#one of them looks uncannily like my brother when he was this age and cries whenever i take my breaks I CANT DO THIS

[inner-sakura]

Theoretically Forever

[Adrien POV sequel to Hypothetically Ever After, childhood friends AU, adrienette, fake/pretend relationship]

Adrien Agreste has had a crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng for as long as he can remember. Unfortunately for him, however, she’s only ever had eyes for his older brother Félix, who’s never so much as looked her way. But when an opportunity suddenly presents itself to turn the tables and rewrite the script on their relationship, Adrien finds himself hard-pressed to turn it down… Especially when it means getting to date the love of his life. Even if it is only fake.

AU where PV Felix is Adrien’s older brother. Inspired by the novel “The Boys Next Door” by Jennifer Echols. Hello and welcome back to the brothers AU fic series that no one ever asked for yet i remain obsessed with.

read it here

chapter five

Hovering on the doorstep, his hand poised above the wooden surface of the door, Adrien Agreste pondered for the eleven thousandth time exactly how his life had led him to this point, and the dramatic turn of events that had brought him to be standing on Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s front porch, waiting to pick her up for their first date. 

A date that wasn’t actually a real date. At least as far as she was concerned.

The Adrien of one week ago would have laughed in his face. Or perhaps cried. It was a mixed bag, really. 

Should I have brought flowers? The Adrien of the here-and-now wondered, biting the inside of his cheek. Is that an appropriate ‘not date’ date behaviour?  

If he had it his way, he would have shown up with the largest and most beautiful bouquet money could buy, his arms laden with gifts for the prettiest and most perfect girl he’d ever met in his entire life. 

Except she probably would have taken one look at them, scrunched her nose, and asked him why he’d bothered wasting all of his money on someone he wasn’t even dating. 

Adrien sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Then he shook himself. 

This was neither the time nor the place for maudlin thoughts. The point of this date was to make Marinette wish that it were real, and he wouldn’t accomplish that by standing around feeling sorry for himself.  

Raising his fist anew, Adrien knocked crisply once, then stepped back, waiting for a response.  

For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other side of the door. Then, it slowly swung open to reveal the surprised visages of Marinette’s parents.  

Adrien stood very still, his arms carefully relaxed at his sides as he fought the urge to fidget. It was a behaviour unbecoming of Agrestes, and as such they simply would not do it. Or so his father maintained, having drilled the habit out of his sons from an early age.  

Therefore, instead of outwardly expressing his discomfort at having Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng staring at him like he’d just sprouted a second head, Adrien remained rooted in place, frozen like a small woodland creature facing down a pair of hungry predators.  

“Adrien!” As usual, Sabine was the one who managed to wrangle her composure first, her face lighting up as she took him in. “What a pleasant surprise!”  

“What can we do you for, my boy?” Tom grinned down at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m assuming you’re not here just to visit with us old folks…”  

Adrien cleared his throat, ignoring the heat pricking at the tips of his ears. He should have known that Tom wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity to tease him about this.  

“Um, no. I’m here to pick Marinette up.” 

Both adults tilted their heads in confusion, the gesture uncannily in sync. It was clear by their body language that they had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.  

“For our date?” Adrien decided to elaborate, suppressing his stirring unease. “We have dinner reservations.”  

Did Marinette seriously not tell them…?   

Although Sabine’s hands flew up to cover her mouth, it did very little to muffle the gasp she let out. Tom meanwhile stared Adrien down, his brows sinking to rest over green eyes that were steadily growing darker.  

“Is that so?” Sabine asked, her voice a bit strained. “Marinette didn’t mention you had plans this evening…” She stepped to the side, discreetly elbowing her husband out of the way when he made no move to do the same.  

Tom blinked, the storm clouds clearing from his expression. Adrien withheld a sigh of relief.  

I’ve been spared... For now at least.   

Moving back from the doorway, Tom gestured with an arm as thick as Adrien’s upper thigh, beckoning him further into the house. 

“She most certainly did not mention anything to us,” Tom said, his moustache twitching. “It must have slipped her mind.” 

Slipped her mind, my ass! Adrien fumed internally. Far more likely that Marinette had wanted to avoid an uncomfortable encounter with her parents, and had instead decided to keep them entirely in the dark, all without filling him in on her plans.  

Now he’d managed to bungle the whole thing and throw himself to the dogs in the process.  

Great.  

Adrien laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he braced himself for the inevitable inquisition. “Um, right.”  

“You know what,” Sabine said, backing towards the stairs. “Why don’t I go and make sure that Marinette is ready to go? You two stay down here and catch up.” 

She threw her husband a significant look. Adrien did his best to pretend to remain oblivious to the exchange. 

Watching the petite woman flee up the stairs, Adrien felt his heart sink. There went his last and best line of defence.  

A large, meaty hand settled heavily on his shoulder. He almost staggered under the weight.  

“All right, son. What say you and I settle this the old-fashioned way?” Tom grinned down at him, his eyes taking on an ominous light.  

“The… old-fashioned way?” Adrien couldn’t help but squeak, his mind racing with the possibilities. 

Tom’s grin widened.  

“With our fists, of course.”  

-x- 

“You know, M. Dupain, when you said you wanted to settle this with our fists, I really didn’t think this was what you had in mind.” 

Cheerful fight music blared out of the TV speakers, interrupted only by the sounds of frantic button smashing coming from both of their controllers.  

“Adrien, for the thousandth time, please call me Tom,” Tom said, landing a particularly nasty combo move that knocked several health points off of Adrien’s avatar. He then let out a bark of laughter.  

“And we could always take this out back if you’d prefer. Although I don’t think that will end particularly well for either of us. Sabine would give me an earful if I were to derail your and Marinette’s evening plans with a bout of fisticuffs...”  

Adrien shuddered at the thought. Though he’d rather not face Tom Dupain in hand-to-hand combat anytime soon, the thought of an annoyed Sabine Cheng was somehow even more terrifying.  

Tom’s green eyes flickered briefly from the screen to meet Adrien’s. 

“Besides,” he continued. “I feel like it wouldn’t be necessary anyway. I don’t need to pull the protective papa bear routine and threaten you... I know you would never dream of doing anything to hurt my daughter.”  

A knowing glint entered his eye.  

“I think we both know you care too much about her for that.”   

Adrien kept his eyes pinned forward, blinking rapidly against the heat he could feel building there.  

“Yeah,” he said thickly, glad to have the screen there if for no other reason than it gave him something to pretend to focus on while he tried not to cry in front of his fake girlfriend’s dad.  

He continued pressing buttons blindly, too overwhelmed by the warmth and trust that Tom was showing him to do much more than that. Not for the first time, Adrien marvelled at how lucky Marinette was to have such kind and loving parents and did his best to ignore how desperately he longed to have a family like that of his own.  

Tom hummed, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge. “Come to think of it, I should really be giving Marinette a stern talking to here… Since, if anything, I’m more worried about you getting your heart broken than her.” 

His fingers stuttering on the controller, Adrien gave up any pretence of pretending to play, turning to gaze at Marinette’s father wide-eyed.   

He was met with a soft smile. 

“You’re a good kid, Adrien,” Tom said, lifting one hand from his controller and setting it gently atop Adrien’s head. “One I would be proud to call my own under any circumstances.”  

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, Adrien repeated to himself like a mantra, willing away the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. As casually as he possibly could, he reached up to dash any tears away, before offering Tom a smile of his own.  

“I don’t know,” he said, forcing lightness into his tone. “You might want to reevaluate that statement after I kick your butt at Ultimate Mecha Strike III…”  

He beamed at the booming laugh he received in response.  

“Oh, you’re on, kid!” 

-x- 

Despite his bold claims, Adrien proceeded to have his ass thoroughly handed to him, losing every round without fail.  

But he didn’t mind so much. He was accustomed to playing with Marinette, after all, so he’d learned to lose with grace from an early age. Plus, he wasn’t above throwing the occasional match if it meant keeping himself in Tom Dupain’s good graces.  

