#i felt like it should be RARE for some reason abut then I got to thinking

[yourmidnightlover]

pain reliever

TW: descriptive talk abt period cramps ig?, talk abt cysts, mutual pining lol

Summary: in which spencer and Y/N love each other but refuse to tell each other. Y/N's having major period pain, the effect of a cyst, and spencer comes over to comfort her.

WC: 3,744

A/N - this one’s a bit of a rollercoaster. it has three different POV’s so just bear with me please!

masterlist

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don't get me wrong, working at the BAU is amazing and definitely has it's perks, but it also has several downsides too. one of those pesky little downsides includes the amount of time off we have.

meaning we don't have much downtime.

this was one of the rare occasions when we were able to have two weeks off, the result of a very strenuous case.

this time was so exciting, spencer and i planned to go out to a movie he'd been dying to see. nobody else wanted to go with him and were being absolute jerks about it, so i automatically stepped up to go with him.

i went to bed the night before we were supposed to go out after showering. i was actually excited to be able to spend some time with him.

i couldn't help but begin to have feelings for him soon after i joined the team. i mean, who would be able to resist those amazing curls, the sweet smile, kind spirit, not to even mention how smart he is.

he didn't know that, of course. and i planned for him to never know. i was able to keep it a secret for 5 and a half years, and i didn't plan on stopping that streak anytime soon. i didn't want to ruin the friendship i had with him by confessing my undying love for him only to confirm my fears of it being unrequited.

i woke up groaning, the effect of an intense pain on my neck, back, and uterus. I almost immediately knew what that meant, sadly.  

i ran to the bathroom, only to find my suspicions confirmed. my period has always been irregular but about a year ago, i started getting terrible cramps when it wasn't anywhere close to the time for my period.

i went to the doctor to find out a cyst had grown on my left ovary so i started taking birth control per my doctor's request. the only thing about the birth control i was on was that it made me sick when i was on the green pill, so i had to stop taking it.

not taking it meant my period was always a surprise. but hey... at least i wasn't pregnant i guess.

when i took the birth control, it also lessened the cramps. not taking it also brought them back. sometimes not even the extra strength mydol was able to subside the terrible cramps that would ripple throughout my body.

those cramps meant that i needed to cancel my plans with spencer. i could only hope he wouldn't take it as me not wanting to spend time with him.

although, i certainly didn't want him to see me like this.

i decided i would take a shower in attempt to wash the dirty feeling off of my body. I could just call him after i got out and tell him i have a bug or something.

i took my time washing myself, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles. cysts normally only affect the uterus area and cause discomfort at most times, but it always becomes severely worse during that time of the month.

luckily, my doctors helped create an appointment for a procedure to remove the cyst. the only catch being that the appointment is still 6 months away.

i finished showering and wrapped a towel around my body before popping two mydol's in my mouth and swallowing. i grabbed my cell and quickly dialed spencer's name.

"Y/N! hi. what's up?" he asked sweetly. i could hear the excitement in his voice.

"hey, spence," i started, already feeling terrible for the sad news. "i won't be able to go out today. i really, really wish i could. i came down with something and don't think i'm well enough to go out. i'm so sorry," i murmured, already regretted having to cancel.

"oh... that's okay. are you alright? do you need me to take you to the doctor?" he asked all worried. i giggled softly.

"no, that's alright, spence. thank you though. i think i'm probably just gonna get some house work done in the meantime," i declared with a sigh.

"you're planning on cleaning when you're sick? another reason to never doubt the strength of a woman, i suppose," he quipped, another laugh erupting from my chest, this one being louder.

"that, spencer reid, is why you're my best friend," i said with a smile.

"that and the fact that you actually listen to my incessant babbling and rambles," he remarked.

"i actually happen to enjoy those rambles, doctor. don't sell yourself short," I demanded in a sweet tone.

"thank you, Y/N. you should get some rest. don't overexert yourself," he said sweetly. "in all the years i've known you you've only been sick a number of times, so i would imagine you really don't feel too well," he declared. "goodbye."

"goodbye, spencer. s-sorry again," I stammered out.

I hung up the phone before actually getting dressed in some proper underwear. I threw on some loose shorts and skipped putting a bra on, my boobs were really sore, opting for just throwing a tank top on.

i started with doing the dishes from last night. the medicine was kind of kicking in, not fully taking the stabbing pain away but lessening it enough to where it would be manageable.

once the dishes were done i started doing the laundry, taking breaks in-between loads. during the breaks i made sure to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated.

part of me was debating going to the store to pick up some dark chocolate, ice cream, kale chips, and some chinese, but i decided against it.

i'm sure if i went out i would immediately regret it and have the pain 10x worse, just because that's my luck. so, suffering alone it was.

once i finished all of the laundry, i sat down on the couch. i had been going for about three hours, and definitely felt the toll it was taking on my body.

i turned on FRIENDS and grabbed a heating pad from a bin in my living room. i placed the pad on my upper back and groaned at the heat.

before i knew it, i was dead asleep.

SPENCER'S POV

i didn't buy it.

she never gets sick, and when she does it's like she's dying. she doesn't laugh when she's sick, and her voice wasn't as nasally.

don't get me wrong, something was obviously wrong with her, but she wasn't sick sick. maybe another sick.

what else would cause her to cancel plans with me? she's never done that before.

although, there was one time where she mentioned her needing to go to the doctor for a consult about a cyst. maybe it was the cyst?

wait... her uterus. the cyst was on her uterus.

we were on a case a couple months back, and this unsub was hard to track down. when we managed to figure out where he was, she ended up having to chase him down. she had to run a mile for at least 7 minutes before actually getting him. he was only 25 and was an exercise fanatic.

after catching the guy and bringing him in she had a hard time hiding her discomfort. even at the station, abut an hour later, she was still grabbing her lower stomach in pain. when i asked her what was wrong she told me about the cyst and where it was.

although, the cyst never really affected her energy level since then. she was able to go out on cases and perform perfectly fine.

the only thing that it could've been would be her- ohhh!!

oh...

i should get her something. food. she loves food.

she's probably in a lot of pain right now because of that. she shouldn't have to handle that pain 24/7. she was so sweet, and caring, and generous, and loving, and undeserving of any sort of discomfort.

to be honest, i've had the largest crush on her since after she joined the BAU. who wouldn't?

she's such an amazing person. just being around her lightens my mood. not to mention her beauty. don't get me wrong, i absolutely love her mind and everything about her personality, but the beauty she beholds is beyond anything i've ever encountered. then again, maybe the feelings i have for her boost that beauty in my eyes.

it was that beauty that kept me quiet. why would someone with beauty as ethereal as hers even look at a guy like me? it's like she's not meant for this world. she's too good for this world.

i'm in too deep now to share my feelings. i would do anything to keep her light in my life, even if that meant keeping all my love for her bottled up.

my heart ached at the thought of her in pain that i can't help her subside. the least i could do is be there for her.

i quickly grabbed my keys- yes, that's right. i'm driving for her. what kind of man am i?- and headed out of my apartment.

i went to the grocery store and picked up some of her favorites, dark chocolate, mint chip ice cream, kale chips, and... chinese. she loves chinese, so surely that's what she's craving. if she doesn't want it i would gladly get her whatever it is she does want.

i would give her the entire world if i could.

after picking the items up, i made my way to her place and pulled her key out of my pocket after she didn't answer my knock the first couple times. We had both decided to give each other a copy of our keys for safety purposes, result of me becoming the designated driver after a girl's night out gone wrong.

long story short, all the girls left with someone, leaving Y/N stranded at a heavily populated bar. if the girls weren't drunk when they left then i know i would've scolded them for leaving her in such danger. hell, they were FBI agents and left a friend who wasn't in her right mind alone in the middle of the night.

the only reason i was able to pick her up was because she drunkingly called me, slurring her words together. that's a story for another time.

i held the bags in one hand and the chinese food under my arm while i unlocked the door and quitely walked in. i saw her laying down on the couch, looking so peaceful.

SECOND PERSON

spencer looked at you as you slept. he noticed the heating pad laying on your back as your face was partially smushed from the couch. he'd never seen anything so adorable.

he pushed a strand of hair out of your face as he gently tapped your shoulders to wake you. you squinted at him in confusion for a second before you finally spoke.

"spencer? wh-what're you doing here?" you questioned him in disbelief.

you had no idea why he was here. you had told him you couldn't go out, right?

"me being the amazing profiler i am figured out what was actually wrong," he gloated. "i brought your favorite snacks and came with chinese food. if you want something else i could always go back out and-"

"did you drive?" you squeaked.

"why wouldn't i? you're in pain right now, that's the least i could do to somehow help you," he gushed.

you felt tears pricking your eyes at his confession. how could someone be so selfless and kind as to put themselves though something they hate doing for you?

"hey-hey, what is it?" he worriedly questioned.

"i-it's just... th-that's so sweet, and nice, and you hate driving, and you're such an amazing person, and i don't deserve you," you sniffled out, the tears flowing past my eyes as you sat up on the couch to give him a place to sit.

He grabbed the heating pad that fell off your back and set it on the coffee table before wiping your tears. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as you lightly cried into his shirt for a few minutes before pulling back.

"sorry about your shirt," you whined.

"don't worry about it. and i truly think it's me who doesn't deserve you, Y/N," he said softly. "now, let's dig into the food. i'm actually hungry right now, i had to smell it the entire way here and it's been taunting me ever since," he said seriously, eliciting another laugh out of you. "oh! there she is! i love hearing your laugh," he smiled.

"oh, you're just saying that," you waved him off as he feigned offense with a loud gasp.

"are you accusing me of lying, Y/N? i'm terribly offended," he shot his hand over his heart in an attempt to mock pain as he groaned.

"i would never, spencie," you taunted with a smirk before getting an actual cramp.

your face contorted slightly in pain as you bent over in an attempt to ease the discomfort. it felt like someone was stabbing your entire lower stomach and punching you all at once. the pain and sudden movement made your head begin to throb intensely, so you didn't know where to put your hands. your stomach or head? you chose stomach.

spencer felt horrible as he watched you go through such pain.

"what hurts, Y/N/N? let me help you," spencer pleaded.

"head. really bad," you groaned.

he got behind you as his hands found your temples and began massaging them gently, being able to subside the pain pulsing in your head. while your stomach still hurt, the pain became bearable again, allowing you to sit up and face spencer. he saw that your eyes were full of tears once again and his arms flew around you.

he hated that you had to go through that... every month too? your pain tolerance has always been high, something spencer learned after you got shot in the thigh and didn't even shed a tear, so he knew the fact that tears were in your eyes had meant the pain had to be terrible.

"food?" he said softly, you nodded eagerly, still being wary of the headache.

he went into your kitchen and put away the ice cream, chocolate, and kale chips before getting the chinese. he grabbed you a water bottle from your fridge before exiting the kitchen and sitting beside you on the couch.

"why didn't you tell me they were this bad?" spencer wondered.

"i didn't want you to worry, or see me like this," you shrugged.

it was true, you hated anyone seeing you hurt or weak. you prided yourself on being tough and strong enough to withstand most things. the fact that a measly monthly period was breaking you hurt your ego more than you'd like to admit.

for spencer, he didn't care. the only thing he wanted to do was make sure you were okay and be there for you when you weren't. he was determined to help you through this time. it made him feel... important. he enjoyed caring for others as it gave him a sense of purpose.

"Y/N, i don't care what state you're in. i always enjoy seeing you. and i'm always here to help you. asking for help makes you stronger than you'd think," he soothed you.

one thing you loved about him was that he always had a way with words. he was able to make you feel safe in the most dangerous situations, calm in the most chaotic, comfortable in the most destitute, and all with words.

you ate your food rather quickly after realizing you hadn't eaten all day. you were unashamed of eating that much, too. you'd become so comfortable with him over the years that you didn't feel embarrassed over something as routine as eating as you normally would with others.

after spencer finished eating he insisted on cleaning up rather than you do it yourself.

and to think, you thought you couldn't fall deeper in love with the man and here you were, falling deeper the longer he stayed.

little did you know that spencer was already madly in love with you.

he came back and sat beside you gently, looking at you with the utmost adoration that you couldn't see since you were back to being doubled over in pain.

"let's get you laid down, hmm?" spencer suggested as he gently rubbed your back.

"mhmm," you agreed, sitting up far too quickly. your back shot out in pain as you tried to straighten out, bringing a groan to your lips and causing you to twist your torso in an attempt to avoid any more hurt. "i guess i can just stay here," you said, resuming the doubled-over position.

spencer wanted to cry himself seeing you so defeated. you were the most strong-willed person he knew and here you were, giving up on something. he wouldn't let that happen.

"you'll be more comfortable in the bed. i'll carry you since you can't get up, okay?" spencer suggested.

you hummed in defeat as he swiftly scooped you up, leaving your body folded up as you swung your arms around his neck. he laid you down on the bed gently as you groaned at your back stretching out.

"turn over on your stomach," spencer ordered.

"wh-what? why?" you wondered.

"you'll see when you do it, ms. stubborn-pants," he teased.

you groaned and flopped onto your stomach, reaching to cuddle the pillow your head was resting on. spencer secretly wished he was that pillow.

his hands fell onto your back, applying light pressure right between your shoulder blades.

"ohh, this is what you were gonna do," you hummed in content as his hands continued to work their magic. he gathered your hair and pulled it to the side as he worked his way up to your neck. "ugh that feels amazing, spence," you groaned.

spencer huffed a laugh at your enthusiasm, him being happy that he can subside some of your pain. if doing something as simple as giving you a massage made you happy, he was happy.

spencer worked his hands back down to your shoulders and worked out nearly every single knot on your back. you felt your breathing slow from the relaxation and didn't even realize how good of a distraction your hands on her body were. if only you could massage my boobs, you thought with a laugh.

"umm... what?" spencer questioned.

"hmm?" you questioned, suddenly realizing that you had said that out loud. "i didn't say anything," you said, your voice raising an octave as you spoke.

spencer knew what he had heard, but decided to drop it to make you more comfortable.

"right, sorry," he said with a smile. maybe you did have feelings for him.

he continued the massage and noticed you were asleep after about ten more minutes. He sighed as he watched your hair move with each breath you took. he relished in the fact that he helped you achieve something, that he was useful for something.

"god, i love you so much," he whispered. "i love you so much, i don't even think i could tell you how much i truly love you."

you were awake. you heard him. you heard every word. you were in that weird between stage when you weren't really asleep, but you weren't necessarily awake either.

"i love you too, spencer," you spoke.

spencer shot up at your words, realization hitting him as you stirred in what he assumed was your sleep. you rolled over onto your back and looked into his eyes.

"i love you so, so much, spence," you smiled, noticing the shocked look on his face.

"y-you do?" he babbled.

"of course i do. how could i not?" you quipped, noticing his utter nervousness.

"i-i can't believe it. you love me?"

