#Jaime who lost his only battle

[duchess-of-oldtown]

The Lannisters are so unserious. In AFFC, Jaime literally goes up to Kevan - his uncle who has been literally hunting down outlaws, commanding men, hanging robber knights and pretty much being a soldier long before Jaime was even a twinkle in Tywin's eye - and gives him advice?

And Kevan's literal reaction is

[dyingswanpavlova]

Your ghostly lover

Chapter 1

Pairing: Jaime Lannister × Targaryen!Reader × Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentions of Violence and Murder, Mentions of Forced Marriage, Threatening, Isolation, Loneliness, Ghosts and Spirits, Joffrey being Joffrey and butchering some rats

Author's note: This is a House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones-Crossover. The first chapter takes place in the past. The wedding doesn't take place until the Reader is 19.

You're one of the last two living Targaryens. While your sister Daenerys roams free across the Narrow Sea, you're being forced to marry the man who once killed your father. The Kingslayer has yet to find out about the spirit that lives in your mirror and his evil plans.

Six Years Ago

Life was a terrible thing.

In your book, things were going pretty roughly. Was it destiny? Fate? Or maybe you were made to suffer, because of the mistakes you made in your past life. Another theory you had was that you had to pay for the terrible things your ancestors did. Your father, for a start, had been a terrible person. That much was out of question.

Your sister was on her best way to destroy the rest of the world.

Your brothers, they were more complicated. Viserys had been a lost cause, ever since he had been forced to flee. Of course life had taken a toll on him, but did that really make up for all the terrible things he did?

Rhaegar. Rhaegar had been…good, or so you thought. So you had heard.

You missed him. Actually, you missed them all. Without even knowing them.

You were the youngest, the babe of the family, if so you wish. But that didn’t help you much back in the day.

As problems come, this one came fast and unexpected. Your eldest brother died in battle, while your father got murdered by the man who swore to protect him. The same man you were now forced to wed.

Poor, little you. Too tiny and helpless, nothing more than a bundle of joy and youthfulness, when life took its toll on your family. Everyone else either made it out or got butchered.

Daenerys and Viserys were gone. Viserys made sure of it. And of course, he tried his best to keep you safe as well. But to take care of two little babes at once? When he, himself, was no more than a boy?

He set you down for no longer than a minute, desperate to find a way to get out of this godforsaken place. He only had two arms, and yet two little bundles to carry. Three mouths to feed. No milk in sight.

And when the men with the golden colored cloaks came, he had no choice.

It was too late for you anyway. And at least, you wouldn’t know what was going on. You were tiny and helpless. They would make it quick, right?

So, your brother scurried off, your sister in his arm, while you stayed on the concrete, writhing and crying, all cold and alone.

Poor, little you.

And even more so, because it was the Kingslayer himself who found you. They all had the same specific order.

Kill them all.

No matter the age, the size, the gender or how tiny and helpless they were.

He was supposed to kill you.

But when he picked your tiny form up, amethyst eyes full of tears and your little fists swinging through the air, he felt himself smile a sad smile.

A stubborn one. So fierce.

And in the end, he couldn’t do it. He knew, obviously, it might cost him his head. But no matter what or who he was, he wasn’t that.

He was not the right man to butcher a babe. And so he didn’t.

Sooner than later, you found yourself in the arms of the new king. Whatever it was that you possessed – maybe the fire in your big eyes? The innocence? – it gave him pause. To everyone’s great surprise, the new named king didn’t kill you.

If only he did. It would have spared you such heartbreak.

The next few years, you grew up in the Red Keep. Of course you were no one’s child. Expect for your hair color and the amethyst glint in your eyes, there was nothing Targaryen about you.

Aside from your stupid pride and your stubbornness.

You spent your days reading and watching the knights fight in the training yard. Your best chance for some company was your governess, but even that was an old woman, devoid of any emotion.

You were no one’s child.

And you name was given.

The king came from time to time to see how things were going. How you settled in in a world in which you didn’t belong. His children and his gruesome wife eyed you with disdain.

No, that was not true. The eldest one did, and the mother for sure.

The girl was curious and the boy was rather frightened. You loved to make a habit of scaring him. He was like a lost pup and for some reason you found it rather delightful how big his eyes got, whenever you attempted to lunge at him and stopped the last second.

The witch, how you liked to call her, would scold you and threaten you with all kinds of vile crimes, until her tiny, little brother came by and stopped her.

You hated her. You hated everyone.

And what you hated most was how no one spoke to you.

You were no one’s child and you were no one’s responsibility. In court, you saw children with their mothers. They picked them up and cradled them close, when they were weeping.

Weaklings, you thought. But it was not your heart that spoke there. It was your wounded pride and your loneliness.

Oh, how you wished to have a mother. A father. A sibling even. Someone to banter and to argue with, someone who wasn’t Joffrey. He was a twisted little rodent. Someone who cut open living rats, just to see their blood flow and the life leave their eyes as they hissed and cried. Someone who yanked on your hair and cried to his mother when you yanked at his.

Until the witch finally got her will. And you weren’t allowed near anyone. No one spoke to you, unless Tyrion came to fetch you some books. He pitied you, you could tell. How sad was that? Being pitied by the most pitied person in Westeros. Maybe that was the reason, you thought. He knew how it felt. But at least he was someone. You were no-one.

So you read. And you watched. Observed. Listened. But you never spoke.

Everyone was going about their own business, ignoring your existence as good as they could.