Still, in spite of his consecutive losses, Adrien was having a good time, so much so that he had almost managed to forget the original purpose behind his visit.  

That is, until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, coming from the top of the staircase.  

Ignoring Tom’s triumphant crowing in his ear, Adrien’s head whipped around, his breath catching in his throat. 

Marinette was coming down the stairs, and suddenly he couldn’t see anything else.  

Staggering to his feet, Adrien heard the controller clatter on the hardwood, but he paid it no mind, too focused on the vision descending on him like an angel from above.  

He drank in her appearance, admiring the gossamer fabric of her white dress and how it contrasted with the inky blackness of her hair. Her eyes were lowered, fixed on the steps in front of her, carefully following her footfalls as she walked. Adrien couldn’t help but grin at the sight. 

Same old Marinette, he thought fondly, his feet carrying him to the foot of the staircase before he was even aware of moving.  

Then her blue eyes met his and his breath was gone all over again.  

“Hi,” he said, feeling inexplicably shy now that she was standing in front of him, easily looking like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  

Marinette's eyelashes fluttered, her cheeks pinkening as she stared at him in return.  

“You look nice,” she said, the unexpected compliment taking them both by surprise.  

Adrien flushed, overcome with pleasure at her praise. Even though he knew—by virtue of his occupation and the industry in which he worked—that he was attractive by most standard definitions, it was an entirely different matter to hear as much coming from Marinette’s lips.  

It felt good. Really good.  

He would have loved nothing more than to pay her compliments back tenfold—because she deserved that much, at the very least—but his tongue had been rendered stupid and slow in the face of her beauty, leaving all of the words he wanted to give voice to trapped, swirling uselessly around in his brain.  

Instead, he had to settle for a half-witted, stuttered out, “Thanks. So do you. Really, you look… Yeah.”  

He tried not to wince at his own lack of eloquence.  

Thankfully, Marinette did not appear to mind. 

She averted her gaze bashfully, fiddling with one of her sleeves. “Thank you. Sorry that it took me so long. I...may have accidentally fallen asleep.”  

Adrien bit back a laugh. “I should have figured as much,” he said, giving her a knowing look. “I’m glad I told you to be ready half an hour before we actually needed to leave then.” 

Marinette’s eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open in outrage.  

“YOU LITTLE—!” She sputtered, swatting at him half-heartedly. “Do you have any idea how many years I just took off my life, rushing to get ready?!”   

Adrien danced out of the way of her fists, grinning at her unrepentantly. 

“It worked though. Now we won’t be late for our reservation. Maybe I should consider doing this all the time...” He said slyly, breaking into laughter at the vaguely constipated look that had overtaken her features.  

He heard giggling coming from the area of the couch and started. He’d completely forgotten that Marinette’s parents were even there. He had a tendency to lose track of everything else when Marinette was around.  

Marinette, for her part, merely pouted at the teasing, crossing her arms with a huff.  

“Just so you know, I can’t stand any of you people.”   

That only made them all laugh harder.

-x-

As they made their way to the restaurant, Adrien tried not to let his nerves get the best of him.  

He had yet to tell Marinette where they were going—much to her enduring consternation. Though, if he were being entirely honest, Adrien could freely admit that this had less to do with maintaining the element of surprise, and more to do with his abject fear that Marinette might clue into just how long he had spent planning every moment of this evening, down to the most insignificant of details.  

He’d had years to prepare, after all. But he certainly wasn’t ready to let her know that.  

So he kept mum, evading and redirecting her questions with the ease of someone who was long practised at dealing with reporters.  

Who knew that being constantly embroiled with the paparazzi would actually make my life easier for once?   

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Marinette gaze out the window with rapt attention, obviously trying to catch any clue about where they were headed.  

He had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to get it though, despite her usual deductive brilliance. This restaurant was an incredibly well-kept secret, even amongst locals. One of the many reasons it would serve as the perfect setting for their evening.  

The car pulled up as close as they could get and Adrien quickly thanked the driver, before hopping out and rounding to the other side of the car.  

To his disappointment, Marinette had already opened her own door and was climbing out of the backseat, gawking at the scenery around them.  

No big deal, he reminded himself. Marinette wasn’t any more accustomed to going on dates than he was, so she probably hadn’t anticipated him wanting to do gentlemanly things like open doors for her.  

Adrien squared his shoulders, his resolve crystallising. He would just have to be quicker on the draw next time.  

By the time they were seated on the patio, he could practically feel Marinette vibrating with curiosity, her interest undoubtedly peaked by the warm welcome he’d received from the waitstaff. Adrien braced himself, uncertain how he would navigate that particular discussion without giving too much away.   

To his surprise, however, that was not where she chose to guide the conversation first.  

“Not to doubt your master plan or anything, but how is word of us dating going to get out unless we go somewhere a little...busier?” Marinette gazed around sceptically, taking in the tiny patio and the relatively small number of tables around them. “We’re practically the only ones here.”  

Adrien let out a breath, relieved by her line of questioning. This, he’d anticipated.  

“You’d be surprised,” he said, aiming for a tone that was equal parts blasé and believable. “It may not look like it, but this place is actually quite popular. It’s still a bit early now, but it’ll fill up later. Mark my words.” 

“Plus,” he leaned forward, nodding towards something over her shoulder. “It’s also a pretty frequently used street for people heading down to the waterfront. Look.” 

In either an act of cosmic goodwill, or just impeccable timing, a group of people came strolling around the corner at exactly that moment, lending credence to his story. Adrien could see the lines of Marinette’s posture softening, her dubiety slowly melting away. Everything was going exactly according to plan.  

It was time for the final prong of his argument, though he would have to be careful with its delivery.  

Adrien leaned back in his seat, affecting what he hoped was the casual tone of someone who hadn’t spent hours rehearsing his pre-prepared lines in front of the mirror.  

“And besides, the last thing we want is to be too obvious about this whole thing,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “If we go out somewhere we know people will see us, it will definitely look like we’re trying too hard.”  

Marinette’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, Adrien truly thought he was done for.  

She chewed on the inside of her lip, considering him carefully. Then, at last, she smiled.  

“All right, point taken,” she said, and Adrien knew he was in the clear. Before he could even consider celebrating, however, something in her expression shifted and Adrien felt his guard go up all over again.  

Marinette shifted in her seat, her voice dipping conspiratorially as she leaned forward. 

“Why does it seem like everyone here knows you?”  

Adrien blinked rapidly, caught flat-footed by the sudden about-face in topic. He should have known that Marinette’s insatiable curiosity wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie. Now he needed to come up with some way to explain his family’s history with this restaurant, without revealing any other deeply personal, closely guarded secrets.  

He swallowed. Right. Should be a piece of cake.   

Luckily, the arrival of their waitress managed to divert Marinette’s attention, and Adrien leapt at the opportunity, steering the conversation back to safer waters as he explained the nature of the restaurant and its lack of menus.  

Grateful for her timely interruption, Adrien gave the waitress a megawatt smile as she left with their drink orders. The gesture appeared to have the opposite of its intended effect though, seeing how it only caused the poor girl to scurry away faster.  

His expression fell. Hopefully she hadn’t interpreted his look as some sign of impatience or rudeness on his part. He made a mental note to be extra nice to her when she returned, just in case.  

Turning his attention back to his companion, Adrien was surprised to find her lost in her own thoughts, a secretive smile playing at the corners of her lips as she stared into the restaurant.  

Never one to pass up an opportunity, he took a moment to admire her profile, doing his best to commit the scene before him to memory. 

Marinette cast her eyes about and Adrien sat back to watch, less interested in appreciating the scenery than he was in witnessing her experience it for the first time. He’d spent countless hours of his life daydreaming about this moment, imagining their first date and what it might be like. He’d wanted to make it as perfect as possible, because Marinette deserved nothing less. 

Now that they were here, however, perfection seemed like such a paltry, insufficient word to describe everything he was experiencing. 

Adrien did his best not to stare too obviously, trying to tamp down his raging emotions as he sat across from Marinette at the small bistro table.