"how many times do i have to say it? i love you, spencer reid. i love you," you said as the shocked expression on his face turned into one of pure happiness and joy.

"i love you, Y/N Y/L/N. i've loved you for so long..." he trailed off, bringing your body into his arms.

"and fyi, i mean the romantic way if you didn't catch that," you joked.

"good because that's exactly how i meant it," he said, pulling back to look at you once again. "ca-can i kiss you?" he asked as his hands were balanced on the back of your neck.

you nodded eagerly before his lips crashed into yours passionately as you placed your hands on his face. the feeling of his sharp jawline with his scruffy facial hair something you've been wanting to feel against your skin for far too long.

spencer tugged gently at your hair, bringing a soft moan to your lips, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth gingerly. he was immediately granted dominance as you allowed his tongue to travel into your mouth, investigating it thoroughly.

you were both in a state of euphoria as you delved into each other's presence in a new manner. both of you knew this discovery would change your relationship, but you had both gone through every scenario in your minds in the many years' past.

you finally pulled back at another sharp pain in your uterus.

"ouchhh," you grimaced.

"are you okay? what can i do?" he wondered eagerly.

"just cuddle with me?" you asked with pleading eyes.

"of course i can," he smiled.

he moved up to the headboard and laid his head on one of your pillows after getting underneath the covers. after he opened his arms, you rested your head on his chest and threw one arm over his torso, interlacing your legs underneath the sheets. he brought one arm around your waist as the other drew you closer across your shoulders. You nestled your head into his neck and inhaled his comforting scent.

"you smell good," you giggled.

"thank you," he laughed at your compliment.

"spencer?" you asked.

"yea, Y/N?"

"you're my pain reliever."

[make-me-imagine]

Congrats on making it this far! :D You can identify me by the Nick Wolff(yes 2 f's it's got a reason;)

I'd love a ship for any Stargate series, Star Trek (simply not the new movies pls) and Dr Who? I'm 29, female, bi and slim but muscular. I love sports and play soccer in a team. Otherwise I draw, read play guitar and videogames and love learning: New languages, how things work and so on. I work as a chemistry and physics teacher. At first people are intimidated by my stare but I'm nice. I'm determined, reliable, loyal and honest but most don't realise that I have to keep myself in check when someone is being an ass, I can be quite passionate then. For Headcanons: May I get When they knew they loved you and how they describe you? Thank you for this!

Thanks! I hope you like them!

Stargate: 

I ship you with Cam. 

I think he would be a very suitable match for you. He loves how smart you are, as well as shares an interest in your likes and hobbies (sport, music). He is attracted to your determination and loyalty and never takes your honesty for granted. He also loves when you go off on someone who is being an ass. 

The moment he knew he was in love with you: 

It was quite simple really. 

You had been in a relationship for a short time, and was already crazy about you.

But one day, when he went to see you in your quarters, you were practicing your guitar. 

And in that moment, when you looked so comfortable and at peace in your element and even had a small smile on your face, he had this moment of realization of just how much he loved you. 

How they describe you to others: 

Well one term he tends to use without thinking is “hot”. 

He often describes you as talented, kind and a bad ass. 

He does tend to talk about your looks, but never as much as he talks about how good you are at like, everything. 

Except to his family, he just describes you are wonderful, passionate, great at everything and so kind hearted. 

Cam never goes without saying “Oh, you’d love her.” 

Your best friend: 

I think your best friend would be Sam. You too get along so well. She would often bring you in when she needed help and would teach or tell you about astrophysics. Sam would love your dependability and loyalty and would treat you like a sister 

-

Rest of ships under cut: 

Star Trek: 

I ship you with Kira. 

I thought of Kira first because I think her feisty and strong personality would mold well with your reliable and honest self. She holds honestly, loyalty and reliability to high standards and never doubts you. And in certain situations, she never holds herself back from telling someone off, so if you both do it, rip to whoever was being as ass lol. 

The moment she knew she was in love with you: 

You were in Quarks bar and some visitor was being rude to another person on the staff.

You had been holding back trying to tell them off, until they shoved the other person. 

This was when Kira came in, and she herself was about to go tell them off but you stepped in.

She watched as you tore into the visitor about how they were acting and why they should be more respectful. 

You two had not been together very long, and this was the first time she really saw this side of you. 

She was in awe at how strong you were being and had a moment of true realization that he really cared about you so much more than she had realized. 

How they describe you to others: 

She rarely describes you physically as she does not think that is important for others to know. 

Instead she talks abut how kind, loyal and trustworthy you are.

As well as that you are a teacher, and all the children love you. 

Also that you are often playing sports with others around the station. (This is her way of saying, you have have seem her around). 

Best Friend:

I think your best friend would be Jadzia. You two would mesh well together. Often laughing and working together round the station. She rooted for you and Kira to be together, and was ecstatic when you finally began dating. 

-

Doctor Who: 

I ship you with Ten. 

I chose Ten because I think he would be the most appreciative of your loyalty and reliability. He would admire you so much and would never take you for granted, or let others do so. He loves that you are a teacher, especially of science. He also enjoys that you are interested in drawing and music. 

The moment he knew he was in love with you: 

He dropped you off in your normal timeline for a while. 

He was struggling with the idea of you possibly not wanting to stay with him. 

When he came back to visit, you were at the school, teaching.

He snuck in and watched you from the door.

When he saw how you were as a teacher, and how you acted with the kids, he felt his hearts begin beating faster than expected as  a warm feeling swelled in his body. 

This was a struggle for him, as it made him realize just how much he loved and missed you, and how much he would not want to let you go. 

How he describes you to others: 

“Absolutely brilliant” is a phrase he uses often. 

He describes you as one of the best humans in existence, the pinnacle of kindness and loyalty.

He also described you as perfect, which in his mind you really are. 

He brags that you are a teacher because he loves that, and knows how much you pride yourself on being a great teacher as well. 

Best-Friend: 

Donna. You two would be great together, and a handful. You would team up on the Doctor when he is being stupid or over-dramatic. She is not afraid to get sass with you because she knows you can take it, and dish it out if needed. The Doctor both loves and hates when you are on the TARDIS together. 

xx

[mssapphire]

I couldn’t find a transcript on David Jay’s talk about Asexuality for Moses Znimer’s Ideacity Conference. So I did it myself (because I need it for reference anyway)

«So, I'm gonna talk about a pretty universal human experience, which is the struggle to find connection.

And I want you to think back to the last time you had a really good, really deep conversation. Think about how that felt like in your body. Think about what it felt like to be that engaged with another person. That's what I mean when I say connection.

And I'm gonna talk about the struggle for connection in a community that you've probably never heard of before. It's a community of people like me who identify as asexual.

An asexual person is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. So, if you think about it, there are some people who really like sex a lot, there's other people who like sex but not quite as much - it makes sense that at the bottom of the spectrum there would be people who aren't interested in sexuality at all.

And the important thing to understand about our community is that we have the same desire for connection as everyone else - we just don't have a desire to express that connection sexually. And there's a whole community of us out there. This is us at San Francisco Pride (I'm in the roller blades over there), this is my hometown. And this website (asexuality.org) - I founded it when I was 18 years old. Because I wanted to find other asexual people like me. And it's grown. We've got about 60,000 member talking about asexual identity in a dozen languages right now. There's a documentary that just came out that's excellent, you should take the time to see it, that talks about our community.

And I don't know if any of you have ever had the experience of being involved in the early stages of a community - that was just deeply, deeply empowering for hundreds and hundreds of people. But there's no experience like it in the world. And I'm just really humbled to have gotten to witness it and gotten to be a part of it. 

I remember that right when our community was getting started, there would be hundreds and thousands of people who would type the word 'Asexual' into Google and find the community for the first time. And there was this overwhelming feeling of validation, of finding other people like them. And they just gushed and gave their entire life story and they talked about how they felt alone in the world. How they felt like they were broken. But how now that they'd found a community of people like them, they didn't feel like they were struggling by themselves.

And my sexual friends would look at this and they'd be a little bit confused. I'd tell them about our community and they'd say 'what's the big deal? you guys just aren't interested in sex. Like, I would think that would be convenient. I think can't you just stay at home, not being interested in sexy? Why do you need to form a community about it? What's your struggle?'

And, to answer that question, I want you to think back to high school. Now, if your high school was like my high school, you probably were connected to lots and lots of people, that you called friends. And even though you spent a lot of time with these people, even though these were people that you felt really deeply emotionally drawn to, even though these were people with whom you were deeply connected... these relationships probably did not have the same status as relationships that involve sexuality.

Relationships that involve sexuality probably got talked about, celebrated, and prioritized in a way that non-sexual relationships did not.

And if you're a sexual person this can be confusing and disorienting. But if you're an asexual person, this leaves you wondering whether you'll ever be able to form relationships that get talked about, celebrated, and prioritized.

And it leaves you afraid that you may never be able to get that sense of connection that all of us so deeply crave. And that's why this word would come up when people talked about their experiences joining the community. We felt broken because the connection that we really, really deeply craved was velcroed to a culture of sexuality that we didn't understand.

Now, I tell you this story not because I think that our high school experience was any more traumatic than anyone else's high school experience. I'm sure there are many many people in the audience who could give me a run for my money in that.

I tell you this story to illustrate that the reason that asexual community came together, the reason we have a shared struggle, a lot of the reason why we even exist in the first place has to do with the fact that our struggle for connection is tangled up in a culture of sexuality.

This isn't just true for asexual people. Our struggle for connection is tangled up in a culture of sexuality. And as an activist in the asexual community, I spent years trying to figure out how to disentangle these two concepts. 

Not that they can't be together, but that we should understand how to talk about them separately. I think if we can separate them and talk about sexuality, first of all, we'll be able to talk about sexuality much more clearly, much more directly. But - which, by the way, I think sex is great, sexuality is fantastic for people who enjoy it - but will also be left with this concept of connection that right now we don't have good ways to describe directly.

There's a thing called a relationship. That's not me, and it's not another person. But it sits between us. I can have one feeling about a person, and a completely different feeling about my relationship with that person.

Relationships have a life of their own. They grow like plants and entangle themselves into our lives. Creating this sense of connection that's so important.

And the more I study relationships, the more I realize that they are fundamentally the same. Whether you're talking about a sexual romantic relationship, or relationship between two close friends, or the relationship between a grandfather and a granddaughter, or the relationships that tie together a group of friends, or the relationships that drive a lab of scientists to make scientific discoveries, or the relationships that tie together a social movement.

And as you think about all these different kinds of relationships I want you to recognize just how little we understand about how they operate. What's the difference between a relationship where you feel open expressing everything that you're feeling, and a relationship where you express none of your emotions?

If I have a phone filled with contacts, what's the difference between the people that I see once a week, the people that I see once a month, and the people that I never take the time to see? Because how I answer that question, will have more of an impact on my happiness than my income.

Study after study on happiness has confirmed this. Friendship is really, really important. And yet research on friendship itself is fairly rare. There is more published research by far on the industrial process of die-casting than there is on the process of forming friendships. It's a blind spot.

And I think this is a little bit tragic, because if we want to disentangle our struggle for connection, we need to understand how these things operate. And I believe this is fundamentally possible. Relationships are really confusing, relationships are really complex, but they are not chaotic. I believe that there is a structure to the way that relationships form.

Biology gives us a language to talk about the structure of plants. Physics gives us a language to talk about the structure of matter. But right now the language we use to talk about the structure of relationships is tangled up in factors that confound it. Understanding how these things operate won't be easy. It's a process that we should approach with humility and the kind of intellectual vigor we were talking abut earlier today. But if we can begin to understand how relationships form, it could transform the way the connection happens in our society. I'll give you one tiny example.

So, a key element of relationship structure is decisions about time. Decisions about time are great because, among other things, you can measure them. But if you decide to spend time with someone regularly, then you have a relationship. If you don't decide to spend time with them, then you don't. It might not be particularly healthy relationship, but it's there.

In healthy relationships, the more time I spend with someone, the more we explore ways of spending time together... as I spend more time with someone, as I get to know them, the way that we make decisions about time evolves. So that the time we spend together is more aligned with both us. (It) brings both of our lives more deeply into balance. And I think that there's something fascinating about that process of evolution.

And it turns out we know a lot, actually, about the evolutionary process. Which I think is an interesting lens through which to examine the structure of relationships. So we start out by exploring lots of ways to spend time with people, then we communicate about our emotions to differentiate the ways of spending time that are most meaningful, that are most impactful in both of our lives. And then we select those periods of time, we invest more time in them so that we can explore the relationship further. And the cycle starts again.

And all relationships move through processes like this as they grow. But if we can see them, if we can measure the process, and talk about the process, it allows us to put a little fertilizer on the relationship. It allows us to take weak connections and make them stronger. It allows us to look at communities and see how to make the connections in them richer. It allows us to write new scripts for the way the relationships form.

This is my friend Brandon. Brandon and I have been very close for about four years. We met in graduate school, and we immediately hit it off. We have these long, intense conversations about business and the environment. We'd go on these epic, epic hikes together. We cook huge elaborate meals, we go out dancing - he's a killer dancer. And, after several years, I took him aside and said: 'Brandon. You've become one of my closest friends and, if you're comfortable with it, I would like to sit down with you and have a conversation where we acknowledge that our relationship exists. All I wanna do, is talk about the fact that we're in a relationship. Talk about what in that relationship is working, and talk about how we want to build on it'.

And there was something about that simple conversation that was terrifying. But once I could sit down and have it with him, the relationship was transformed. It didn't become a romantic relationship. But being able to make explicit the way that we made decisions about time, allowed the relationship to be talked about, celebrated, and prioritized in a way that most friendships are not.

Here's what I'd like you to take away: as you think more about the asexual community, remember that our struggle for connection is tangled up in a culture of sexuality. And that in order to disentangle it, we need to understand how these things operate. We need to recognize that they are fundamentally the same. Whether they are sexual, or non-sexual. We need to begin to explore the structure by which they grow. So that we can write new scripts for new kinds of connection. And if we can do that, then I believe that our shared struggle for connection may become just a little bit easier. And imagine what the world would look like if it did.

Thank you.»

[chris-sales-belly-ring]

Sale/Brianne/Porcello: We Ain’t No Everyday Lovers

To make a long story short, I started out writing a Sale/Porcello fic abut Rick visiting Chris after finding out he needs Tommy John surgery.

I somehow ended up writing about Chris, his wife, and Rick all being together.

I may or may not edit this and put it on AO3 at a later date.

Summary, warnings, etc. under the read more.

Summary: When she walked in earlier and she saw Chris practically sleeping in Rick’s arms, she knew. When they talked while fixing dinner together, Brianne knew in her heart how much Rick loved Chris. She rightfully assumed that her husband had mutual feelings. As her eyes meet Porcello’s, she’s pretty sure that she’s in love with him, too. 

Warnings: Polyamory. Talks of future pegging. (Everything else here includes sex acts that I don’t normally add tags for).

