commuting time by applying for a new position at school only 9 miles from my house. When I was not hired, I was very disappointed.

Sometime later, however, I was relieved I didn’t get that job when I learned that the school was charged with corruption, lost its accreditation, became ineligible for public funding, and is being run by another district.

Sometimes, rejection is protection from an unfortunate outcome you couldn’t foresee.

Always look for what you can learn as you go through challenging experiences. This builds your self-confidence in handling future events, and increases your love of yourself.

7) Do your best, but give up on perfection.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Success and happiness are the result of small, uncertain steps forward. It is NOT based on waiting until everything is clear or perfect.

Perfection is an illusion that will stifle us. The perfect images of models and happy, wealthy families we see in the media are doctored to persuade us to buy products, and are far from reality. As a matter of fact, our imperfections and flaws are part of our uniqueness.

Fred Astaire, film star, singer, and one of the greatest dancers of all time, once said that​ if you make the same mistake enough times, it becomes your style. Just as a flaw can become an asset, Astaire’s dance “mistakes” became the signature style for which he is still remembered.

“Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.” ― Leonard Cohen

Follow the seven suggestions shared here and enjoy how you’ve set yourself up on how to be happy.

The post 7 Ways to Set Yourself Up for Happiness appeared first on Everyday Power Blog.