She looked radiant, her skin positively glowing against the soft white fabric of her dress. To look at her, it wasn’t apparent that she’d readied herself in a hurry. No, she looked like she’d be at home in the pages of any fashion magazine, young and beautiful and vibrant against the romantic backdrop. 

And now she was looking back at him. 

“What?” Marinette asked, her eyes going round the longer he held her stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Emboldened by the romantic atmosphere, Adrien leaned his head more heavily against his fist, not feeling embarrassed in the slightest at having been caught staring. 

His lips curved up in a slow smile almost of their own volition. 

“Like what?” He asked, his smile growing.   

“Like that!” Marinette cried, pointing an accusing finger at him. Her expression kept shifting like she couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or annoyed by his attention. The entire effect was hopelessly endearing. 

In lieu of a response, Adrien merely blinked back at her, certain that if he were to open his mouth now, he was liable to either burst out laughing or confess how desperately adorable he found her. 

Marinette flapped her hands between them, gesticulating wildly as she fought to make her point. “You’re giving me this look like...” 

Her features twisted grotesquely, morphing into an expression that he hadn't believed human faces could even produce until that moment. 

Adrien pursed his lips, his chest shaking with repressed laughter. 

“I’m no doctor, but in my professional opinion I’d say it’s either constipation or a stroke.” 

Marinette’s affronted look lasted only a split second before she too was collapsing into laughter, curling forward in her seat as her giggles rang out across the slowly filling patio.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Adrien gazed at her smiling face, his heart in his throat and full to bursting with too many feelings to name. 

The twinkle lights swayed above them in the warm night air, casting undulating patterns on the red gingham tablecloth and Adrien tried to greedily absorb every detail, unwilling to so much as blink if it meant missing a single second. The sounds of the city at night coming to life around them, the smell of delicious food wafting out of the restaurant kitchen. The way the shifting shadows caressed the planes of Marinette’s face, tracing the line of her jaw and the curve of her cheek the way his fingers so desperately longed to. He tucked them all away, sewing them into the walls of his memory, assured in the certainty that even if he lived a thousand lifetimes, he would never, ever forget this moment. 

-x- 

Adrien was acutely aware of his palms sweating the entire time they were walking. 

If Marinette noticed, she was too kind to point it out, apparently content to take in the sights around them as he led her to their next destination, and blissfully unbothered by the way his palm slid uncomfortably against hers. 

If he’d been nervous about the restaurant, then those nerves paled in comparison to what he felt as they mounted the stairs, coming to a stop at the centre of the old wrought-iron footbridge. 

“They call it the Lovers’ Bridge,” he said by way of explanation, watching Marinette as she observed their surroundings. 

The location was even better than the online reviews had promised; situated at the end of a lamp-lit, tree-lined walkway, silhouetted dreamily against the dusky summer sky. He couldn’t have asked for a more romantic spot, or a more beautiful date.  

Now he just had to contend with the herd of rabid butterflies currently devouring his stomach lining.  

He swallowed in a vain effort to lubricate his rapidly drying throat.

“Apparently, if two people kiss in the middle of the bridge, their love will never end... At least that’s what one guy on Yelp said, and I’m inclined to believe him.” 

Marinette’s lips quirked up, his attempt at a joke clearly landing with its intended audience.  

“Well, that’s convenient, seeing as how we are currently in the middle of the bridge," she said dryly.

She shot him a wry look.

“I like how you waited until we were already here to share this information with me.”  

Adrien glanced away, shoving his hands into his pockets so she wouldn’t notice how they were trembling.  

“Guilty as charged.”  

He stared out over the water, frantically trying to come up with something to say as the atmosphere shifted around them, becoming heavy with expectation.  

“So…” Marinette said, drawing the syllable out for all it was worth. It was clear by the way she was fidgeting that he wasn’t the only one feeling the energy crackling around them.

The notion was as comforting as it was terrifying.  

“Should we k—?” 

Her voice cut off abruptly, but luckily Adrien knew exactly where she intended to go with that statement. It was exactly where he’d hoped she would go.  

“Iss?” He supplied helpfully, his gaze pinned on hers.  

Marinette’s eyes flickered over his face in return, searching.  

Then she nodded once. 

Adrien’s stomach swooped.

“It would certainly help with our charade,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level as his heart danced a jig in his chest. He fiddled with his watch just for something to do, overflowing with so much nervous energy he thought he might spontaneously combust. 

“Right,” Marinette said, her voice thinner and reedier than he was used to hearing it. Her gaze had yet to leave his face, sweeping across his features as he stepped towards her, closing the gap between them.  

“Especially because you never know who might be passing by who could see us...” Adrien wasn’t even certain why he was still speaking, his mouth running on autopilot as he leaned in, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume on the night air.  

Marinette’s eyes fell to his mouth and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips in a subconscious gesture.  

“Yeah…” She breathed and Adrien thought he might genuinely die on the spot.  

There were scant millimetres between them now. Adrien knew it would take the smallest motion to close the distance between their lips, yet he hesitated, scanning Marinette’s face for any sign of hesitance. Her heavy-lidded gaze met his, her blue eyes as deep and fathomless as the lake water spread out before them. 

He could feel the warm puffs of her breath against his lips now, taunting his buckling self-control. When her breath picked up tellingly, it blew away the last of his doubts. 

Before he could act, however, a shrill ringing pierced through the stillness of the night, jolting them apart with the force of a lightning strike. 

Holy shit, Adrien stared at her dumbly, his chest heaving as he met her equally wide-eyed stare. That was… intense.   

“I think you’re ringing,” Marinette reminded him, her voice wavering ever so slightly.  

Clearing his throat, Adrien fumbled to pull his cell phone from his pocket, his fingers suddenly clumsy and unwieldy.  

He glanced at the screen, his stomach sinking with recognition.  

“It’s my driver,” he said, battling back his disappointment.  

Marinette’s shoulders slumped at his words. If he wasn’t mistaken, she appeared almost as disappointed by this interruption as he was. Hope battered against his ribcage. Adrien did his best to ignore it.  

Between one blink and the next, Marinette straightened, her expression smoothing into one of friendly understanding, extinguishing whatever spark had been present moments before.

“You’d better answer it then.” She smiled at him encouragingly. 

Adrien scanned her face, looking for any hint of a lie. He found none.  

The phone kept ringing.   

“Go,” she urged him again, and so he went. 

-x- 

Standing at the other end of the Lovers’ Bridge, Adrien held his phone to his ear, only half listening to his bodyguard’s instructions as they came through the earpiece.  

His eyes, and the majority of his focus, remained fixed on the centre of the bridge, where Marinette stood highlighted against the encroaching darkness, gazing out across the lake with an absent look on her face. As he watched, one of her hands reached up to gently finger the flower tucked behind her ear.  

Adrien’s heart stuttered. He’d worried that the flower vendor might blow his cover, but luckily the older man seemed to catch onto Adrien’s intentions immediately and had gone along with the ruse.  

Marinette didn’t need to know the meaning behind the white gardenia in her hair, and she most certainly didn’t need to know that Adrien had paid the man to be there in the first place.  

A beep on the other end of the line signalled the end of his call and Adrien pulled the phone away, moving to stuff it back in his pocket.  

At the last second, however, he paused, his arm hovering in midair. 

On the one hand, it was admittedly creepy to photograph someone when their guard was down. On the other, there was something so magical about the atmosphere that Adrien selfishly couldn’t help but want to keep a piece of it for himself; something to treasure when this night was nothing more than a distant series of recollections.  

Without thinking twice, he swiped to open his camera app, snapping a few pictures while Marinette wasn’t paying attention.  

After all, there were already so many secrets between them, what were a few more? 

-x-

[myherhoedream]

◜𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖 𝙟𝙚𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙧𝙮◝

𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩. 𝙢𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙤𝙣

𝙖𝙪: 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜

You suspiciously eyed the elephant in the room, the one who was dressed in a puffy, spunky jacket that matched the appeal of his eyes. It made you wanna crack up by how poorly hidden he was in a classroom of toddlers, uncomfortably crouched on a dwarfs, plastic blue chair with his extended legs nearly hitting his shoulders.