***

Even though they’re not teammates anymore, Rick is still his go-to person to talk baseball stuff with. He calls him to tell him about opting for surgery so that he doesn’t find out from the press. Chris could also use some encouragement from the best and kindest man that he knows. Porcello always knows the right thing to say when Sales has his rare self-deprecating moments. Chris admits that he’s a little scared that his arm won’t be the same post-surgery, but Rick assures him that he’ll be able to return to form.

Chris sighs. “But what if I’m not as good as before? It’s possible that I’m never that Chris Sale again.”

“You’re the best pitcher I’ve ever been around, Chris. If anyone can come back and be even better than they were before, it’s you. Your work ethic and your talent are unrivaled. I have all the faith in the world in you,” Rick tells him.

“I just feel like such a let down to everybody,” Chris says.

“You’re not letting anyone down. You’re an athlete who got injured, it happens every day. It was through no fault of your own. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Rick responds.

“You’re always my voice of reason,” Chris realizes.

“I’m still in Florida, you know. I never went home once spring training ended, so I’m only a few hours away from you . . . ”

***

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you,” Chris says as he hugs Rick.

“I know you’ve missed my pretty face,” Rick jokes.

“You come bearing gifts, too? You trying to get into my wife’s good graces by bringing wine?” Chris teases.

“I may or may not have bought organic just for her,” Rick replies.

“She’s dropping off the kids with my parents since it will be too chaotic having them around here after my surgery. She should be back soon,” Chris tells him.

***

After they start watching a documentary on Netflix, Chris eventually falls asleep with his head on Rick’s shoulder. He grabs a blanket to cover them both with and he idly runs his fingers through Sale’s hair. He assumes that Chris probably hasn’t slept well the last few days, so he’s glad that he’s finally allowing himself to rest. Rick smiles when Brianne makes it back home. She gives him a genuine smile back and she tells him that she’s glad to see him. She notices Chris sleeping and she mentions that she doesn’t think he has gotten more than a few hours the past few nights. 

“I roll over at 3 AM and he still looks wide awake. I caught him watching film at like 4 AM two nights ago. I’m so happy you’re here. Maybe you can talk some sense into him,” Brianne says.

“He’s just stressed out and a little scared. He’ll be back to himself in no time,” Rick assures her.

***

Chris wakes up to the strong smell of Italian food cooking. His stomach growls and he realizes that he doesn’t remember the last time he ate. He stretches as he gets off the couch and walks into the kitchen. There’s music playing while Rick and Brianne are talking and chopping up vegetables together. It’s not news to him how well his wife and his best friend get along, but he can’t help smiling as he watches them interact. He asks them if there’s anything he can do to help, but they tell him they’re almost done. Chris decides to set the table and he takes out the corkscrew to open the wine with.

“Do you mind keeping an eye on the sauce while I go talk to Chris upstairs for a few minutes?” Brianne asks.

“Go ahead, I got it,” Rick replies.

***

“He loves you, you know,” Brianne points out.

“Yeah, I know. He’s great,” Chris agrees.

“I mean, he loves you like I do. I can tell by the way he talks about you,” Brianne clarifies.

Chris blushes. “Oh. Are you mad?”

“I would’ve kicked him out if I was mad. I just want to know how you feel about him. You can be honest with me, Chris,” Brianne says.

“I’ve never done anything with him. I would never do that to you,” Chris answers.

“Of course not. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. It’s just that I could understand if you love him back,” Brianne explains.

“I honestly try not to think about my feelings for him too much,” Chris admits.

“Whatever you feel is ok,” Brianne assures him.

***

“This wine is amazing,” Brianne compliments.

“I have like two more bottles for you in my car,” Rick tells her.

“Wow, thank you. That was really thoughtful of you,” Brianne comments.

“He buys you wine and he shows up empty handed for me,” Chris jokes.

“Is my presence not enough for you?” Rick quips.

They finish off the bottle of wine and they take their time eating their dinner. Chris can’t remember the last time he laughed and smiled so much. Rick offers to rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Brianne reminds him that he’s a guest and that he has already been kind enough by cooking for them. He explains that he’s used to cleaning up the kitchen and that it’s truly not much of a chore to him. Rick gathers their plates, wine glasses, and utensils before Brianne can stop him. She just laughs and shakes her head at his stubbornness.

“How do you ever win arguments with him?” Brianne wonders.

Chris laughs. “I don’t.”

***

Brianne kisses Rick on the cheek. “Please take care of him for me. You can give him whatever he wants.”

“Are you . . . ”

“Giving you the go ahead? Yeah. He needs you right now,” Brianne whispers directly into his ear.

***

As Rick rinses off the last dish, he feels Chris wraps his arms around him from behind. He slowly brushes his lips against the back of Porcello’s neck and it makes him shiver. The tension between them has always been so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Two noble men can finally allow themselves to feel without guilt or shame. When Rick turns around and their eyes meet, Chris immediately brings their lips together. The kiss is both soft and passionate. It’s full of want and need, there’s a hunger that Sale didn’t even really realize he felt.

“Are you sure you want this?” Rick whispers against his lips.

Chris nods. “Yes. I want you to fuck me.”

“Has anyone ever . . . ”

“No, you’ll be my first,” Chris tells him.

***

Rick puts his hand over Sale’s mouth. “Shh, your wife is upstairs.”

“I wish she were down here,” Chris moans.

“You want her to see you like this? All spread out and full of cock?” Rick asks.

Chris bites his lip. “She’s a dominant little thing, she might like it.”

***

“This is giving me all kinds of strap-on ideas,” Brianne says.

Rick smirks. “You hear that? Your pretty little wife wants to fuck you, too.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to make him moan like this. He’s being so good for you,” Brianne comments.

It’s almost too much having Rick and Brianne talk about him so explicitly. Porcello digs his nails into Sale’s thigh as he starts fucking him harder. Brianne sneaks her small hand in between Chris and Rick’s body and she wraps it around Chris’ dick. She strokes him with the same rhythm of Rick’s thrusts. Chris never imagined that being with his wife and his best friend could be like this. He hears them whisper some of the things they want to do to him “next time” and his orgasm catches him off guard. His entire body shivers as he covers Brianne’s fist with cum. Rick gingerly pulls out and he checks to make sure that Sale is ok.

“I’ve never been better,” Chris replies.

Brianne kisses Chris. “I had no idea that you and Rick would look so fucking hot together. You made me so wet.”

He looks down and there’s a damp spot on the crotch of her red panties. The only other thing she’s wearing is a tank top with no bra underneath it. Chris pulls her on top of him and he slowly slides down the straps to her top. When her breasts are free, he palms them in his huge hands before taking his time sucking on her nipples. The little moans that escape her mouth make Sale’s cock twitch. When she tries to stick her hand in her panties, Chris gently bats her hand away. He tells her that there’s no need to touch herself when she has two guys that want to please her.

“Rick showed me how good he is with his mouth earlier. Want to find out for yourself?” Chris asks.

“Yes, please!” Brianne begs.

Brianne can’t remember the last time that she was intimately touched by a man other than Chris. Rick slides in between her legs and he gives her a few teasing touches over her thong. He softly massages the inside of her thighs with his fingers before kissing those same spots. She places her hands behind Rick’s head as she continues begging for his mouth. He slips her panties to the side and he licks his lips. He briefly turns toward Chris to tell him how pretty his wife’s pussy is. He spreads her lips before he finally licks her clit. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as he continues eating her out. Rick doesn’t mind his face being messy and it feels like he doesn’t have to come up for air.

“Good, isn’t he?” Chris whispers.

“Good is an understatement. He’s gonna make me cum soon,” Brianne says between moans.

Chris looks impressed. “Shit. Already? You have to teach me how to get her off this quickly.”

Brianne’s so wet that Rick’s fingers slip out while he’s fucking her. Just a little while ago, he was using the very same fingers to prep Chris. Just like her husband, Brianne’s enjoying his big, talented hands. He strokes her g-spot at the same time he sucks on her clit and that’s all she needs. She calls out Rick’s name as she shudders on his fingers. He continues touching her g-spot and it makes he cum again. She gently pushes his hand away when the overstimulation gets to be too much for her. Chris kisses her softly and he strokes her hair as she comes down from her orgasm.

“I think I literally saw stars,” Brianne eventually says.

Chris laughs. “He had that effect on me, too.”

“Baby, look. Rick’s still hard. I think we should help him out with that,” Brianne mentions.

“What do you have in mind?” Chris wants to know.

“Let’s blow him, together,” Brianne suggests.

They crawl between Rick’s spread legs. Brianne wraps her hand around the base of Rick’s cock before she starts sucking on the tip. She tells Chris to take his time once it’s his turn since he hasn’t given a blow job since college. While Sale is slowly working on taking more, Brianne massages Rick’s balls. The shaky moan that Porcello makes is music to their ears. He has a death grip on the couch cushions as he does his best not to thrust into Chris’ mouth. Rick doesn’t want to make him choke, so he has to force himself to calm down a little bit. He tells Chris how good of a job that he’s doing as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Brianne caresses Sale’s cheek. “You’ve missed having a cock in your mouth, haven’t you?”

It’s a rhetorical question because they all know the answer, of course. Chris’ jaw is slightly sore, but he doesn’t slow down. After everything his two favorite people have done for him tonight, he wants to show them how much he appreciates it. He has loved the woman next to him since the moment he met her. He’s not sure when he fell for Rick, but it was effortless and it has been for a few years now. Brianne coaches Chris on his breathing and she gives him some direction. She slips one of the couch cushions underneath his knees to give him more support.

“Look at our boy. He’s a natural,” Brianne says with pride.

Brianne’s use of “our” doesn’t go unnoticed by either man. When she walked in earlier and she saw Chris practically sleeping in Rick’s arms, she knew. When they talked while fixing dinner together, Brianne knew in her heart how much Rick loved Chris. She rightfully assumed that her husband had mutual feelings. As her eyes meet Porcello’s, she’s pretty sure that she’s in love with him, too. Since Sale has everything under control now, she moves onto the couch next to Rick. She can taste herself on Rick’s tongue as she leans in to kiss him. He tucks a blonde tress behind her ear as their kiss deepens. Sale has the perfect view of them and he has never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Are you close?” Brianne softly asks.

“Yes,” Rick answers.

“You might want to finish him off with your hands, babe,” Brianne advises.

Chris follows his wife’s advice. He uses both of his fists to jerk Rick off with. It doesn’t take long for him to cum. Before Sale can wipe his hands off, Brianne decides to lick his fingers clean. She doesn’t swallow before she kisses Chris. They both moan as their kiss gets sticky and messy. Rick watches them eagerly share his cum and it’s hotter than it has any right to be. They join him on the couch, Brianne on one side and Chris on the other. Porcello grabs the blanket that he and Chris used earlier to cover themselves up with. He wraps an arm around both of them and they all sigh in contentment.

“We’d probably be a lot more comfortable in our bed,” Brianne remarks.

“Yeah, but that’s too far,” Chris says.

Rick kisses him on the forehead. “I’ll carry you.”

***

“I don’t want you to leave us in the morning,” Brianne tells him.

“Who says I have to?” Rick responds.

Brianne nervously bites her lip. “I just thought you might not be interested in this being a thing with all three of us, you know?”

“I don’t want you to ever think that I’m trying to take Chris away from you. I love him, but I love you, too. You’re a package deal to me,” Rick explains.

Chris is asleep, so he’s completely oblivious to the conversation going on between his wife and his best friend. Before Brianne gets under the covers to snuggle Chris, she leans across him to kiss Rick good night. None of them really know the logistics of how things will work once baseball season resumes, but that’s a problem for another day. For now, they’ll fall asleep peacefully in the comfort of each other’s arms.

[kramlabs]

“Moving Water”

By Michael Keaton

My dad shot the head off a turkey with a rifle from 150 feet at the Montour Run Sportsman’s Club turkey shoot raffle in 1956. About an hour and a half later, he stubbed out a Winston, set down a pony bottle of Duquesne beer on a picnic table, picked up a .22, and shot a bat out of the air as it circled the bulb of a nearby streetlight. My dad could shoot.

I’m a pretty decent shot myself and I probably couldn’t shoot a bat into the air if you folded up its wings and shoved it down the barrel of my twenty-gauge.

Membership of the Montour Run Sportsman’s Club was made up of mill workers, railroad men, mechanics, farmers, and numbers runners. Italians, Poles, Germans—sons of immigrants. Men in hats, white short sleeve shirts, who smoked cigars, drank beer, and swore. As it applied to some of its members, the word “sportsman” in the title was probably a stretch. My father, who always taught us good sportsmanship, didn’t quite fit that mold.

Montour Run itself ran slow and bath-tub cool past the sportsman’s club, its banks holding deep shades of orange left over from strip mine deposits. Andrew Montour himself was a half-European and half-Oneida Indian who served as a scout and interpreter of four languages during the French and Indian War, and the idea of something as exotic as Indians fighting alongside and, in Montour’s case, against Frenchmen in these western Pennsylvania woods filled me with excitement. You’re talking about a kid with a big imagination, and so something like this was just more coal being shoveled into an already blazing furnace.

The creek flowed under a narrow two-lane county bridge about a mile down from the club. I have always been drawn to moving water, and most summer mornings between the ages of nine and twelve I could be found sitting on the big, cool, mossy stone abutments of that bridge holding my hardware-store Zebco fishing rod, with a packed lunch at my side. And those smells. Sweet humid air, honeysuckle, creosote off the railroad ties of an old railroad bed fill my sense memory to this day, but what really transports me is the water. Staring into the water. Moving water. Water just clean enough to hold a reasonable population of bluegills, suckers, catfish, and the occasional carp. I can still feel that tap-tap of a bluegill as it sabotaged my nightcrawler, nipping away at it right up to the bend in my Eagle Claw hook, then swimming away. Watching that dunk of my bobber when a catfish ate. This is what thirty years later my boy would call “plain fishin.” Plain fishin’ to this five-year-old was anything that didn’t require a fly rod. Plain fishin’ was sinking a Hare’s Ear nymph or a Trude from the end of the monofilament line of his own Zebco rod. The beginning of the end of my own plain fishin’ occurred after staring at on old photograph of my grandfather standing on a rock with a cane rod working a fly through a pool in the middle of a Pennsylvania trout stream. He was wearing rubber boots, a wool sports coat, and a smile. If Pennsylvania fly fishing was Christianity, to me he looked like Jesus.