Upon going to the bathroom earlier today, you happened to gape at the principle confront a odd group of men that arrived at the daycare. You couldn't hear much of what they were doing since you were at a distance, but it had looked like the principle had denied their access. But before long, they ended up able to persuade him into dumping a grown man with a uncannily gleam in the —what looks to be the oldest— gray eyes that ran a shiver up your spine.

The principle easily applied, taking the young man into his office with numerous amounts of cries towards his family, "yer seriously gonna make me stay?!" and "It was an accident!" then finally, "C'mon Lucifer, don't make me stay with some snotty brats!"

You assumed 'Lucifer' was a dilly nickname.

The now six grouped men didn't even look back as they took their leave. Just as they had left throw the glass doors, speakers in the hallways came on, "Y'n L'n, please come to the office, again, Y'n L'n, please come to the office."

And as they say it, the rest is history.

Nonetheless, you decided to treat him like another child amongst the twenty others, because he was dropped off to a daycare.

You gathered the supplies for your next activity, you glimpsed at the man who head perked up when you announced, "alright class—" he rolled his eyes "—go to your assigned seats and clear off your tables, please!"

You watched as the children scrambled to pick up their mess and head to their tables. Two kids ended up sitting with the man had inquisitive stares, probably wondering why a person of his age were sitting in a room for kids, disregarding you.

Anyways, you grabbed a few boxes of supplies and settled them in the middle of the few colorful tables. "So today, we're going to make something called, 'pasta jewelry'."

That seemed to grab the white haired man attention, strangely.

"Basically, you're going to make pasta jewelry for a loved one or yourself using the provided dried macaroni— please don't eat the macaroni, paint, stick on gems, glue and string. If you have any questions, please ask me."

And like that, chatter erupted. To your surprise, even the man was interested in the activity. Probably one of the most excited in the room.

After a few minutes, the man had already made around twenty types of jewelry. You know, since this was a strange sight to see, you decided to wonder around a little, make small talk.

"Hello," you said, sliding another mini chair in front of him.

He glanced at you, then back at his jewelry. "How much do you think this would sell for?"

"Hah?"

"Ya dumb human, I said how much would this sell for? It looks like the real thing if ya don't stare at it for long, right?" he said, showing a reference picture of a beatiful diamond necklace.

You compared a $75,000 beautiful damond necklace to the badly painted pasta necklace that costed you $3.00 all together. Was he serious?

"Um, sure. It looks priceless," you were serious when you ment that, "anyway, what's your name?"

"They call me the GREAT Mammon, but, I guess my name is Manny." He seemed bugged about his name.

"Alright Manny, I'm Y'n. What are you doing here? Obviously, you don't belong."

"It wasn't my fault! Fire Salamons fetch up a good price when they're liquefied and I ended up taking one home alone. It ended up setting the whole place on fire, so now my brothers think I'm too irresponsible to be left alone."

You had to bite your lip to prevent a laugh from coming out, "Fire Salamons? I've never heard of those before."

"Theres alot of things ya don't know when you don't live in hell, human."

"Everyday, it feels like it."

After that day, 'Manny' came occasionally, either with or without his brothers and not as many complaints. Sooner or later, he confesses that his name was actually, Mammon and that he was one of the seventh rulers of hell. Yeah, it took you a minute to realize the Avatar of Greed was in a daycare. It brought a smile on your face everytime you thought about it. Rather that you spended time with him either outside or inside the school, you didn't realize you were developing feelings for him, or him developing feels for you.

Oh shit.

Ugh the ending is shitty

[knking]

Memory 3 :Brothers

This memory is special, this one is a written fic by the amazing TK. It was an art trade and they did an amazing job at it, I love this so much !

Please take a look :

The creaking of chains and clashing of swords no longer woke Ömen from his meager slumber. Now the cacophony seemed to him more like a distant whisper, white noise behind the cold stone cell in which he lay. Truthfully, he no longer slept either, the constant rush of life and death kept him from the rest he so desperately craved. There seemed to be no yesterday nor tomorrow. Sunlight seemed like a dream from ages forgotten, the pleasant green of foliage and fields was all but nonexistent. All that remained was that dreadful crimson of blood that stained his fur. He'd seen so many shades of red, from all different kinds of living creatures. Occasionally, he would see his own, for a brief period of time, that is before all would go dark and went light returned, all he saw was the blood of another. 

"Shaa…" he whispered under labored breath, after every finishing move, after every nightmare, after every tear

On another equally cold and dark cell, his lesser half sat in near-ethereal meditation. Though he saw not with his eyes, he saw through his brother's. And with every whisper of his, he'd always repeat:

"It's not your fault."

He saw through the shadows of his prison the toll which their sentence bore on his brother. He'd see him walk through the gallery as crowds hollered in excitement. He'd see the speckles of spit and sweat that dotted the arena as his brother performed his dance macabre of survival. He'd see the large puddles under the lesser opponents, and lastly, he'd see the puddles under his brother's cell after every fight, though this puddle was clear and crystalline.

He grew unsettled, however, the puddles had become smaller and smaller, the whispers fainter and less emotional. Shaa knew Ömen's rope was coming to an end, it was only a matter of time until all that remained of his other half was an animalistic and feral beast, devoid of emotion.

Another fight. This one was over before it even began. A small human, an undisciplined slave most likely. The sword he held was bigger than him. Ömen ended him swiftly, the stands hollered and begged for more. He must have lashed back at his captors, for once it all ended, they fastened the polar bear-like monster's restraints tighter. They shared in their pain, and once more Ömen wept in his cell.

"Shaa…"

"It's not your fault."

But beyond the arena's domed enclosure Shaa felt something different in the air. For what he lacked in vision and strength he more than made up for in sensorial dexterity. He could sense the telltale signs of unrest and chaos beyond: he saw the faint glimmer of embers and the acrid scent of another's tears. It was unlike the sweat of the fighters or the spit from the spectators. It seemed more visceral, more desperate, more real. Perhaps if the world beyond their walls crumbled around them, there was hope, but at best, this seemed like a farfetched proposition. He talked to his brother through their shared spiritual connection.

"I sense change in the air." He "whispered", in his monk-like voice.

"Shaa…" Ömen replied, distant as ever.

"There is a war, I believe."

"Shaa…"

"Have hope my brother, it's not your fault. When this is all over I promise you, thou shall never see a speck of blood again."

There was a pause this time, Ömen replied not to his brother. The silence that reigned in the metaphysical realm through which they communicated seemed louder to both than the most desperate of cries of a dying gladiator. The polar bear feared for the worst, perhaps it was already too late. If that were the case, then an eternity in this hole seemed all but certain.

But then, for the first time in what may very well have been weeks or months, the gladiator bear mustered a reply beyond uttering his brother's name:

"They will kill you."

"I have hope, brother."

"I don't."

"Please, I beg you Ömen. Stay determined."

The grumbles and protests of the crowd echoed through the halls and corridors as they dispersed, for what they assumed was the end of the fights for the day, nighttime surely. Strangely, the usual detachment of guards around their cells increased, and though all Ömen could do was scowl and growl at his most detested of enemies, Shaa sensed something within them. They spoke not, but their souls betrayed their bodies. They were uneasy, restless. It was as cold as a winter's night in their cells, but yet he felt a single bead of sweat trickle down from one of the human's foreheads. He was right.

There was a war.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Full moon, a nightcrawler's worst foe. A small white bundle of fur dashed from umbra to umbra, like a ghoul of the night, careful to minimize his time in the light. He was lead by the whispers of the plants around him, they'd tell him whether a spot was adequate or not without uttering a single word. Asgore knew the humans could not find him in such pitch black darkness, but they had dogs for that. He could not stop, even if he was breathless and exhausted. He still smelled the charred wood of the forest, his feet and hands were still blackened with soot. Yet he dashed from shadow to shadow, avoiding the faint light that peeked through the canopy above. The skin on his back ached incessantly, the herbs he'd been able to muster after a short respite were starting to wear off. He needed shelter.