***

It was a few years after staring at that photograph of my trout fishing grandfather that I took the money from cutting Mrs. Story’s lawn and, with the help of my dad, bought a $60 fly rod and a $34 Mitchell reel, once again from a hardware store. It should be noted that Mrs. Story was generous enough to bump me up from $3 to a whopping $3.25 to cut about an acre of grass while tallying about seven yellow jacket stings per summer. I caught my first trout on a fly under a bridge in King’s Creek in West Virginia, not forty-five minutes from Montour Creek. A thirteen-inch hatchery-born, planted rainbow. Over the years since then, I’ve become a decent angler. Self-taught and along the way generously schooled by world-class anglers, I’ve fished in more than a dozen countries. I’ve waded miles of Caribbean flats, watched the miracle of a tarpon leaping over and over again 100 yards away from the end of my line—dinosaur on a stick. I’ve been dropped off in the Patagonia wilderness and caught brown trout that have never seen a fly. I’ve stalked permit with the desperate look of a junkie at five o’clock in the morning wandering the Cabrini Green projects. I’ve stood slack jawed while a chrome-bright steelhead streaked back to the Pacific after a thirty-minute rodeo that left me standing there with my rod in my hand, rain dripping off my hood, and that dumb “wha’ happened?” look on my face. I was left feeling like I had to lie down or check into what my friend calls the “nervous hospital.” I am blessed and grateful for these experiences, and they all started on those little Pennsylvania streams.

***

I would get to see these creeks and rivers once I reached the legal hunting age during deer hunting trips with my dad and brothers. Crossing steel bridges over those pretty streams, I would press my nose to the side window and then crane my neck as they got farther from view. Moving water. In the fall of 1963 the U.S. Army sent my brother to Okinawa, my oldest brother was starting a career in banking, and my brother Paul was struggling through his college finals. Me, I was going deer hunting on opening day with my dad. Alone. When you are one of seven, time alone with one of your parents is a rare thing. A cherished thing.

We crossed the beautiful Clarion River as evening set in and turned up a little gravel driveway that led to a small, two-story wood-frame house wearing the inviting glow of a front porch light. It was owned by two very perfumed little old ladies who rented out rooms to hunters. And we were hunters. It was warm and clean. A good thing, too, because as we climbed the comfortingly creaky stairs and entered our room, it began to rain. It rained for three days. We laid out our boots, gloves, long underwear, and wool hunting coats that would absorb enough water over the next two-and-a-half days to add at least another four to five pounds to my already too big, hand-me-down attire. We climbed into the double bed, just big enough for an adult and one kid who still was one of the smaller guys in his class. He turned off the light and, after the standard adjustments before settling in for a night’s sleep—pillow positioning , throat clearing, blanket negotiating—my dad, who was meticulous, ran his hand through his thinning hair—hair that grew thinner and thinner as more of us were brought into the world. I remember how he smelled. Like a man. Like a working man. He smelled like Old Spice and work. We lay there. Some seconds went by and we discussed our strategy for tomorrow, the rain, etc. I threw in a token expression of what a tough break it was the brothers couldn’t make it, and then after some seconds we talked about the good fortune of finding a place after not making proper arrangements, as it turned out to be just the two of us and not a party of four or five.

Then we discussed the thing we were both thinking. Normally, during our hunting trips we’d be staying in a rough-and-tumble hunting camp with a bunch of rough-and-tumble hunters or in a cheap motel, or even sleeping in the car for a couple of hours if we left early enough not to need a room the night before opening day. All the other guys we knew were doing just that, and more than likely all the guys we didn’t know were, too. It’s hunting. We’re hunters. It’s what’s done. We acknowledged and accepted that we were deviating from the norm and bedding down in a very welcoming, dry, warm, and inviting guest house. A guest house that had pink wallpaper, nice lamps, clean furniture, and a cooked breakfast courtesy of two sweet little gals who were flush with what my mom used to call “rouge.” Secure in our masculinity, we accepted our situation and closed our eyes for some good old manly shuteye. We lay there in the silence with only the sound of the steady rain drumming on the roof. I waited. I waited a little more. Now, I thought. Drop it now. “Dad?” “Yeah?” “Maybe we shouldn’t mention where we stayed to the other guys when we see them.” I waited. My mom was Irish. Laughter to her was as easy as breathing. My dad had just enough Scottish blood running through him that he wasn’t exactly prone to mirth. I waited some more. I could feel the smile on his face grow without having to see it. Then a laugh. Pause. Another—this time bigger. Longer. Silence. “Good idea.” He rolled over with his back to me. Pause. Then the mattress softly shook, and I could hear one more laugh from the other side of the bed before he fell asleep. Nailed it. Irony, situation, timed and delivered with the precision of a surgeon, if I do say so myself. I lay there with a smile on my face that you couldn’t have erased with a jackhammer. I felt like a prizefighter. I felt like a gunslinger. I lay there. Smiling. Rain on the roof.

I would spend the next two-and-a-half days walking through the rolling mountains of Pennsylvania, cold and soaked to the bone. I would miss a fairly easy shot at a seven-point buck that looked at me after the fact with a look on his face that kind of said “you’re kidding, right?” before calmly trotting away. Missed with the punkin’ ball slug from a .410 shotgun that rests in my gun closet today. Didn’t mind at all.

***

Some years pass and I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’m crossing the sweet little river that winds through my ranch with my own little boy on my back, his arms wrapped around my neck, his chin on my shoulder, face next to mine. Trust. We climb up the bank and I put him down. As the sun sets, we walk across a hayfield, his little hand in my left hand and my fly rod in my right. Headed home. As we walk across that field with the porch light of our house glowing in the distance, I think my chest will explode with gratitude and joy. If you’re doing it right, the longer you live, the more you become just who you really are. When you’ve been fortunate, unless you’re flat out stupid—and some would say the jury is still out when it comes to me—your gratitude should grow in direct proportion to your years.

We eat our dinner. We read our books. I kiss his forehead goodnight. He smells like grass and air and purity. Sometimes I miss plain fishin.’ Sometimes I miss my dad.

[boschlingtumbles]

White Wedding Ch 18-21

Stannis (Been Away For So Long 1 of x)

Somewhere between catching the immediately recognizable stag’s head logo on the helicopter and the moment when his parents stepped down onto the great lawn of Casterly Rock, Stannis felt his stomach flip.

His gaze automatically slid to Robert, who was looking back at him from next to Tywin Lannister in mute anguish. His gaze slid to Renly, who was clutching a glass of wine in a trembling hand next to Brienne Tarth. Shit. They were in so much trouble.

Stannis immediately squelched the thought. He was an adult for the seven’s sake. This wasn’t like they’d gotten kicked out of mass. They’d only had a party. With their father’s sworn nemesis. That had spiraled into the social event of the year. And kind of maybe slightly “forgot” to invite their parents. Oh fuck it. This was so much worse.

Stannis jerked his head toward the orchard abutting the north wing. Robert and Renly both nodded.

As Stannis stiffly excused himself from a conversation with Axel Florent, he reflected that in some ways, it was a mercy that the party was being held at Casterly Rock. If there was one location that the Baratheon boys knew almost as well as their own home, it was this one.

He and Robert had been abandoned to “play” with Jaime and Cersei Lannister more times than he could recall as a child. (Jaime and Cersei had always hated them. Any playing that they did, and Stannis didn’t remember much, had been alone together.) Renly had experienced much the same enforced social activity with Tyrion. And what the Baratheon boys knew that their parents certainly did not, was the secret tree house in the pine grove at the edge of the orchard.

He reached it first, was pleased to see the old knitted rope still swinging much as he remembered it. Taking a quick look around to make sure nobody would catch him climbing a rope ladder in a tux, he hoisted himself hand over hand up onto the platform.

It wasn’t maybe five minutes later that he saw Renly running through the trees, wine glass still in hand. The rope twitched, and seconds later his younger brother’s head appeared, trapping the still half full glass between chin and shoulder.

“You couldn’t have put that down?” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tyrion said he picked out the wines himself! It would have been rude!” Renly protested, cradling the glass to his chest. Then, remembering the greater issue at hand, he lifted his dark blue eyes up to Stannis’ own.

“How did they find out?! I was checking the mail every morning just like you said!! I got the stupid box, I RSVP’ed no, I hid it in my cuff links collection box, and I know it’s still there, I saw it yesterday when I was trying to decide whether I should use the gold or silver antlers,” Renly wailed.

“Renly, shhhh! This is a secret meeting!” Stannis tried to hush him. Not that he wasn’t also panicked. He’d checked their calendar this morning! They were supposed to be on a cruise in the fjords of Lorath!

“They’re gonna kill us!!” Renly banged his head against the floorboards, making even more noise if possible.

“Look shut up, it wasn’t you okay?! I am reasonably certain that it was Jaime Lannister. Somehow.”

Stannis flashed back on their conversation and ground his teeth. How could he have been so careless?!

He and Robert and Renly had decided, in a rare moment of unanimity, that it would be for the best if their parents did not come to the evening’s festivities. Renly already hated that Robert was the only child their parents paid even a cursory amount of attention to. A party where he was actually the center of attention?! Renly probably would have preferred to go to a football game rather than endure such an evening with their parents. Stannis, personally, just knew that they would somehow find a way to blame him for Robert getting Cersei pregnant. Which she wasn’t. But still. Somehow this would be his fault because he was the responsible one and why hadn’t he been looking out for his brother. As for Robert...

It was possible that he didn’t want to completely ruin the party by introducing Steffon and Tywin into an enclosed area.

For much of their childhood, their father had been good friends with Tywin Lannister, and the mayor at the time, Aerys Targaryen. Stannis wasn’t sure what had happened exactly—certainly the fact that the mayor was a psychopath didn’t help—but their friendship had been hanging on by a thread when Joanna Lannister died. 

His parents hadn’t gone to the funeral. As far as he could remember, that had been the (Stannis winced) final nail in the coffin.

Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon hadn’t spoken since.

Okay, think this through. Think, think, think. What had Jaime said? Probably just, oh did the invite get lost in the mail. So worst case, the three of them were on the hook for not telling their parents about the party. Which they had quite reasonably not mentioned because they hadn’t seen their parents in months. So this wasn’t their fault. Stannis let out a slow breath. This was going to be okay.

Robert’s head popped through the hole, followed by the rest of him, pulling the rope up after.

“This is going to be a disaster!!” Robert groaned. He snagged Renly’s glass of wine and drained it, eliciting a howl of rage from Renly.

“Robert, Renly, shut up, this is a secret meeting!” Stannis hissed at them.

“Look, as near as I can figure, it’s unfortunate that dad and Tywin will be in the same place. But none of this is our fault... As far as they’re aware,” Stannis added guiltily. “We invited them to the party. They just haven’t been home. It’s not our fault that they don’t care about your wedding enough to come back.”

“Ummm about that,” Robert scratched his head.

“Oh no,” Renly breathed.

“Robert. Did you not tell our parents about the wedding?” Stannis growled.

“Okay in my defense, it seemed like everybody already knew! It’s been in the papers every day!”

“The papers here in Westeros! Where our parents never are unless they have a very good reason!”

“And it’s not like they give a fuck about us! Why would they even care!”

“Have you met our mother?! Why would she care that she didn’t get to be at the social event of the season where she got to be the proud mother of the groom?! Her precious star quarterback?!” Stannis snapped.

“I’m so screwed. Mom and Dad are going to kill me. And then Tywin Lannister is going to kill me. And then...”

“ROBERT!” A very familiar voice shouted up from the base of the tree. “LET THE ROPE DOWN NOW!”

“Cersei is going to kill me,” Robert rolled onto his back. 

“ROBERT!!!” Cersei shrieked. Seriously, did nobody understand the concept of a secret meeting?!

“NO GIRLS ALLOWED!” Renly shrieked back.

Apparently not.

With a sigh, Stannis tossed the rope down.

Cersei clambered up surprisingly quickly for someone wearing a partially sheer red and gold dress that had Stannis averting his eyes immediately.

“Is that a Joy Hill?” Renly forgot his previously combative demeanor immediately. “I thought she’d only done the one capsule collection?”

“Cersei, I’m so sorry, I had no idea they’d be here, we thought, I mean I thought they WOULDN’T be here, we...”

“The three of you sabotaged the invite list so they wouldn’t come. I noticed the RSVP was in Renly’s handwriting. It was smart,” Cersei shrugged. “They must have seen a mention in the foreign press. What you have to deal with now is father.”

Robert blinked, taken aback by her calm demeanor. Honestly, Stannis was rather surprised as well. Apparently her ire was being channeled at a different target. May the gods have mercy on their soul.

“Um can’t you handle him?” Robert began tentatively.

“I will be dealing with... other matters,” Cersei’s nostrils flared white. “I need you to handle this.

Please. Just get your father and my father to play nice for one evening. Can you do that?”

Since when had anyone gotten Tywin Lannister to do anything?

“Yeah I can do that,” Robert gulped. Stannis mentally facepalmed.

“What are we doing?” Melisandre’s head suddenly poked into the treehouse.

“How did you find us?” Stannis asked surprised, as he helped her in.

“I saw you head in this direction and then after that I followed the ungodly screaming,” Melisandre said drily.

Stannis shot a glare at his brothers and Cersei.

“I’m glad you’re here Melisandre,” Cersei said calmly, ignoring him entirely. “I must say it shows great initiative on your part as a bridesmaid.”

Melisandre’s eye twitched.

“These three can catch you up. I’ll expect it handled promptly. If you manage things according to my expectations, I’ll see what I can do about tossing you the bouquet at my weddding. Brienne will understand.”

“You’re too kind,” Melisandre glared.

“I like to reward success,” Cersei said serenely, and then shimmied down the rope ladder as easily as if it were a slide.

“So why don’t you catch me up?” Melisandre asked sardonically.

“Basically we need to keep Tywin Lannister and my father from killing each other. Bonus points if we can get them to smile for a camera,” Renly said.

“Hey, are you guys smoking weed up here without me?” Thoros stuck his head in. 

Stannis pressed his fingers to his temples. Did nobody understand the concept of a secret meeting?!

“I wish! Do you have any?” Robert asked with a loud laugh. Stannis gritted his teeth.

“I was hoping you did! That fucking chopper nearly landed on me!” Thoros said back, just as loudly.

“You were fine,” Melisandre interjected.

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Maybe Oberyn has some? Should I text him?” Robert raised his voice over their bickering.

“Ooooooh,” Renly clapped his hands.

“SHUT UP!” Stannis howled.

There was a sullen silence in the tree house.

For five seconds.

“Stannis, can you be a little quieter?” Melisandre said reprovingly.

“It’s a secret meeting,” Renly shushed him.

“Really? Because I heard you guys like across the orchard,” Thoros said interestedly.

“Where’s Beric?” Robert suddenly noticed his friend was uncharacteristically solo.

“Hiding from one Jeyne Westerling. She’s eight and precocious. Beric is terrified,” Thoros snickered.

Stannis stared at them all as the volume slowly crept back to its prior deafening level.

“Yes Thoros, it is a secret meeting,” he cut through the conversation. “We need to get our father to make up with Tywin Lannister, and it’s all Jaime Lannister’s fault!”

“You can’t know that,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“You heard him on the phone!” Stannis spluttered.

“The engagement party has been all over the news! For all we know, they saw that fucking Storms Ending commercial!”