Shelter… How could this word have crossed his mind? He knew not of such a thing. Perhaps the last time he'd heard that word was when his parents still possessed him. He could not remember when that was. Now that monsters and humans had ruptured their pact of mutual "cooperation", shelter seemed as unlikely as peace between the warring races. This distraction in thoughts bit at him, as he tripped on the roots of a pine tree and dove into the dirt, drenching what little remained of his burlap smock in mud.

As he raised his bruised snout up from the muck he caught sight of a light slithering between the labyrinth of trees of the woods around him. Trying to remember which was the "Song of the Bowing Tree" he whistled a faint tune and the two small saplings that obstructed his view bent out of his line of sight, revealing a large, seemingly empty oval brick structure just beyond a clearing in the woods. Sconces burned feverishly outside.

Burning…

Fire.

He shut his eyes closed in desperation, he winced at the aching in his back.

"Éteignez le feu… Éteignez le feu…" he whimpered. His supplication was answered by the distanting barking of a hound.

This would have to do, he had no choice. He bit down on his lips and dashed as fast as he could. He soon cleared the woods and was now under the full might of the moon's beams. If he was seen now, it was all but over. The main entrance was unguarded, but the sconces shone blindingly bright. 

He grew weak at the knees, he would trip once more. The end, so long. But he had to keep going, he had to! He felt a fire of his own within him, a burning that ached not, an invisible force that filled him with hope, strength. A will to live, determination. The bronze light cast by the burning revealed a figment of green within the nooks of a few loose bricks.

"Queues de lion!" He thought

Once more he shut his eyes. How did that tune go? What was the melody? He materialized a small panpipe between his small paws and with the last of his breath he whistled a few melancholic chords. "The song of the dancing vine".

The green figment, as if by supernatural force, crept and twisted toward the lights and violently snapped their supports. As they fell down to the muddy earth, their remnants of fuel sprayed harmless sparks around the archway. Asgore jumped through the fireworks before him and hurled into the darkness.

The entrance led to his left into a torch lit opening and to his right down into a catacomb, meekly lit by the azure hue of a tuft of veilleuses that outcropped from the roof. He heard no noise to his left, but once more the fire struck despair in the heart of the young monster, however, down in the catacombs, he heard voices. Coarse, unpleasant voices. He then remembered a trick he'd learned not too long ago. Standing at the tip of his small toes he plucked two blossoms of the whispering blue flower and, as silently as he could, tiptoed down the spiraling rock shaft.

He was quick to notice, however, that this "shelter" he'd found looked uncannily similar to the one they'd kept him in, once his parents had so generously handed him over to a human warlord.

He could not remember their faces.

He hoped he'd made the right choice coming here

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

"How ghastly are they? I heard 'bout their black eyes or whatever." The brute spoke in a raspy voice, his companion was just about as unsightly in appearance as he was.

"So I'm told, the bastards can rip a man in half before he even moves a muscle."

"So what? Our little meatball over here can do just as well in the arena. You see what he did to that slave of Vlad's?" He pointed to the hunched, catatonic bear. 

"Yeah, yeah, but these are worse. I heard they can do that, but like, forty times more intensely. They grow extra limbs and shit, fire in their hands, all sorts of ludicrous shit." The man adjusted his armor with unease, jingling of cold steel reverbing in the catacombs.   

"Yeah right, but we're still kickin' their asses right?"

“You betcha." he cackled.

The words passed through Ömen ear's like dull air, just another amalgam of sounds that meant naught for him. The last few strains of his conscious mind were now buried deep within his skull. He tried to move in the darkness, but it was a waking nightmare. Sluggish in his movement towards consciousness, crawling through a black sludge of affliction. His time was running out, "Ömen" would soon be nothing but a distant whisper in the wind, a name forsaken for a beast of war. While a battle for his soul raged in his spirit, his exterior was still that of detachment, he'd been tamed at last. The blood on his fur had dried out. Two more brutish men patrolled up and down the corridor in front of his, the creases on their brows were accentuated, their scowls were sterner. Word of battles and razings had reached them through the jesters in the stands.

"You think they've come this far already, Pavel?" The guard continued.

"Hell no! The closest monster is probably hundreds of thousands of yards away. Heh, not counting these two little teddies here with us."

"Hah, true! Even still, I'd rather be up there than down here. At least there I can see 'em coming and slice 'em and dice 'em. You'd think these rich fucks would at least give us some stuff to light this cold hell up…"  

The acoustics of the place were such that any word spoken through the maze of rock and steel could be heard throughout the complex, so when these words reached Shaa's own ears his runic tattoos glowed with ancient purpose. He was right after all, conflict engulfed the land, they could possibly muster an escape in the ensuing chaos. That glimmer of hope that shone in what remained of his furry runes gave him just the spark of energy enough to once more pan out their enclosure in his psyche. Had the humans been more diligent in their task of removing said runes, this task would have been all but impossible. He counted 32 men, all armed. Last time he'd checked it'd been 17... But there was something else, something small. He felt a heartbeat. It was intense, pure. It crept around the dark with innocent intent, like a lost fawn looking for her mother.

As unlikely as it might have been, this seemed like that spark of hope he'd held for so long; a dying ember locked inside a glass jar, rejuvenated. It was a monster, a young one. His soul was strong, it danced in the dark of metaphysical space with blinding white light: a wisp of juvenile power. A boss monster? 

"Ömen." He whispered through the ether.   

"Shaa…" a nearly whimperish reply came through. Ömen was but a hair away from being entirely lost.

"Someone is here, one of us."

"Shaa…"

"He's a boss monster, brother."

Once more, silence. In the gladiator-bear's mind, he made way through the sludge of affliction, he grasped his body and mind just enough to muster another coherent response :

"Can he free us?"

"Perhaps, he's small. Real small, but I think-"

Their ethereal exchange was abruptly shattered by a desperate howl from the bowels of the dark.

"HEEELP MEEE!!!" a desperate holler, high pitched. Like a child's. A monster child's.

"ALAAAARM!!!" One of the guards yelled.

"SOUND THE BELL!"

And in a desperate frenzy, the company of men dashed to the source of the sound, guards abandoning their posts by the cages. The ear-shattering ringing of a large church bell filled the air, such that the unsheathing of swords and clatter of sabatons dwarfed in comparison.

And as suddenly as it sparked, that ember of hope within Shaa waned. From a near blazing fire it died down to a mere atom of light. Their chance, it seems, was gone as unexpectedly as it'd made itself known.

Ömen lifted his pupils to observe the shadows of bronze and grey dash beyond the wrought iron bars that imprisoned him. The sludge engulfed him more, he became more distant from himself, he sank, sight became weaker... So much for "hope", whatever their little helper was, he or she'd been found. There would be nothing left of them to feed even the hounds… He was slipping away... So long, you little…

But suddenly from the dark, once all the men had all made their way down the darkest chambers of the catacombs, two small lights appeared in the corner of his eye. Amber and azure. He could not believe he still recalled what those colors looked like. The lights blinked, and he saw the reflection of his very own emerald pupils.

A slithering sound, like a venomous serpent, crept from under the ground, between the eroded boulders beneath him. It stopped short of him. A blue sprout blossomed with near-blinding blue light, and like a ghost, the flower whispered to him:

"Are you a friend?"

Those words woke him from a nightmare that seemed to have lasted for countless months. The black sludge receded, he regained sight and control, he was Ömen once more. Under normal circumstances he would have answered "fuck off" to such a playfully childish question, but he rose his eyes from the blossom, and from the delicate hue it set off, he saw just beyond the bars a small bundle of white fur behind the amber and azure eyes. A monster. A boss monster.

As if by instinct, he whispered back to the flower:

"Yes, I'm a friend… How did you do that?"

It quickly shut closed and burrowed itself back under the rocks, before returning to his progenitor. As it blossomed again, he could see the little thing's features a little better. Short hair, short horns, pale white skin, he could not be more than 7 years old, maybe less. Ömen saw him whisper something into it, and once more it burrowed and resurfaced before him.

"I'll tell you later. I think I can free you."

His heart shot ablaze with those words. A lust for vengeance boiled in his blood, his muscles swelled with purpose. The urge to obliterate all that surrounded him blistered in his mind, but his newfound purpose was sufficient, for the time being, to calm him down. Shaa had to be freed first. Ömen's cell was rigged with bells and whistles, if he broke out first, his other half was as good as dead. With that out of the way, nothing could possibly stop them. Freedom was all but certain. If his new little "friend" survived.

He explained this to his little saviour

"Do you know where he is?" The youngling asked through the whispering blossom

"No. But he's the only other monster in this catacomb. Everyone else is… Gone. You'll find him. His eyes can glow in the dark."

The child listened carefully, before replying with one last message:

"Cool!"

And with such an erudite reply, the flower receded one last time and the little goblin dashed through the dark, and as he did, another howl echoed, coming from the complete opposite direction he came from.

The ember flared up again, stronger than ever. Shaa eagerly awaited their new friend.

Ömen clenched his paws in anticipation.

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

Asgore raced through the cold hallways and corridors, searching frantically for the white bear with glow-in-the-dark eyes. His back still ached, his stamina ran short, but he had to help his new friends! The big bear told him he was so, none before had openly declared themselves as his friend. Once more, he wondered where he remembered that word from. No matter, no distractions he kept dashing. The deep hollers of frustration from the guards shook the still air, they'd found nothing once more. They were sure to return to their starting positions soon.

Just as that thought crossed his frantic mind, a faint glow made itself known around the corner. It pulsed ever so slightly, before waning. This must be it. With one last dash, he rounded the bend and before him lay his other new friend: strapped by his neck, the bear's pure blue eyes met his own before he'd finished crossing over. The few remnants of intricate patterns on his fur gave off a mystical glow, faintly illuminating a warm smile. Asgore couldn't contain himself :

"Cool! Err… I mean, howdy!"

"You must be our little bard friend. That was a nice trick with the veilleuses." Those words snapped Asgore to attention almost immediately.

"How did you know that?" He recoiled.

"I'll tell you later." He snickered "Above me on the corner of the cell, there is a leak through the rocks. I am not sure, but there might be some vines tucked into the stone." His voice was serene, so serene in fact, that had they been uttered anywhere else, one might not have guessed it came from someone shackled to a wall.

The polar bear was indeed right, he could sense the whisper of a creeping vine cowered in the nook. But it was so far deep, he'd never attempted to retrieve something so far out of sight. Moreover, he did not know which song he'd play to summon it from its enclave. The guards hollered once more, they heard their little exchange. They had not much time. The immediacy was palpable.

"I-I don't know how to get them!" He stuttered, as the clanking of sabatons and swords encroached on him from both sides.

"Use 'the song of the dancing vine' to bring it closer! Quickly!"

"But that won't be enough! Your chains look hard! The vines can only push and pull!"

"You will have to improvise, my little bard friend!"

The yelling and clanking drew closer now, they could make out words now:

"Monsters!"

"Kill them!"

"Where's the company commander?!"

The little boss monster felt that same desperation now that he'd had in the forest. Craning his head looking for his pursuers, the images and sounds engraved in his mind returned to him. He remembered the roar of the blaze, the screams of soldiers, the fire seemed to surround him once more. There was no way! He knew not what to harmonize! The walls closed in, doom awaited him, his back winced once more. He started slipping. The corner of his irises became black as tar.

"What's your name?" The serene words woke him from his delirium.

"As… Asgore." He whimpered back

“I believe in you Asgore. I have hope."

The tar in his eyes retreated, and with it the affliction of his chase disappeared. He felt that inner fire roaring once more. Hope and a will to live. Determination. He heard the quiet bubbling of the water leak above through the ruckus of his foes approaching, and once more like outside, he willed a small panpipe to existence before his miniature monster paws. Putting the instrument to his mouth, once more he sang that melancholic melody, the wordless chant calling his creeping friend from his burrow of stone.

The vine crackled as it twisted and bent along the surface of the wall, an unsettling sight for one to see unprepared. But alas, no one was there to see. Shaa had not the gift of vision and Asgore, well, he need not look to know where the vine was. As the vegetation crept towards Shaa's restraints new sprouts and roots tangled around the rock, gripping firmly to aid their progenitor's purpose.

"KILL THEM!!!"

"AAAAGHHHH!!!"

They had not but 20 seconds left

"I believe in you Asgore."

A good bard, so it's said, is not the one who sticks to well-known harmonies unwaveringly. It is the one who can dance and play with the song that is a true bard. Asgore discovered that very moment he was one such bard, as with sudden vigor, the melancholy of his song was spliced with fast, foreboding chords. The vine obliged to his song, and as it did, in wrapped itself around the chain connected to Shaa's neck. The final chord is the most important one, as well.

With a final, ear-lifting and soul-searing blow on his pipes, the vines evoked their visceral primordial power. Their supports dug into the cold rock as, like a photosynthesizing anaconda, the vine tightened itself around the bronze chains, shattering them with an ear-splitting bang.

It was not an iota of a second before, once mote through the ether, Shaa announced to his greater half:

"I am free."

Years of torture, penance, violence and suffering weighed down on Ömen. But alas, his time had finally arrived. Retribution was his, the invisible chains that kept him from unleashing his own personal armageddon vaporized. Once more, his heart raced, his blood boiled, his muscles swole and that feverish desire for vengeance consumed him whole.

"THE POLAR BEAR IS LOOSE!!" A desperate voice cried in the dark.

"WHAT!?" A second voice replied, stricken with fear like a cornered animal.

The voice was just beyond the bar's in Ömen's cage. It was Pavel. The vilest of all his captors. He'd driven a spear through his side when the bear refused to execute a child warrior. Now his time had come, the gladiator-bear seeked not merely justice, his fight was purely for revenge.

He'd roar in the arena as he was commanded by his captors, but he only did so for the sake of Shaa, not for the sake of entertainment. He'd always held back, but now… His ear-shattering roar split the rock on the ceiling above him and rose the fur on his back, with one charge he'd demolished the bars beyond and swiftly crushed Pavel on the wall, a gut-wrenching noise followed by a dash of that dark crimson in Ömen's eyes.  

He only realized how mistaken he was in fuelling his escape on revenge, when the red in his eyes gave way to black; his level of violence peaking at the highest he'd ever been. A streak of desperation darted in Ömen's eyes but it was too late, he'd crossed over into near feral rage. Perhaps it was better that he did not see for the duration of his rampage, for if he did…

He would have seen more crimson than ever before in his life.