“I like that commercial,” Thoros put in.

“Eh. I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Renly shrugged. “All the girls at Prep are gaga over it though.” 

“All I’m saying is that Jaime said he had a fail-safe plan and that I would be collateral damage,” Stannis tried to return them to the matter at hand.

“Oh,” Thoros suddenly looked away from glaring at Renly. “Huh. Did you say fail-safe?”

“That was the phrase he used,” Melisandre nodded.

“Right. Um Stannis is probably right,” Thoros looked sheepish.

“Did you know about this?!” Melisandre growled.

“Not exactly...” Thoros scrunched his face.

“What did he say exactly?!” Melisandre bit out.

“That he needed a fail-safe plan to stick it to Stannis?” Thoros made it sound like a question, as he edged away from his younger sister.

“And you never brought it up because...”

“Well it’s not like I knew the specifics! Ned was saying something about Hoster Tully ruining his marriage and childhood best friends and then Jaime ran out.”

“See it kind of seems like you knew the specifics,” Melisandre said very quietly. Thoros shivered.

“I’m on Robert’s side!!!” He protested.

“I know you are buddy,” Robert patted his top knot.

“Okay, three issues. Robert, you need to get to our parents and apologize for not telling them you were GETTING MARRIED,” Stannis said sternly. “Then we need to talk to dad about smoothing things over with Tywin, and I literally have no ideas on that front. Finally, we need to take care of Jaime. I will handle that,” Stannis said firmly. Oh he would handle it.

“Can you also come with me when I apologize to Mom and Dad?” Robert looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me!” Stannis narrowed his eyes.

“I won’t! I swear I won’t!”

“Okay fine. Renly, you and Melisandre are in charge of implementing whatever plan we come up with to reconcile our dad with Tywin.”

“I can help,” Thoros offered.

“Renly, you and Melisandre are in charge of implementing whatever plan we come up with to reconcile our dad with Tywin,” Stannis repeated stoically. “Now does anyone have any ideas they would like to submit to the floor?”

“What if he apologized?” Melisandre said hesitantly. “Would that be enough?”

“He won’t apologize, he thinks he basically could have stopped the whole Aerys Targaryen thing ten years ago if Tywin had bothered to listen to him. Instead Tywin and Aerys cut him out,” Robert explained.

“Well Tywin won’t apologize, he thinks dad is a superficial dick who was fine rubbing elbows with him at parties but couldn’t bother to show up for Joanna Lannister’s funeral!” Renly protested.

“I don’t know...” Stannis mumbled, trying to recall a conversation he’d had with Jaime once. “Jaime said Tywin felt like he’d backed the wrong horse, that he was... I don’t know, not sad, but regretted how things had turned out. I’m not saying he’d apologize, but if he thought dad was willing to put it behind him, he might put it behind him too?”

“So nobody apologizes, they just pretend it never happened?” Melisandre said sarcastically. “Wow that’s healthy.”

“Nope that’s definitely how it has to be,” Robert nodded assent.

“So we get them into a room, and if Steffon thinks Tywin feels bad and Tywin thinks Steffon feels bad, they’ll just sort of bury the hatchet?” Melisandre said dubiously. 

“Robert and I can bring it up with dad. Who wants to handle Tywin?” Stannis said, aware that this plan was thin. But with the disconcerting regularity with which his really well thought out plans backfired, was there even any point in trying?

“Ooooh me!” Renly waved his hand.

Stannis looked at Melisandre. 

“Meeeee!” Renly moved so he was now in front of Melisandre.

“Fine. Do I even want to know?” Stannis asked dully.

“Well I saw this romcom the other night and...”

“Actually I really don’t. Come on Robert,” Stannis sighed heavily. 

They naturally found their parents swarmed by admirers and well-wishers and assorted hangers-on.

“Excuse me,” Stannis said politely to a star struck Whent. No response.

“Excuse me?” He tried a little louder. Nothing.

“Coming through!” Robert shouldered the Whent aside, grabbing Stannis by the arm as he went. Stannis gritted his teeth as he was half dragged the remaining ten yards, Robert sending trays of canapés, drinks and the occasional socialite flying.

“Mom! Dad!” Robert announced when they finally got there. “You made it!”

Steffon Baratheon looked like an older version of Robert. The resemblance was truly striking. Cassana Baratheon also had black hair, in long curls that had been swept up into an elegant chiffon. Teardrop pearls swung from her ears as she laughed at a joke Melessa Tarly had made, her striking scarlet dress (it reminded Stannis of a more conservative version of Cersei’s) catching the light. A photographer snapped a candid.

“Robert!!!” Cassana cooed. “My baby boy’s all grown up!” 

There was a collective ‘awwww’ from the crowd, and Robert gave a sheepish smile for the audience as she pinched his cheeks.

“We need a family photo!!” Steffon boomed. “You with the camera! The Baratheons!”

They put their arms around Robert.

“Do you want me in this or...” Stannis began drily. The camera clicked. Evidently not.

“I’m so glad Jaime got a hold of you,” Robert said to their parents, drawing them away from the crowd. “We were so worried when the invitation we sent to Lorath got returned undelivered!”

What. Stannis shot a look at Robert who looked innocently back.

“So worried,” he said flatly.

Their mother lifted an eyebrow.

“The invitation was lost in the mail?”

“Of course! You don’t think something like this could happen in my life and I wouldn’t tell you guys?!” Robert said sweetly. “Maybe Renly messed up the address somehow?”

And there it was. Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Really darling, I can’t see how this even happened,” Cassana smoothed Robert’s hair as if he were a child. “Cersei Lannister? You know we haven’t really socialized with the Lannisters since Joanna’s passing.”

“Robert has dated Cersei since high school, Mom,” Stannis pointed out, perhaps a tad snidely. “She was his prom queen, remember?”

From the expression of bemusement on their mother’s face, it was clear that she did not.

“Of course, now it’s coming back,” she laughed for the benefit of any third parties in earshot. “Little Cersei. She always did follow you everywhere. And you were always sweet on her. Remember when you made her that valentine?”

Stannis and Robert exchanged a look. Cersei and Robert had always despised each other until... well until they didn’t. The aforementioned valentine had been for Lyanna Stark.

“That’s right Mum,” Robert said easily. “She loved it.”

 It shouldn’t have mattered. It clearly didn’t to Robert. All the same, Stannis felt the old unasked for hurt welling up. What was wrong with these people?! Why didn’t their kids matter to them?! Were the three of them so fucking uninteresting?! Maybe Robert and Renly were shitheads, maybe he was awkward and over serious, but come hell or high water he would bet his life that any of them would be better parents than Steffon and Cassana.

That was the sad part. The bar was so fucking low. Literally all they had to do was be there for their children.

Stannis blinked, a simmering resentment abruptly dissipating.

It didn’t matter. That Cersei might be lying about the pregnancy. It couldn’t matter. If there were any chance that she was telling the truth, no matter how remote, he wanted Robert to be there every step of the way. This kid deserved a father. Robert might pass along a whole host of other psychological issues, but absenteeism was one scar that was stopping at this generation.

He turned to look at his brother, now talking earnestly to their father about how much it would mean to him if he’d let bygones be bygones with Tywin. Just let the past stay in the past.

Stannis would do his best.

He gave Robert a tired smile and Robert gave a goofy grin back, mock toasting him with a glass of champagne he’d conjured from somewhere. 

Gods he was going to be a disaster of a father. But he would be a father.

Stannis turned his attention from the past and the future to the matter at present.

Jaime fucking Lannister.

Brienne (Been Away For So Long 2 of x)

Brienne was not having a panic attack. Everything was COMPLETELY under control. She just wasn’t entirely sure she could breath.

She sat down on a marble bench festooned with lilies, and checked the laminated to-do list that Cersei had presented her with upon her arrival that morning.

She had let in the sound system people, made sure they were paid, supervised the installation. She had spent two hours placing name cards on the tables throughout the great courtyard according to Cersei’s ever changing master list she kept on a shared spreadsheet. Then Brienne had rechecked the spreadsheet, and of course Cersei had made several changes, primarily to the Tyrells.

Cersei had picked out her dress, a gauzy peach shift with one shoulder that felt a little bit like she was running around with only a personal cloud to conceal her modesty. She had hoped to find Jaime for a little reassurance—(she heard that in his voice and blushed—just reassurance!!)—but he was inexplicably nowhere to be seen.

Tyrion said he’d chatted with him earlier, Ned had run into him at the bar, Oberyn wondered why she was looking for Jaime when he, Oberyn, was right here and had he mentioned that dress was just exquisite....

Not feeling at all reassured, Brienne had hastily retreated back inside to retrieve a shawl from her suitcase in Jaime’s room and maybe yes, see if he was also hiding out in there.

He was not. She cloaked herself in the shawl feeling unaccountably forlorn. There was just so much to do and none of the guests paid any attention to her except to stare. The only exceptions were Jaime’s Aunt Genna who kept casting furtive looks at her like someone had let in a very large mouse and his Uncle Tygett who had mistaken her for somebody’s nanny and put a completely silent seven year old named Tyrek’s sticky hand into her own.

“He’s gluten-free, sugar-free and completely vegan. Try to keep it organic, and for the gods’ sakes keep your eyes on him, he’s like a magpie,” Jaime’s uncle said sternly. Brienne looked at the small blond child holding her hand. She wasn’t entirely clear what that was supposed to mean. 

 After towing Tyrek around for thirty minutes looking for an actual nanny (or bird keeper), she’d finally managed to hand him off to Tyrion and was thoroughly sick of the Ty- prefix in general.

She went outside and as she often did when she was feeling overwhelmed, looked for a nice quiet place to be alone.

The marble bench had seemed a nice quiet spot, surrounded by flowers and away from the high contact sport of society mingling. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, let the faint fragrance of the lilies calm her and savored the sensation of being finally, blessedly, alone.

“Hi Brienne!” 

She opened her eyes to find Renly Baratheon standing arms akimbo inches away.

Or not.

As always, he had made the dress code his own, an elegantly dapper midnight blue tux bringing out his striking blue eyes. She wasn’t sure he would ever be quite as tall or as broad-shouldered as Robert, but he had an aristocratic fineness to his features that his brothers lacked. Next to him, she felt even more ungainly than she did normally.

“What is that?!” Renly wrinkled his nose.

“Oh just something Cersei made me wear,” Brienne mumbled.

“Ugh no, that dress is a modern homage to vintage Lysene gowns from the 1920s, it’s lovely. What is that!” Renly whisked her shawl away, pinching it between his fingers like he had seized a dead rat.

“I felt like people were staring at me,” Brienne flushed.

“Of course they were, there’s a massive photo of you swimming in the Tarbeck exhibition at the Tayte,” Renly said blithely. He tossed her shawl over one shoulder, it somehow seeming jauntily cavalier on him, and extended his arm. “Take a spin with me? We have so much to catch up on since I’ve been at drama camp! Did I tell you that an agent gave me his card?!”

Brienne smiled helplessly at Renly’s imperturbable chivalry. She had known him since he was in kindergarten and he had always known what to say to cheer her up. Even now at fourteen, an age where she remembered most boys being awful pack animals, Renly was still stubbornly one of a kind.

Renly was chatting animatedly about how this could be the break into the film industry that he’d been waiting for and did his parents even care?! No! His mother had brushed him off to talk to her friends the Tullys, and you know if Robert had said something might be his big break, she would have at least put down her wine and heard him out.

“Your parents are here?” Brienne frowned. She’d gotten the vague impression that they wouldn’t be, but of course that was ridiculous. They would never miss an important life event like this.

“You missed the grand entrance?” Renly rolled his eyes. 

“I may have been escorting a jam smeared child through the bowels of this house,” Brienne offered.

“Well it was by helicopter,” Renly rolled his eyes. “That’s mostly what we need to discuss. Remember that scene in How to Lose a Guy in a Fortnight?”

“What scene?” Brienne asked. Before she had left for college, she and Renly had had a long standing romcom movie night.

“Where the guy finds out the girl likes him because he overhears a conversation that their friends are having? And then their friends separately lure them to that balcony and he’s actually nice to her and she realizes she actually is in love with them and then they kiss and then they only find out later that she’d never told their friends anything like that?”

“Of course,” Brienne laughed. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Right, we’re doing that,” Renly said, wheeling her through the crowd.

“With your parents? Are they having a tiff?”

“What? No! With dad and Tywin!”

“You want your dad to kiss Tywin on a balcony?” Brienne wasn’t sure she was fully following.

“NO! EW! Tywin is mine!”

Brienne accepted and even cherished many of Renly’s eccentricities, but his crush on Tywin was really really not one of them. Literally everybody except Melisandre found it deeply unsettling.

“He’s not gay,” she said in her most severe and disapproving tone.

“Neither is my dad. I want Tywin to overhear that father feels terribly about how they don’t talk anymore. Then we lure them to a place my dad would actually go, like a bar, slash a place Tywin would actually go, like a library, so just spitballing here, the bar cart in the library, and then they make up.”

“Oh. Okay,” Brienne said tentatively. Although speaking of Tywin... “Have you seen Jaime?”

“Is he not around?” Renly asked lightly. But there was something in his polished surprise that rang slightly off.

“Where... is... Jaime?” Brienne stopped their walk about, squeezing his arm.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Renly gave her a sunny smile that was at least devoid of artifice. “Oh look, it’s Olenna Tyrell! Hi Olenna!!”

“Why Renly, you charming young man. Look at you, stealing the prettiest girl here for yourself,” Olenna Tyrell, an elegant woman with light brown hair streaking gray rather gracefully, arched an eyebrow at Renly.

Brienne blushed. She was sure that Olenna meant it (painful interactions with her former college advisor had taught her that the erstwhile CEO of the Tyrell Agricultural Conglomerate did not believe in mincing words), but she couldn’t quite trust those kinds of comments.

Jaime would say that was nonsense. He’d remind her of that gods damned photo now hanging in a museum for strangers to gawp at. She looked around once more for him to no avail.

“I do hope your grades this year were not any indication of future efforts,” Olenna was telling Renly sternly. “I know you Baratheons must have a brain cell or two in there somewhere, Stannis was evidence enough of that. And Robert always had his football. You can’t possibly make me sell a theater program though...”

“Oh look,” Renly deliberately changed the subject, his light tenor carrying across the crowd. “Is that Tywin Lannister? He’s looking rather fit isn’t he?”

From Tywin’s flinch, Renly’s remark had certainly carried far enough. Brienne was sure he’d move further from them (Tywin being firmly in the camp of those unnerved by Renly’s fascination with him) but then Olenna gave a rich chuckle.

“If my son weren’t here right now... Mace does so hate to be embarrassed by me.”

Tywin had surprisingly paused, although it may have been due to his being waylaid by Brandon Stark.

“I keep telling him, Mace it’s nothing that a diet and a lie about a thyroid issue won’t fix,” Olenna flapped a hand. “Anyway, the last thing he needs is a reminder that his mother is a living breathing woman who likes to flirt with handsome widowers.”