Written by TK

[INDEX]

[boschlingtumbles]

Chapter 43

In the span of thirty minutes, Brienne had covered the entire first floor of the Sept of Baelor, the gardens, the courtyard and the seven shrines that dotted the grounds, and she had not so much as a single golden hair to show for it. “I called her, texted her, Ravyned her, left messages on her Ravengram, LinkedIn and Facebook pages,” Jaime rested his entire golden head on her shoulder. “I called two of her burner phones, I know she has more, but I don’t know the numbers. What if she was hit by a car?! What if she was hit by a car and has amnesia and is wandering through the streets of King’s Landing?!” “You’re not helping,” Brienne scolded, but she rested her own head on his anyway. Engaged to be engaged. Gods she loved this man. “What if Cassana knocked her out and shoved her in a locked room somewhere?” Jaime asked the world at large. “She wouldn’t do that,” Brienne protested tepidly. “Stannis shoved me in a locked room somewhere,” Jaime pointed out. Brienne was saved from having to respond by the approach of the very woman. “She’s come to gloat. Or to finish the job,” Jaime hissed. “She has not!” Brienne whispered back out of the side of her mouth. Out of the front of her mouth, she managed a wan smile. “Brienne dear, I hear you’re the maid of honor,” Cassana trilled. The less charitable part of Brienne’s mind (the part that sounded uncannily like Jaime) noted that Cassana hadn’t forgotten her name since she’d been told Brienne was a sapphire magnate. “Guilt as charged,” Brienne admitted. “She’s the guilty one!” Jaime growled under his breath. She stepped on his foot. “Finally, someone who can get things done around here!” Cassana put her hand on her hip. “We need to talk about my solo.” “Your solo?” Brienne repeated cautiously. “Yes, lights and sound. I want the entire dining room to go dark.  The audience buzzes. Hold it for exactly three counts and then a single spotlight. I’m on the dance floor. You’ll want a warm light dear, too artificial and I just wash out. This dress needs to pop you understand?” Cassana struck a pose, showcasing the white silk dress that continued to look uncomfortably like a wedding dress. “The spotlight should follow me as I serenade the guests, moving from table to table. Check the sound systems ahead of time, I despise when there’s too much base. You can manage that, can’t you?” “Mmm,” Brienne said neutrally. “I’ll finish with Robert and Cersei of course, the audience will eat it up. And then as everyone applauds, I move back to the dance floor. Then it’s time for my encore.” “Your encore?” Brienne managed faintly. “A good performer never leaves their audience wanting,” Cassana winked. “Kisses darlings, I’ll see you at the ceremony.” Brienne and Jaime looked at each other. “We have got to find Cersei,” Brienne said hollowly. “Only she can stop this menace,” Jaime agreed. “Maybe one of the other girls can help,” Brienne offered. They found Catelyn cornered by a reporter. “And what do you say to allegations that your husband actually fathered Ashara Dayne’s love child, not MP Brandon Stark,” the reporter shoved a tape recorder in her face. “I can’t discuss this!” Catelyn tried to get away. “Are you admitting it? Is that why your marriage was allegedly on the rocks?” The reporter followed after. Brienne was about to wade in, pink tulle dress or no, when Varys rounded the bend with two security guards. “Arrest that man!” He cried, pointing at the reporter dramatically. The reporter gulped and made a break for it as Varys rushed to Catelyn’s side, apologies abounding. “Maybe Lysa...” Brienne mumbled. They found Lysa in one of the picturesque grottos, sitting on a stone bench, cell phone pinned between ear and shoulder as she viciously pulled apart a flower. “I don’t see HOW I could have misconstrued what I saw Petyr! No, this time YOU LISTEN TO ME! We are done! I never want to see you again! And you’d better stop spreading those slimy rumors about Ned and Cat or... or... or my BOYFRIEND is going to beat you up!” Jaime and Brienne backed slowly away. “Melisandre’s usually good in a crisis,” Brienne ventured. “Good thinking,” Jaime said, eyes round. Melisandre was still where Brienne had left her, in the closet in the bridesmaids’ staging room. “Mel?” Brienne knocked hesitantly. “I’m in a bit of a pickle and I was hoping you could maybe...” “Ta da!” Melisandre flung the door open. Brienne goggled. Was that even the same dress?!?! The same color surely, but... What had once been crinkly layer after crinkly layer of tulle had been stripped away, revealing a silky and form fitting sheathe rather like a negligee that clung sinfully to Melisandre’s curves. Why you could even see her... Brienne hastily clapped a hand over Jaime’s eyes. “Nice dress,” Jaime said from behind Brienne’s hand. “You can’t wear that!” Brienne squeaked furiously. “What I think you meant to say was, ‘Melisandre you look ravishing. I could tear that dress right off you’,” Melisandre sniffed. “That’s too kind Brienne. But it took ages and there’s only twenty minutes before the ceremony so...” “Twenty minutes?!” Jaime shouted from behind the hand. “I can see your nipples!” Brienne yelled. “Take it off!” “Shan’t,” Melisandre said haughtily and waltzed out. “Twenty minutes,” Jaime said dully when Brienne removed her impromptu blindfold. Brienne looked at him. He looked back. “At least we have each other...” Jaime ventured. Brienne tried to smile. He was so sweet. “...Until Cassana kills us,” Jaime finished. “Stop,” Brienne groaned. “Please don’t make it worse. I don’t know if I can handle things getting worse.” “Hi,” Thoros Asshai knocked on the open door, sticking his head partly in. “Um is Melisandre here?” Brienne let out a deep breath. Finally. A way to snip one of her many loose threads. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She blurted. Thoros squinted at her. “...why?” He asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “Melisandre’s shredded her bridesmaid’s dress into something that looks like a teddy, Cersei will be furious if she finds it. Can you make her at least put on a shawl over it?” Brienne asked hopefully. “Huh,” Thoros rocked on his feet. “I could possibly help you with that problem. If...” Brienne could have cried. Why was there always an if?! “you help me with Robert.” What?! “What?!” Jaime growled next to her. “What has that imbecile done?!” “Uh let’s not be too hasty to assign blame, which probably doesn’t need to really be given out at all,” Thoros scratched his head. “Highly counterproductive and all...” “Fine,” Jaime crossed his arms and glowered. “What have YOU done?!” Thoros straightened for a second like they might get into it, and then collapsed into his usual half-slouch. “Better to just show you,” he said glumly. Why did Brienne really not like the sound of that? They trailed Thoros down the hall to an area that was quite clearly off limits to visitors, and Brienne would have made some protest, if Thoros were not already pushing the door open into what looked like somebody’s study. “Tarth!” Robert exclaimed exuberantly, and then Brienne was being crushed into a hug. She staggered backward, partly with alarm and partly because Robert had immediately shifted all of his wait onto her, and appeared to be using her as a means of staying upright. “Is he...” Brienne looked at Thoros. “Completely shit-faced,” Thoros admitted. “Jaime! My brother in law! My brother from another mother! My braime? But that would be both of you...” “You idiot,” Jaime said. Brienne couldn’t really see him past Robert’s head lolling on her shoulder, but she assumed the remark was addressed to Thoros. “I might be impressed honestly. I’m not sure anybody has ever outdrank Robert before. I didn’t think it could be done. But if anybody could do it, I suppose I would have put my money on you. You stupid shortsighted irresponsible...” “Brienne,” Robert interrupted Jaime’s rant, unfocused blue eyes suddenly locking on hers. “Hi Robert,” Brienne said politely from inches away. “Brienne, I don’t have feelings for you.” “Oh,” Brienne blinked. “Well that’s good.” Robert nodded in solemn agreement, the movement threatening to send them both toppling over. “It is good. I love Cersei,” he said. Brienne frantically tried to look over his shoulder to summon a rescue from this conversation. “...an hour before his wedding?! WHY?! WHY would you ever think that was a good idea?! And don’t even get me started on...” “Cersei told me you had a crush on me,” Robert continued, and Brienne with a prickling sense of horror suddenly realized that this was not one of Robert’s usual non-sequiturs. “Oh no,” Brienne breathed. “That’s what I said,” Robert agreed. “Definitely Renly.” “What?” Brienne frowned. “The reason you were always hanging around our house was because you had a crush on Renly. Stannis and I both thought so.” “What?!” Jaime suddenly paused in his telling off of Thoros. “Brienne always had a crush on Renly,” Robert repeated again. “I thought maybe she’d have a chance because she kind of looks like a guy? Especially back in high school? Remember your hair was super short and you wore that ugly lacrosse sweatshirt all the time and...” “Thank you Robert,” Brienne tried to push him off but he only held