Tywin and Brandon were still talking, Tywin having ushered Brandon a step or two closer to avoid a passing waiter.

“It’s too bad that there’s so many people around, I know my father had been looking for a chance to talk to him in private,” Renly sighed.

“Oh?” Olenna raised an eyebrow.

“I thought they didn’t speak to each other,” Brienne chipped in dutifully.

“They don’t. And it’s really eating him up, especially now that Robert and Cersei are engaged. He just wants to put the whole thing behind him, and he’s not sure how,” Renly said earnestly, sounding both saddened and wistful. 

Brienne didn’t care what Olenna thought, Renly would make a wonderful actor some day.

“Stuff and nonsense. They’re men, what’s to say. They’ll have a glass of scotch and hem and haw and the whole thing will be over with,” Olenna sniffed.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Renly shook his head as if they were discussing matters of state. “Father didn’t come to Joanna Lannister’s funeral. At the time, he felt like his presence would have been an extra burden with his and Tywin’s falling out, but I don’t think Tywin has ever forgotten it. And it’s made father shy of reaching out.”

“This is why women should rule the world,” Olenna gave Brienne a conspiratorial look. “Anyone who had ever met Joanna Lannister should know that she didn’t give two lambs’ farts about this kind of petty nonsense. She knew the Baratheons loved her, and the rest is in the details,” Olenna flapped a hand. “I can’t imagine Tywin would keep a grudge over something so silly.”

Brienne discreetly glanced over her shoulder, but the subject in question had disappeared.

“I do hope so,” Renly didn’t even look surprised at how ably Olenna played along. “And may I just say,” he gave her a cheekily flirtatious grin. “How very much I like you, Olenna.”

“Please, call me Mrs. Tyrell,” Olenna’s smile was razor sharp but her laugh genuine. “If only I had another son for you.”

“As if I’d survive being related to her,” Renly whispered smirking to Brienne as he dragged her away.

“I think that went quite well all things considered,” he continued.

“How do you even know? I don’t think he heard anything after you shouted about how hot he is,” Brienne said doubtfully.

Renly smiled smugly but made no response.

“Oh is that Cersei?” Brienne caught a glimpse of red and gold. “Can I have my shawl back? I need to see if she knows where Jaime is.”

“Absolutely not,” Renly cast her a stern look. “It ruins the outfit. We’ll put it down over here on the bench you were hiding on. Just don’t forget it later.

“Fine,” Brienne huffed, mentally resolving to retrieve it as soon as Renly’s back was turned.

She caught up with Cersei, who was clutching a glass, not of her now standard sparkling cider, but of red wine.

“Have you seen Jaime?” 

She asked hopefully.

“Did you know that Moon Boy isn’t showing?” Cersei swung on her.

“I didn’t know Moon Boy was showing,” Brienne said cautiously, sensing that perhaps was not the best time to be approaching Cersei.

“And Marillion!” Cersei hissed. “This is a disaster!”

Brienne looked around the party, probably the nicest party she had ever been to. Everybody seemed to be having a grand time.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brienne asked uncertainly.

“You’ve done quite enough,” Cersei said. “But there is one more thing I must ask you.”

“Okay?” Brienne said hesitantly.

“You don’t mind if I toss my bouquet to Melisandre do you?” Cersei said.

“Oh,” Brienne blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her really that Cersei would toss the bouquet at all.

“Just a little thank you for her help,” Cersei patted her on the shoulder.

Melisandre’s help? Melisandre had no time for Cersei and less time for weddings.

“Now excuse me, I have a party to save,” Cersei said, handing her glass of wine to Brienne.

Brienne blinked at it.

Had she done something wrong? Was Cersei disappointed in her? Should she have known about Marillion and Moon Boy? 

She never even said whether she’d seen Jaime.

Brienne looked at the quite full glass. With a resigned sigh, she took a gulp. 

Actually, the wine was quite good she thought. Especially since she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. She ambled through the crowd, and had another longer sip, idly backtracking toward the bench she’d first run into Renly at. It was gone. Her shawl was gone. As she blinked, owlishly bewildered, she heard a familiar voice from around the corner and instinctively shrunk back.

“It’s just too awful for words! That Jaime would embarrass us like this!” Jaime’s Aunt Genna was saying loudly to one of her brothers. Gerion? Brienne bit her lip. Were they talking about her? She retreated toward the bar.

“May I have another one of these?” Brienne pushed the glass at a bartender, a little surprised to find it empty so soon. Still, that was good stuff.

“Brienne?” A soft voice asked. Brienne turned. Catelyn Tully—Catelyn Stark, Brienne corrected herself, was sitting there with her own glass.

“Catelyn!” Brienne beamed, partly happy to see her for the first time in at least a year, partly just relieved to find a friendly face.

They hugged, then laughed, then hugged again.

“You look so tan! How was your vacation?” Brienne asked shyly. Ned had spoken of her often while he was at Cersei’s.

Catelyn gave her a look, and took a long defiant gulp of her wine. Brienne let slip a rueful chuckle and took a sip of her own.

“That bad?”

“C’mon let’s find somewhere private,” Catelyn grabbed her arm.

They chose what Brienne had always privately thought of as the reading room—a small second floor nook with plushy armchairs that looked down on the much larger library below. 

Catelyn flopped into one, her normally braided auburn hair swinging loose and defiant.

“I think I need to murder my father. Do you think Beric would represent me pro bono?” She said drily.

Brienne smothered another smile. It was nice to feel  that she wasn’t the only one in hopelessly over her head.

“I think he still has another year of law school to go,” she tried to play along.

“Nonsense, it’ll be easy. I already have my defense. It’s not guilty by reason of temporary insanity by reason of family vacation,” Catelyn waved her wine glass. Then she looked at it, as if noticing it for the first time.

“I shouldn’t even be drinking! I’m still breast-feeding. Here you take it, you’re empty.” 

Brienne looked down at her own glass. So she was. Wow this was great stuff. She’d have to compliment Tyrion later.

“We hadn’t even left for the Summer Islands when my father started in on Ned. How we were living in a shoe box and what kind of life was that for a baby, and nothing had happened that couldn’t be undone, that he had all sorts of eligible sons of friends that wouldn’t mind taking on a divorcee with a young son. Taking me on! Like I was some sort of charity project!”

Brienne shook her head sympathetically.

“And then the entire trip, I was practically running into half the male population of Westeros! I think he would have locked me in a closet with some of these creeps if he’d thought that would work!”

Catelyn shuddered.

“So just to get him off my back I went out to dinner a couple times with Jon Arryn. Remember, from Prep? He’s really sweet and he adores Ned, and he felt terrible about the whole thing and was happy to take me out to dinner and just talk about Proust or whatever. Problem solved right? WRONG! Lysa got all pissy at me! She said she’d always had a crush on him in high school—psh, since when?! And she has Petyr, it’s completely absurd! But anyway, how dare I take HER man. So then she insisted on coming everywhere with us, and the worst thing is I think he WAS kind of interested? Like she’s half his age! My baby sister with Mr. Arryn from senior lit!”

Brienne blushed at the thought.

“And now I come home, and everybody thinks Ned and I are having marriage problems thanks to my father! You would believe how many sympathetic should pats I’ve gotten. It’s been a disaster from start to finish. Brienne, take it from me, family is overrated,” Catelyn sighed.

“Jaime’s aunts and uncles keep staring at me,” Brienne confided. “And I heard his Aunt Genna say that he was embarrassing the whole family. And now Cersei doesn’t want to throw her bouquet to me—I didn’t even know she was going to!—and I’m worried I’ve made a mess of things somehow.”

“The Lannisters are uniformly pieces of work. As far as I’m concerned, Jaime’s the only one who is halfway decent, and the jury is still out on him,” Catelyn hugged her. “If they can’t recognize how special you are, they don’t deserve your company.”

“I don’t want to be the reason Jaime drifts from his family,” Brienne protested. 

“He might thank you,” Catelyn reiterated stubbornly. “Have you ever noticed that Genna looks like Kevan in a dress?”

Brienne gave an undignified snort of laughter.

“That’s not true!”

“It is true. Now you’ll never be able to unsee it. You’re welcome.” Catelyn gave a mischievous smirk and pushed herself to her feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a husband who I suspect needs saving.”

Brienne gave her a drowsy wave and settled deeper into her chair. Honestly, she wasn’t in any rush to go anywhere quickly. The wine had made her feel pleasantly toasty and more than a little sleepy. If she were to just close her eyes...

Brienne woke up with a start, feeling like a not insignificant amount of time had passed. Had she missed dinner? Was everyone furious at her? She was about to bounce to her feet and hurry downstairs when a boisterous and distinctively Robert laugh came from below in the library. She frowned and twisted, peeking over the back of her chair. What was Robert doing squirreled away in a library? He was usually the life of the party.

There was another laugh, and Brienne realized it wasn’t Robert at all. It was Steffon Baratheon, and standing next to him SMILING was Tywin Lannister. Brienne reflected that a smiling Tywin Lannister was just as frightening as a non-smiling Tywin Lannister. Really more so. 

They were puffing cigars, and Steffon said something in his Robert-y rumble and Tywin made a sound that could have been a throat clearing or could have been a chuckle.

Brienne fled.

In her her haste to escape the creepy Tywin Lannister look-a-like who did things like SMILE and LAUGH, she nearly flattened someone as she rounded the corner to get to the master staircase.

“Oh I’m—Jaime!” Brienne blurted, her boyfriend’s dark green eyes looking dazedly up at her.

“I always told you that you sweep me off my feet,” he grinned weakly.

She pulled him up, and for a moment they just stood, grinning at each other.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, trying not to sound plaintive.

“I’m glad you found me,” he said simply. “C’mon, we’ll miss the fireworks.”

He threaded his hand into her own and she let him pull her down the grand spiral stairs.

All the guests were being ushered onto the Great Lawn and there was a hush of expectancy across the crowd.

“You were right wench, per usual,” Jaime whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down the bare arch of her neck.

She looked up at him in dismay, squeezing his hand tighter.

“About your family not liking me? I’m sorry, I think they’re getting to Cersei, but I’ll work harder, I can change their minds, I know I can—“

“What?” Jaime kissed her to cut her off. “I am sure they haven’t thought twice about you. That’s not the Lannister way. I was talking about the wedding.”

“The wedding?” Brienne repeated doubtfully. Surely he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant...

“Cersei is completely ridiculously absurdly in love with that moron and I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner,” Jaime said drily. “I officially give it my blessing.”

Brienne beamed at him. Cersei wasn’t the only ridiculously absurd Lannister here.

“But you’re my idiot,” she kissed him. As his lips melted against hers, a spark illuminated the horizon and then the entire sky exploded into golden light.

“Brienne,” Jaime groaned, breaking the kiss to nibble his way down her neck. “You look gorgeous. This is a delightful dress and I want nothing more than to tear it to pieces.”

She giggled, punch drunk, as he rested his head on her bare shoulder, his fingers teasingly trailing down to her hips.

“Stop, we’re in public.” Another burst, red sparks this time, to punctuate her point.

“Everyone’s looking at the fireworks, wench,” Jaime tightened his hold on her hips and pulled her closer, lifting his head to kiss her again.

“And if it at all affects your decision,” he said drily, when they came up for air. “You wouldn’t BELIEVE what a day I’ve had.”

Jaime (Been Away For So Long 3 of x)

Once Ned had said it, it seemed so stupidly simple. Tywin Lannister was the architect of this monstrosity of a wedding. Tywin Lannister could undo it. It would be as simple as informing Cersei that there was no need to get married and the board seat at Lannister Corp would be waiting for her no matter what she did.

Without the carrot of the board seat and the stick of family banishment, Cersei would throw Robert over before the day was up. 

But if the Cersei angle was proving ridiculously hard to exploit and there didn’t appear to be a Robert angle, what was the Tywin angle? What was the thing that would make a man not famous for changing his mind, well, change his mind?

And then good old blissfully unaware Ned Stark saved the day again, prattling about childhood friends. Steffon Baratheon. Tywin and Steffon had been childhood friends. And now they weren’t.

All he needed was to get that foghorn of a man in front of his father and there would be fireworks. The metaphorical kind. Hopefully before the literal fireworks, by which point the engagement party would be over.

He wasn’t exactly sure how this hadn’t come up earlier. Clearly Robert had done something to keep his parents out of the picture. But it was child’s play to get Steffon’s cell number from his father’s secretary.

He tried to conjure up Steffon and Cassana in his mind’s eye. Like most of his father’s friends, they hadn’t really been around after his mother’s death when he was ten. Those interminable play dates had dragged on for a few years after that but Steffon and Cassana had become a once-a-year presence at the holiday party. Cassana a light effervescent laugh, a sparkle of jewelry, a strange pang of homesickness for what it would be like to have a mother. Steffon was just rather hearty and loud. A backslapper like his son.

The phone rang and Jaime focused in.

“Steffon Baratheon,” the voice answered and there was an eery moment when he wondered if Robert had managed to get all calls forwarded to his own phone, so alike were their voices. Then he remembered it was Robert, who barely knew how to answer the phone.

“This is Jaime Lannister,” he said smoothly. There was an uncertain pause. “Tywin’s son?”

“Of course! Sorry the service here in Lorath is just too terrible to be believed! You’d think they would have some kind of civilization up here but you’d be wrong.”

Jaime laughed mechanically along with Steffon’s guffaw.

“I just wanted to make sure you’ll be back in time for the engagement party,” he said sweetly.

“You’re engaged? Congratulations! My goodness, you youngsters grow up so fast! What are you now, twenty?”

“Twenty three,” Jaime said, trying to conceal his smile. Oh Robert, you poor sweet imbecile. Did you really think you’d get away with this? “But it’s not me getting engaged. It’s your son Robert. To my sister. This Saturday. You will come, won’t you?”

The line had gone dead.

What did they say in cyvasse? Oh that’s right. Check mate.

He arrived at the party in a good mood. How to celebrate? Champagne. Lots of champagne.

He strode up to the bar, and was surprised to see the very person to whom he owed this coup de grace, namely one Eddard Stark. 

“Stark! How the hells are ya?” He grinned and gestured at the bartender for some champagne.

“My life is over,” Ned said gravely. 

A bundle of laughs was Eddard Stark.

“Tell me,” Jaime said magnanimously. He considered that they might even be even for the whole ‘throwing him under the bus during the Aerys fiasco’ thing.

“Catelyn has barely said a word to me since we’ve gotten here! Three different people have come up to me and given me their condolences on our impending divorce! This is all Hoster Tully’s doing, I know it! What am I supposed to do?” Ned looked up plaintively.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Jaime clasped his shoulder firmly. “Get some liquid courage in you. Then march over to Hoster Tully, accuse him of sabotaging your marriage in front of everybody and tell him what you really think of him.”