on tighter. “But Renly’s just super gay. Way gayer than Thoros. Thoros, are you sure you’re gay? And then they just became really good friends. At least that’s what Stannis and I think,” Robert finished. Jaime stared. Brienne held her breath. “And I told Cersei that, and she said nuh-uh, she was right and you’d said as much to her.” ...and there it was. Brienne’s stupid lie to get Cersei off her back, come full circle back to the two guys who Brienne would have least wanted to hear it. Robert at least seemed serenely unphased. Jaime, in contrast, seemed like he’d be catching flies any second. (Thoros had taken a seat in an armchair and was looking thoroughly entertained.) “So just in case, I thought you should know,” Robert explained. “I don’t have feelings for you.” He patted her head clumsily. “I don’t have feelings for you either,” Brienne assured him through gritted teeth. “I knew it was Renly,” Robert nodded sagely. He turned toward Jaime. “So I think you’re safe. Brienne and I don’t have feelings for each other and Renly is super gay. I don’t know about Stannis though. Brienne, do you have feelings for Stannis?” “I DON’T HAVE FEELINGS FOR STANNIS!” Brienne squawked, shoving him at last off her. He windmilled lazily before catching Jaime’s arm for balance. “OR RENLY!” She added for good measure. “Are you sure?” “YES! THE ONLY PERSON I LOVE IS JAIME!” Thoros wolf whistled, and Brienne shot him a look. “Why don’t you explain exactly what happened here,” she said frostily, as Robert tried to give Jaime a hug. “I’m not sure,” Thoros admitted. “Stannis asked me to hang out with him before the wedding because they’d crashed their car. We were just doing some shots—like three or four, seriously, it was nothing but a buzz for this guy, I’ve been drinking with him for years, and the next thing I know he can barely stand upright. You have to help—if Cersei finds out that I got Robert hammered at the wedding, I don’t like my chances at survival. I promise I’ll get Mel to find a sweater or something, just fix him please?” “I don’t know how to fix him,” Brienne groaned. “Cersei would know but I can’t find her anywhere! And now the wedding is starting in twenty minutes, we don’t have a bride and the groom is hammered!” “Did you look in the second floor bathroom?” Robert asked sleepily from where he was now curling up in a recliner. “...what?” Brienne asked. “Like in high school, that’s where she goes when she’s upset,” Robert trailed off with a massive yawn. “This is a sept, it doesn’t have a second floor,” Jaime broke in testily. “Yeah it does,” Thoros frowned. “I was just up there, the staircase is further back in this admin wing. If you turn left, you can’t miss it.” Jaime and Brienne looked at each other. “Go,” Jaime waved his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on all of... this,” he gestured at a now snoring Robert. “I’ll find her,” Brienne promised. She hurried toward the door. Sure enough, there was a staircase. Once on the second floor, Brienne frantically scanned the corridor. There! Past a closet and several closed doors, were the instantly recognizable symbols a male and female silhouette. With a deep breath, Brienne pushed into the women’s restroom. A cursory look under the stalls revealed it was empty. Unless... A sudden twinge of suspicion and the tickle of a memory of her own from high school and Brienne was pushing in the doors one by one. When she came to the exact middle, it held fast. “Cersei?” Brienne asked, knocking. “Cersei, it’s Brienne, open up.” No response. All the same, Brienne could practically feel the presence of someone sitting quietly on the other side. “Cersei Lannister, open up before I knock the door down,” Brienne growled. There was another pause. Begrudgingly, the door clicked and slowly swung outward. Cersei sat huddled on the toilet, dress neatly folded under her. Her eyes looked a little red, but her makeup remained flawless. Brienne wasn’t even sure she would have known something was wrong except... The posture. Cersei always seemed to take up more space than such a slender person should be capable of. Whether it was her looks or her ego or the buoyant energy that seemed to allow her to sail through life impervious, when Cersei walked into a room, you noticed. This person, this pretty fragile facsimile of Cersei sitting shoulders slumped in a bathroom stall, eyes skittering anywhere but Brienne’s gaze, had none of that. “I’ve been looking for you,” Brienne said awkwardly. The understatement of the century. Cersei did not react in the slightest. “Cersei, you need to get downstairs,” Brienne tried again. “Petyr told the press that Ned and Ashara had a love child together and Cat’s being hounded by reporters. Melisandre ran her dress through a shredder, Robert had too much to drink and Cassana is wearing a white dress!” At that last remark, Cersei’s lip twitched in the faintest tremor of a sneer, but she remained unresponsive. “Cersei, I don’t know what to do,” Brienne tried to swallow the bubble of panic rising in her throat. “It doesn’t matter,” Cersei finally said, voice quiet and thin. “I can’t do this. Send them home.” “Send them home?” Brienne repeated back, resisting the urge to strangle her. “Why?!” “It’s all wrong. I’m supposed to have a baby girl. Genna Joanna Lannister,” Cersei looked up at her. “And now it’s a boy. I don’t know how to have a baby boy, Brienne. The nursery colors are wrong! I pre-enrolled a little girl in the best school in Oldtown and I can’t change the application, I’ll have to withdraw it! He doesn’t even have a name! I don’t know how to have a baby boy, Brienne, I can’t do it, I can’t!” Cersei’s breathing was getting shallower, her thing shoulders literally shaking. She was practically hyperventilating, and Brienne realized that if she didn’t get control of the situation now, it would be lost. She took a deep breath and sent a prayer to the Mother for forgiveness. Brienne smacked Cersei across the cheek. Cersei broke off mid-spiral and stared. A red mark was blossoming on her face, Brienne noticed with a wince. Well no going back now. “Did you just... hit me?” Cersei blinked. “Yes. And I’ll do it again if you don’t get out of that stall this instant,” Brienne said evenly. Their eyes locked. Mutely Cersei stood, and Brienne stepped out of the way to allow her to exit. “Now eat this,” Brienne pulled a power bar out of her handbag. “And don’t fake eat it like you did with that burger. I’m going to sit here and watch you until every crumb is gone.” Cersei looked at the bar in her hand as if Brienne had handed her a gun. “EAT!” Brienne barked in her best colonel-general voice. Cersei hastily began to unwrap it. “Now listen,” Brienne poked her. “I have seen you blackmail and bully and just... bend reality to your will. You have never let anybody stop you ever. If you want to resubmit your application to this school, who the fuck is going to stop you, Cersei Lannister?! Nursery paint schemes?! Are you kidding?! It’ll be blue before you get back from your honeymoon. And why do you even want to name your baby after your Aunt Genna?! She’s a pretentious cow who thinks I’m an embarrassment to the Lannister family name,” Brienne huffed, crossing her arms defensively. “What? No she doesn’t,” Cersei frowned, stopping mid-chew. “She does! I heard her at your engagement party! Jaime’s shaming the Lannister name according to her,” Brienne rebutted. “Don’t be silly, Aunt Genna wasn’t talking about you. She was upset that Jaime left you alone. It’s very rude to invite a guest and then spend the entire evening ignoring them,” Cersei explained, before swallowing and taking another bite. “Oh,” Brienne said, a tad stymied. “Well, I guess that’s alright then. I mean you could still name your baby after Genna without naming him Genna. Like Genner or uh Genes or um Gendry...” “Gendry,” Cersei said slowly. “That’s a nice name.” “The point is, the baby being a boy instead of a girl... that’s just a new plot twist. A challenge. You live for those! You’ll find a way to use this to your advantage and be an incredible mom, and win at that too, just like you win at everything else. But first you have to win at this. Your wedding. Because I did not come this far and put up with this much from you to stop inches short of the finish line. You are going to find a way to make this perfect or you are going to find a way to live with it,” Brienne said sternly. “Or so help me seven, I will drag you to the altar myself.” There was a pause as Cersei chewed and Brienne held her breath. “I’m done,” Cersei said, holding up the empty wrapper. “And?” Brienne ventured hopefully. “I have a fucking wedding to fix,” Cersei turned, inspecting her reflection grimly. “Good,” Brienne sighed in relief. “Because I don’t think I really had it in me to drag you to the altar.” “There’s just one thing,” Cersei continued to scrutinize the mirror. “What?” Brienne asked nervously. “You’ll have to do it again.” “Beg your pardon?” “You’ll have to slap me again. Left cheek this time please. It has to be even, otherwise it’ll look like some kind of makeup snafu.” “Sorry?” “Really Brienne, if you can’t manage a tiny old slap, I’ll just have to find...” Brienne slapped the other side of her face. “Excellent,” Cersei said briskly. “Now let’s go.”