“You think that’ll work?” Ned said uncertainly.

“Of course,” Jaime kept a straight face. “Hoster Tully is a bully. The only thing bullies respond to is force. You need to show him that you are a man to be reckoned with, that you won’t back down. And if you make that clear, he’ll crumble like cheese.”

“If you say so,” Ned frowned.

“I do,” Jaime gave him a dazzling smile.

There. NOW they were even.

He reached for the phone that he’d put on the bar when he’d waved to flag the bartender down, but his grasping hand met only the bar top. Odd. He could have sworn it was right there. He’d wanted to text his wench and then gotten distracted by the champagne. He checked his pockets. Not there either. He did have it before didn’t he? Had he left it in the car? Hells, how was he supposed to find Brienne now?

He scanned the huge party slightly despondently looking for a familiar blonde head bobbing above the crowd. No luck.

Jaime resolved to find Tyrion and borrow his phone. Tyrion at least was usually easy to find. Jaime headed for the wine cellar.

Unlike Eddard Stark, Tyrion seemed blissfully out of it. He was lying on his back on the floor, head resting on his laced together hands.

Jaime snorted at him and proceeded to lay down next to him, adopting the same pose.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here? Overwhelmed by the beauty of so much wine in one place?”

“It is beautiful,” Tyrion agreed, his mismatched eyes twinkling. “But I will have you know that I am reflecting on weightier matters.”

“Oh?” Jaime rolled on his side to regard his younger brother.

“As of tonight,” Tyrion began dramatically, “I am a man.”

“You don’t mean...” Jaime’s brow furrowed.

“I had sex. Right about where you’re lying.”

Jaime hastily stood and brushed himself off.

“Congrats! Was it everything you hoped it’d be?” He teased.

“I think I’m in love,” Tyrion said dreamily.

“You’re not in love,” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I am. Her name is Tysha Crofter, and she’s 21 and she works as the third assistant sommelier at the Crossroads Inn.”

“What are her interests?” Jaime asked wryly.

Tyrion shrugged serenely.

“Sex in wine cellars, presumably. Oh shoot, that reminds me. You haven’t seen Tyrek have you?”

“Which one is Tyrek?” Jaime frowned. “Martyn’s brother?”

“No that’s Willem, Tyrek is Tygett’s youngest. Brienne left him in my charge when I saw Tysha beckoning. So naturally...”

“Naturally you took the child to an adult to be looked after?” Jaime ventured hopefully.

Tyrion shook his head indulgently.

“Naturally I told him we were going to play hide and seek so he better find a really REALLY good hiding spot.”

Jaime opened his mouth and then shut it. Then he replayed that conversation.

“You’ve seen Brienne?” 

“Yup,” Tyrion shrugged. 

“Which way did she go?”

“Um that way I think. She was running around with a list of instructions from Cersei,” Tyrion shook his head.

“And how is our beloved sister?” Jaime asked, feeling pleased that he was clearly close to catching up with Brienne.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her yet. Not like her to not be the center of attention,” Tyrion said.

“Probably wants to make an entrance. For what father’s paying for her dress, she’s going to arrive dripping in peacock feathers and diamonds,” Jaime smiled wryly.

“Well she should get a move on, I don’t want to miss her entrance, but I should really be...”

“Finding Tyrek,” Jaime supplied, right as Tyrion said, “Finding Tysha.

“Jaime,” Tyrion said pleadingly. “I’m in love.”

Jaime ground his teeth. 

Instead of calling Brienne and arranging a rendez-vous in some secret hideaway (the old treehouse came to mind), he began methodically working his way through the bowels of Casterly Rock, wondering where he would hide if he were a small snotty child like all his cousins inevitably seemed to be.

It didn’t help that Casterly Rock was full of nooks and crannies and about a billion different wings, each with their own maze of corridors. After an hour of this, Jaime was starting to think he was going mad. He had an eery sensation of being watched, and glared at the hundredth portrait of a Lannister relative he passed, just to make it clear that he was not intimidated by them and their stupid noses. 

“Tyrek?” He poked his head up onto the second floor landing of the east wing, where all the bedrooms were. A child of approximately the correct age greeted him, but was both the wrong gender and coloring.

“Hullo Jeyne,” Jaime tried to smile at his family butler’s daughter. “Have you seen my cousin Tyrek? About your height, and though my memory is spotty, I would guess blond hair, green eyes and rather smug looking?”

Jeyne shook her head.

“Well if you do, give me a shout,” Jaime sighed. He was getting rather anxious to get back to the party proper and make sure the Baratheons got ample face time with his father. How much harm could one kid really get up to?

There was a rustling sound from a bedroom in the back.

Gotcha.

Jaime eased into the guest suite and looked around suspiciously. He was in the sitting room, although there was a bedroom attached to that and a bathroom beyond that. 

He scanned the three rooms, trying to determine where the sound would have come from. Was that bed skirt just a little crooked? Like maybe somebody had slipped under it?

Jaime started to advance stealthily toward the bed.

“I know what you did,” the all-too-familiar growl came from behind him.

Jaime spun to see Stannis leaning in the doorway. Worse, leaning while holding the guest suite key in one hand.

“Have you been following me?” Jaime asked lightly, edging back toward the sitting room.

“For some time,” Stannis said, deliberately locking and unlocking the door with the key, watching the bolt turn in and out.

“Freaking shadow assassin,” Jaime tried to joke while getting close enough to spring.

“Bringing my parents into this was over the line. But in a way, I’m glad you did,” Stannis glared at him.

“Oh?” Just five steps closer and he could jump for it.

“It’s made me re-evaluate my feelings on the wedding. I’ve come to stop—“

Jaime leaped for the door only to smash into it as Stannis slammed it in his face. He shrugged off the stinging pain and grabbed for the knob—only KA-CHUNK, the lock turned.

“FUCK! STANNIS YOU PRICK!”

Jaime took a few steps back and took another running charge at the door. It shuddered but did not give. He prepared to do it again, only for there to be a horrendous screeching sound from the hall.

“What are you doing?!” Jaime snapped.

“Moving... a... chest,” Stannis huffed, “in front of the door. Now try to knock it down all you want to.”

Jaime repeatedly kicked the door, just to prove that he wasn’t giving up.

“I think some time for reflection might do you good,” Stannis said firmly from the other side. 

“You really are the worst ally ever,” Jaime groused.

“Please. I prefer to think of us as neutral at best.”

“ARG!!!” Jaime threw himself against the door again. Not because it would help, just because it made him feel mildly better.

“Goodbye Jaime,” Stannis said and Jaime heard the footsteps receding down the hallway.

He gave the door a last sullen kick. Fuck, he could probably rely on his father and Steffon to be at each other’s throats without his assistance, but how could that miserable stick in the mud Stannis keep him from Brienne’s company all night?!

There was a soft sneeze from under the bed.

“Right,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Out you go—“ he reached under, grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked.

“Ow!” Said a fully adult sized human, grabbing at his wrist.

“What the hell!” Jaime yelped and scrambled back.

Beric Dondarrion crawled sheepishly out from under the bed.

“Hi Jaime, I’m sorry to um intrude.”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair, considering just pulling it out entirely.

“What are you doing under the bed of one of our guest rooms?!”

Beric cleared his throat.

“I realize this seems unusual but there was this young girl well... stalking me. It was making me rather uncomfortable, so I decided to lose her.”

Jaime flashed back on Jeyne Westerling, wandering the hallway by herself. He groaned.

“I don’t suppose you have a cell phone?”

Beric shook his head glumly.

“Thoros made me give mine to him before the party, I’ve been having some um let’s call them anxiety issues? He thinks checking social media on my phone all the time is making it worse.”

Come to think of it, Dondarrion did look rather twitchy, even for him.

Jaime sighed. Great. He couldn’t even be alone to sulk in peace. Instead he had earnest goody-two-shoes Beric to be like ‘why would you ever try to deliberately sabotage your sister’s wedding, that’s a horrible thing to do!’ Wimp. Jamie sighed again louder.

“Do you need to talk about something?” Beric asked tentatively.

See?! People just couldn’t let him be.

“Well since you won’t stop badgering me, here’s what’s going on,” Jaime began, before proceeding to fill Beric in on the details.

“Why would you ever try to deliberately sabotage your sister’s wedding, that’s a horrible thing to do!” Beric exclaimed.

Jaime glared.

“First Stannis agrees with me!! Or did agree with me. Traitor. Second, I’m trying to save my sister! How can that be a bad thing?!”

“Have you actually tried to talk to her about this?” Beric asked.

“Yes! I’ve hinted in a thousand different ways that Robert is some kind of genetic experiment that escaped from the monkey lab. She never picks up on it!”

“No, I mean, have you said, ‘Cersei, I’m worried you’re getting married for the wrong reasons’?!”

“What do you know! You’re an only child!” Jaime snapped. Okay, it was settled. He would be damned if he had to spend this entire evening stuck with Beric Dondarrion, the boy on their highschool football team that used to volunteer them to do more laps in practice.

He charged the door again, this time taking a running start.

“Oof!” He grunted as bounced off. Again. And again. And again.

“I wish Thoros were here,” Beric said sadly.

Jaime took a breather from breaking down the door (as he was rather dizzy and his shoulder was starting to hurt), to cast Beric a withering glare.

“As far as I’m aware, Asshai’s only super power is inhuman alcohol tolerance. Would you care to explain how that would be useful?” Jaime scowled. He hoped Beric wasn’t one of those people that was constantly pining after their significant other...

“He can also pick locks,” Beric said bluntly.

“Oh,” Jaime said stymied and collapsed on the floor in defeat. He wondered what Brienne was doing.

“I think you’re being too hard on Robert,” Beric volunteered pensively from where he was now lying on the bed.

“I’m really not,” Jaime gave back, still staring at the ceiling. “Nobody has ever been hard on him in his stupidly charmed life.”

“Maybe he’s grown as a person?”

“Said the guy who just got dragged into a bar brawl with him like a month ago,” Jaime snarked. Grown as a person... maybe in the gut.

Beric didn’t even used to like Robert! This was a post-Thoros development, and Jaime did not approve at all. He wasn’t even sure if, had he actually cared, he would really approve of their relationship. Not Beric being gay, because when he thought about that, it really explained a great deal. But Beric was wound as tightly as they came, and Thoros was the sort to go with the flow even if it was off a waterfall. Kind of like Cersei and... NO! STOP IT!

Jaime jumped to his feet to get his brain off the wedding. Things were fine, he had won, game over, the end.

Beric was eyeing him warily.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy. You know what they say, whenever the Father closes a door, he...” Jaime trailed off.

“Opens a window?” Beric finished helpfully. Then followed Jaime’s stare. “Oh. Oh dear. I don’t think that’s a good...”

Jaime ran to the window and began struggling to lift it. This guest suite was rarely used (as it would require Tywin Lannister to host guests), and the window gave part of the way, but no more. Jaime looked at the six inches of space dubiously. He stuck his head out the window and looked up. The latticework on this side of the house had been drenched with flowers, and they were preventing the window from going further. If someone could just get out and clear them, someone significantly skinnier than himself, he would be able to climb out and shimmy across to his own room to safety.

Jaime turned back to Beric. Beric swallowed.

“I think if we just wait, someone will eventually find—“

“I think I see Jeyne Westerling! Shall I call for help?” Jaime cut him off. Beric reddened.

“No? Okay, out you go,” Jaime shooed him toward the window.

Beric stuck his head out cautiously. Sure enough, with enough twisting, and some helpful threats from Jaime, he managed to clamber out until he was clinging to the trellises, trembling like a leaf.

“What are you just sitting there for, you need to clear the flowers that are jamming the window shut,” Jaime said impatiently.

“I am scared of heights,” Beric ground out, still shaking.

Jaime blinked. Well that was inconvenient.

“It’s one story Beric, and there’s half a botanical garden of bushes down there. If you fell, you’d be fine,” he said. He was pretty sure he was right. “Now get moving!”

Beric slowly managed to get himself high enough to start pulling away the flowers. Jaime tried to be patient and supportive.

“Before I get old, Dondarrion!”

Finally, the window gave and Jaime shoved it upwards. Freedom! Stay strong Brienne, I’m on my way!

“Woah! Where do you think you’re going?!” Beric yelped. Jaime stared at him.

“To my bedroom, which as discussed, is three windows over?”

Honestly, he thought Dondarrion was supposed to be smart.

“It won’t hold both our weight! You have to let me go first!”

“I can’t let you go first,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “The party will be over at the rate you’re going. Stop worrying, it’ll be fine.”

He swung out one leg, tested his foothold, then swung out the other.

Several times happened simultaneously.

There was a creaking snap as the wood of the trellises gave, and with a groan, the entire structure below them toppled outward like a falling domino. 

Jaime let out a thoroughly undignified squawk as he started to fall, grabbing the first thing at hand.

Beric let out an equally undignified eep! as Jaime grabbed him around the waist, feet kicking wildly as they dangled.

There was a pause as they took stock.

“Close call,” Jaime said brightly.

Beric’s pants began to slid downward.

“Oh no,” Beric whimpered.

“Crap,” Jaime sighed, as his grip went from Beric’s waist, to his butt, to his knees. He looked up at Beric staring down at him in mute horror. “Cute briefs? Like the purple lightning bolts.”

Beric moaned.

And then the pants slid over his shoes, and Jaime had a split second to reflect that he wished he’d chosen better final words before he crashed into the shrubs.

There was a second while Jaime assessed the situation.

“Um Jaime?” Beric whisper-called. Like a dozen people wouldn’t have heard the entire flower wall collapsing.

“Present,” Jaime waved a feeble hand. “See, I told you, nothing to worry about.”

He struggled out of the bushes, ripping his own tuxedo a bit in the process. He plucked a twig out of his hair.

“Now were I you,” Jaime squinted up at the still dangling Dondarrion, “I would scamper over to my room before people come and see you in your skivvies. I’ll just fold up your pants and leave them here,” he patted a clear patch of ground.

“Can’t you just bring them up to your room?!” Beric hissed.

“I mean I could,” Jaime scratched his head. “But I really need to find Brienne. Sorry Beric. Maybe next time.”

“What next time?!” Beric shouted, before he remembered he was trying to be quiet.

Jaime gave a mock salute and walked toward the main wing, whistling a jaunty tune.

Sure his ankle hurt a little bit, and there were bits of twigs in his hair, and his outfit had seen better days but Brienne’s gorgeous legs in a fancy dress were worth it. Nothing was going to stop him now.

Jaime (Been Away For So Long 4 of x)

Jaime was looking for Brienne when he turned a corner and saw Cersei standing with her back to him, hands on her hips, glaring at a helicopter with the Stormsend Shipping logo on it. He slowed down, a slight smile twitching across his face. Well, maybe just a brief moment to savor his victory.

“How’re tricks?” He pulled his sister into a one armed hug. He would have kissed the top of her head, but her hair was set into some kind of sparkly bejeweled crown. He settled for hip-checking her.

“I have to move that helicopter,” Cersei squinted at it stoically, barely registering his presence.

“That’s right, I saw the Baratheons came!” Jaime tried to sound innocently amused.

“Hmmm. It’s where I have the surprise fireworks display tonight. But if I tell Steffon Baratheon he has to move his stupid chopper for the fireworks, that... that... WOMAN will find some way to ruin them!”

“I’m sure somebody around here knows how to fly a helicopter,” Jaime said blithely. “Not in Robert’s skill set?”

Cersei made another noncommittal noise, then finally broke her staring contest with the aircraft.

“I have to think it over. But in the meantime, I’m glad I found you. Where have you been?!”

“Oh here and there and locked away,” Jaime flapped a hand airily. Cersei gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Well you’ve done it now. Aunt Genna is furious that you’ve left your date unattended. She says it’s the height of rudeness and your manners reflect poorly on the entire family. She was becoming rather apoplectic on the subject when I left,” Cersei informed him.

“Remind me why you want to name biscuit after that harridan?” Jaime snarked to conceal the stab of guilt he felt. He was coming Brienne! Even if he had to brave a thousand Stannis Baratheons and Beric Dondarrions and yes, Tyrion Lannisters.

Oh right.

“Our brother just lost his virginity in the wine cellar. He says he’s in love,” Jaime told Cersei.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cersei shook her head at the notion. “She’s completely unsuitable for him. She didn’t even know what a white burgundy was. Oh. Speaking of family. I need to give you something. It’s in my bedroom.”

“Right now?” Jaime inched away, toward the crowd milling before him, hoping to spot Brienne and grab her before he was kidnapped.

Cersei put her hand on his arm, and Jaime tried not to wince as her nails bit in.

“Right now,” she said sweetly, and the Lannister twins proceeded back into the house.

“I know the timing‘s not the best,” she said absently as she shut the door to her bedroom. It was the same pastel pink he remembered. Now that he thought about it, he suspected she’d chosen a matching shade for her nursery.

What he did not expect was for her to stand on her bed and start unscrewing the air vent panel.

“I think that’s a little small for you to escape out of,” he joked. 

“Oh hush, just hold on a second—“ she reached in and retrieved a fuchsia child’s safe.

“Hey!” Jaime did a double take. “I know that safe! I got it for you when we were seven because you always insisted on being the banker in Monopoly!”

“Yep,” Cersei agreed. She spun the lock to a series of numbers too quickly for Jamie to register and there was a click as it opened. Then she carefully pulled a single hair out of the mechanism and placed it on her pillow.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” Jaime chuckled. It had been her favorite gift that year, more even than the miniature pony or the custom leather handbag from a famous designer.

“I keep my treasures in here,” Cersei patted the safe fondly.

“Your treasures?” Jaime asked.

“You know, like my secret precious things that I don’t want anyone else to ever find,” Cersei said as if that was a normal thing people did.

“Right,” Jaime nodded. Sometimes with Cersei, it was best to play along. “Your treasures.”

“I want you to have this,” Cersei plucked something out of the box and held it out to him.

It was his mother’s ring.

“What?” He said stupidly, staring at the old-fashioned diamond, the well worn band, a piece of jewelry that he’d once memorized every last scratch of. He remembered sitting in the hospital, holding his mother’s hand. Seeing that ring sparkle, like Joanna Lannister had sparkled, even at the end.

“I’m not saying now or anything, gods can you imagine?! At my own engagement party?! I’d have to hire someone and have you killed. But you never come back to Casterly Rock if you can help it and I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to give this to you. So someday. When you’re ready. I think she’d really like her, you know.”

“Who?” Jaime said, still staring at the ring.

“Brienne,” Cersei rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I think mother would really like Brienne.”

“Oh,” Jaime swallowed and looked down so she wouldn’t see that his eyes had unexpectedly teared. “I know she would. I mean... thank you.”

He crushed her into a real hug, hair and makeup be damned. His sister, his twin, his best friend. He would do terrible things to make her happy. Not that he would ever say that of course.

“You’re not bad,” he said instead.

“I am perfect,” she scoffed, and then walked over to the mirror to fix her braid.

Jaime used the moment to peek inside the safe.

There was a picture of the two of them on a swing set, grinning with no front teeth. He chuckled, remembering how embarrassed Cersei had been and how he’d knocked his own baby teeth out to cheer her up. 

There was a set of earrings his mother had loved, a picture of all of them when Tyrion had just been born. A plastic princess tiara she’d worn every day for a year. A Barbie he didn’t recognize—

“What’s this?” He lifted the Barbie to for her to see.

“Present from Robert. Seventeenth birthday,” she glanced over her shoulder and went back to the mirror.

—a picture of her and Robert wearing goofy fake mustaches at prom. A clipping from the Aerie’s school newspaper, showing them dancing at some sorority social. A letter in Robert’s stupid childish scrawl. A soda can tab.

“How about this?” He lifted the tab.

“Oh,” Cersei plucked it from him and put it back in the safe. “Robert proposed with that. He’s so cheesy sometimes, it’s awful.”

She closed the safe rapidly, and shoved it back into the air vent without looking at him.

Jaime blinked. Fuck.

“Cersei,” he began slowly. “Do you love Robert?”

“Of course,” she said flippantly.

“No, c’mon, I’m being serious. Is he the one?”

She looked at him, and blushed, and looked away again.

“The one? You’re so sentimental Jaime, it’s absurd,” she said, coolly disdainful, although she would still not look at him.

“Seven hells, you do!” Jaime sat down on her bed with a thump. “I thought it was just sex!” Oh gods. This meant Brienne was right. 

“Of course it’s just sex!” She protested. 

And not just Brienne. It meant Beric was right. 

“You LOVE him,” Jaime accused, drawing out the word in a childish sing-song to disguise his dawning horror. Because oh no.

“No stop it, I do not!” She threw a pillow at him.

It meant Stannis was right.

“You want to marry Robert and have billions of great goony Baratheon babies!” Jaime gasped. Awful great lummoxes like Robert. Sullen sour grammarians like Stannis. Melodramatic little crybabies like Renly. It boggled the mind.

“Stop it! You’re being ridiculous!” Cersei stomped her foot. “Father is forcing me to marry him, I don’t have a choice!”

“But if you did have a choice,” Jaime leaned forward, pointing with an accusing finger. “You would choose him.”

“I... I,” Cersei stammered. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

And that was as close to a declaration of love as Cersei Lannister would ever get. To him, anyway.

“Huh,” he sat back.

“He makes me happy,” Cersei said finally, softly. 

Jaime swallowed, stood up and hugged her again.

“He is so lucky,” he said firmly. Then he took a deep breath and tried not to gag. “And I’m happy for you.” 

There. Done. He really would do terrible things for her.

Then he exited the room, twisting the ring nervously in his pocket. Because it was possible that maybe he wasn’t quite done. It was conceivable, that from a certain angle, he had perhaps made a bit of a mess of things. That in some lights, one might come to the conclusion that he had some serious smoothing over to do.

First he stopped in his father’s study. No Tywin.

Next he stopped in his father’s bedroom. No Tywin.

Third he stopped in the library, and he saw his father pouring a glass of scotch and he almost fell to his knees in relief. He wasn’t too late, they hadn’t had their blow-out fight yet, he could grab his father and say.... say... say something, even if he didn’t know what he would say yet and Jaime took another step into the library and then paused.

Tywin was pouring a second glass of scotch.

Jaime stared as his father gave it to Steffon Baratheon and they clinked glasses.

“To a Baratheon-Lannister dynasty!! Long may they reign!” Steffon toasted boisterously, and Tywin made a sort of exhale noise that could, in a certain light, coming from another person be a laugh... Nope.

Jaime hurried out of the library to compose himself. 

Was it really possible that despite his best efforts, there was nothing to fix at all? It was unstoppable this wedding. It steamrolled even forces of nature like Tywin Lannister.

So wow. He was in the clear. He could go back to the party and find Brienne and…

Robert Baratheon slid around the corner, his dress shoes apparently providing less traction than he was used to. He focused in on the library, and saw Tywin Lannister facing his father. Jaime could almost see the gears in his brain turning, slowly, painfully, arriving at the conclusion that he was doomed.

Robert gulped, squared his shoulders, and…

“Whoah,” Jaime grabbed his arm before he could charge into the library and make an ass of himself. Well, more of an ass of himself.

“They are by some miracle getting along,” Jaime informed him. “And if you walk in now, you might see my father smiling, and it has been known to turn weaker spirits to stone.”

Robert blinked at him.

Jaime mentally facepalmed.

“Nobody is in trouble,” he explained slowly, as he might to a child. “Don’t go in or you might ruin it.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done nothing but try to sabotage this wedding from the beginning.”

Um okay. Fair.

“Yes. But I was,” Jaime coughed. “Wrong,” he added under his breath.

“I didn’t catch that,” Robert tilted his head.

Jaime scowled, scanning his face suspiciously for signs of the lie. As always, it was innocently blank. 

“I have spoken to my sister. I think, for quite unfathomable reasons, she might actually like you. So… you know. I’m done trying to mess things up for you. And for what it’s worth, if we’re going to be family, we’re going to be family. That means something to me.”

A goofy grin broke across Robert’s face. Jaime had one second to regret initiating this conversation before Robert had crushed him into a bear hug.

“I knew you’d come around! This’ll be great! Wait… do you want to come to my stag party? You don’t have to say yes. You know, just think about it. Only it’s going to be amazing. We’re staying at a palace. Ned’s got everything arranged! There’s going to be Dornish wines and Dornish food and Dornish women and…”

Jaime, who was having the breath slowly squeezed out of him, frantically hit Robert on the arm to try and tap out of whatever this strange outburst of happy violence was happening.

“Oh, sorry,” Robert dropped him. Jaime wheezed slightly, feeling his ribs. One twinged angrily. Ouch. Add a bruised rib to his list of injuries for the evening?

“Well?” Robert asked hopefully. What was he talking about? Jaime chanced a nod.

“YES! It’s going to be the…”

Oh no…

“BEST! STAG! EVER!”

Dear gods, what had he done?

“I can’t believe this is all working out. This is great,” Robert beamed. “Who’d have thought Tywin would actually make peace with my dad. I’d have assumed he poisoned the whiskey. Or had like a sniper or a crossbowman up in the balcony waiting to take a shot.”

Jaime had been mostly tuning him out, until that last comment. Ridiculous. Just Robert being his normal comic-book happy self. His father wouldn’t do that.  

“Like that total creep he took to break into my apartment in the middle of the night.”

All the same.

“Or maybe he’s rigged the helicopter to explode when they leave? Like an Aerys thing?”

Jaime considered that there was no harm in checking.

“I’ve got to go… do something,” he mumbled.

Robert waved a cheerful goodbye, and Jaime made his escape, hurrying up the stairs because really the more he thought about it the more it seemed like something his father would maybe—

“Oof,” he ran straight into someone and landed hard on his butt. He looked up.

Brienne blinked back down at him, her sky blue eyes round in surprise. She was wearing a slip of a dress in a peachy color that just hinted at nude, and Jaime followed the lines of the dress helplessly downwards toward the miles of legs below. She pulled him up and he resisted the urge to push her against the staircase and kiss her senseless.  

“I’ve been looking for you,” she breathed, and dear gods those lips were made to be kissed.

“I’m glad you found me,” he grinned, only thinking of getting her somewhere secluded and dark. “C’mon, we’ll miss the fireworks.”

“And I can’t even do that right,” he finished his tale of woe, as people around them cheered for another crackle of light and shower of sparks. “We walked straight into the thick of things!”

“Maybe this is karma,” Brienne fought a smile.

“Pfff,” Jaime flapped a hand. “Things turned out fine. Stannis clearly built some kind of Tywin Lannister robot and has locked my father in a dungeon somewhere until the wedding is over.”

“Shouldn’t you rescue him then?” Brienne teased, playing along.

“I’d rather rescue you,” Jaime smirked, “from this terrible den of debauchery. Come milady, take my hand.” 

“I don’t want to miss the fireworks,” Brienne protested, but followed him all the same, giggling as they stumbled through the darkness, their path only periodically illuminated by the sky above.

“We’ll have a great view of the fireworks, and when they’re over, it’s secluded enough that we can make our own,” Jaime promised, dipping his voice into a growl and pulling her along. Where was it, where was it... here it was.

“Up you go, my love,” he bowed gallantly. Brienne squinted dubiously at the rope ladder, before kicking off her heels and starting up. Of course he had to start up immediately below her, so he could kiss her ankle, her calf, the inside of her knee. He licked a long trail up her thigh, the chiffon of the dress only the gauziest of deterrents to going higher still.

“Jaime!” Brienne moaned, sitting at the top, her eyes fluttered shut. 

Jaime took another two steps up, so he could better work her dress off with one hand as the other hand went further still, curling and...

“Please don’t stop on our account,” Thoros Asshai drawled sarcastically from where he was sitting in the corner.

Brienne yelped, drawing her legs away from Jaime and up against her chest. Suddenly bereft, he looked forlornly. Thoros was facing the great lawn, swinging his legs off the side of the platform.  Next to him, Melisandre Asshai was lifting her head slightly to accept a joint from Oberyn Martell. All three had briefly paused in what they were doing, and the next crackle of light across their faces revealed they were all staring, ranging from amused to intrigued.

“Seriously, you shouldn’t stop,” Melisandre Asshai’s sly smile was dimly illuminated by the end of the blunt she was holding from where she was lying on the floor. She blew a puff of smoke at them languidly before passing it backward over her head to her brother. Brienne gave a slight cough as the familiar vaguely pungent smell of weed washed over them. 

“Unless you’d like some company,” Oberyn Martell purred.

“No, um sorry, we just came for the er… view,” Brienne stammered, her skin flushing beautifully.

“Lannister’s view in particular looked exquisite,” Oberyn flashed her a perfectly white smile, as if he too were enjoying her blush.

Jaime growled and clambered the rest of the way up to position himself between Brienne and certain annoyingly cocky Dornish snakes who would keep their eyes to themselves if they knew what was good for them.

There was a series of explosions across the sky, gold and silver, and Brienne rested her head on his shoulder. Jaime put his arm around her and tried not to sulk.

“This is not how I imagine this evening going,” he whispered to her, even as he swiped the joint from Thoros. 

“Karma,” Brienne whispered back, and he blew another puff of smoke into her face as retaliation.

“There’s no such thing as karma,” Jaime retorted haughtily.

“Mmmm, Stannis and I had sex for the first time under fireworks,” Melisandre said, tilting her face back to admire them.

“Gross,” Thoros said.

“Tell me more,” Oberyn twisted to look at her.

“Or don’t,” Thoros offered.

“It was New Year’s Eve,” Melisandre smiled mischievously, ignoring her brother. “On the hood of Jaime’s car.”

“WHAT?!”