Sandor would glance at you with disdain whenever you threw a tantrum, and yet he’d be the one to pull you back, whenever you got into too much trouble.

There was that one time when you were in an especially bad mood. You felt there was no one the world who cared about you and what was far worse, you didn’t care about anyone either. What was there to live for in this godforsaken place?

You mustered up some courage, which wasn’t all too hard. You were a stubborn little wench.

Once the castle got surrounded by darkness, you snuck out of your chambers and blindly stepped your way through the halls. You knew the walls and every stone on the way, because all you did was observe. It wasn’t like you had other children around you to play with. All you had were your books and all the adults you had grown to despise. One more than the other and so on.

So that particular night, you were ready to leave this all behind, cornering the next hallway, when a firm voice stopped you. You froze instantly.

He was that one person you couldn’t quite decipher. You were almost sure, he had never spoken a single word to you. When you caught sight of him, he looked away immediately. It was like there was an invisible wall. And whenever you got too close to it, he pushed you back with all the fervor his constant ignorance and disdain could muster.

“Where do you think you are going?”

With the softest sigh, you turned back around. Your hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and your eyes glassy by the way you hated life. This one, at least.

“I-“

“No, forget it. Follow me.”

You sighed again and with slow, hesitant steps followed the Kingslayer back to your chambers. He held the door open and ushered you inside. The guards nearby got the scolding of their life, but you? He didn’t regard with yet another glance. He disappeared back into the night and left you alone with your sadness.

You didn’t truly mind. You found, there was something unsettling about him. Of course you knew the rumors about him and his sister, the witch of Westeros. And if one paid close attention, you could see the lewd glanced they’d share from time to time.

It wasn’t that you cared about that per say. It was more that you couldn’t understand how anyone ever managed to love that heartless hag. Not even him. The knight who held no soul.

You were clever enough never to let anyone see your sadness outright. When it came to these people, the ones who fiercely ignored you, you had no feelings but anger and no traits but stubbornness.

It wasn’t until another night, few years later, when someone was kind to you. You couldn’t quite tell who it was, you just knew she was old, but her eyes were gentle. Much different from your governess’ or the dark lord who owned Casterly Rock and half of Westeros.

“Dear child. Forgive me the intrusion.”

You had eyed her suspiciously, half-expecting her to set your hair on fire by Cersei’s order. You had been no older than ten and three, when the old man approached your chambers.

“I used to work for your mother, you see.”

Now, that caught your interest.

“My mother? What do you know about my mother?”

The warmth in her smile had been enough to make you feel wistful and even more lonely.

“I know that she loved you very much. Which was also the reason, why she gave birth to you, despite all the high risks. She knew she would not make it, child. But she still had you.”

A low, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach later, she added: “I have something of hers. And I think you should have it, instead.”

Her visit had been short-lived, but her presence stayed with you. It changed the entire course of your life and probably, the whole future of Westeros.

It was a mirror. A pretty one, indeed, but simply a mirror. It felt odd in your hand. No one ever gave you any presents, except for Tyrion and his countless books. But this, it was different. The weight of the mirror in your hand made you feel somewhat comforted. It was your mothers. Your mothers.

She had loved you.

Someone had loved you.

Even if no one did now, it gave you endless comfort to know, that there once been someone who did.

After holding onto the mirror tightly for what felt like an eternity, you finally set it down and choked back your own tears. Was this how life was supposed to make you feel?

The next thing you remembered varied in your mind. It had been too much and too overwhelming to remember it clearly. It was just too odd. Your mind couldn’t comprehend and so it made up new scenarios and details whenever you thought back to it.

In some versions of the memory, you heard his voice first.

In other versions, you saw the soft glow that gleamed around the handle first, slowly stretching out over the cold surface.

Whatever it was, it was.

And suddenly you weren’t alone anymore.

“Princess.”

A voice so soft-spoken that you hardly recognized it. No, you were sure you were making up things. Maybe the mirror was indeed a cruel jest Cersei pulled on you. Maybe it was tinged in something, some substance, that made you lose your mind.

“Princess.” You heard again. Soft and gentle, like a caress.

You had no idea what a caress felt like.

When you heard him a third time, you were suddenly certain. It was indeed real. You stiffened when you realized the sound came from the mirror.

There was a tight knot in your stomach, as well as your throat.

“What?” You murmured. “What is this-“

You sat up carefully and glanced down to where the mirror was set, only to realize it wasn’t your own reflection you were seeing.

With a soft shriek, you recoiled and scurried over the bed, nearly falling to the ground. This wasn’t a trick, but you wished it was.

He had long, straight hair that looked like it was made of silk, in the same color your own hair was tinged. His expression was soft, but there was something so off about him. His one eye was amethyst-colored like your own were, but the other one, you couldn’t tell. It was covered by a black eye-patch, his lips pressed into a straight line.

He was a pretty sight, indeed. Beautiful even. More handsome than any man, any knight you had ever seen.

But why was he there? Why was he at all?

“I can hear your breathing, princess.” God, his voice felt like a thousand little stabs, caused by the gentleness of a cloud. “Fear not. I wish to see you. ‘tis me, princess. I am your blood.”

After what felt like forever you slowly crawled back over the bed, but not yet enough to face him fully.

“What are you?” You heard yourself whisper in a voice that was your hardly your own.

What then happened was even more strange. His lips curved into a smile and it lit up his entire face. The dark, gloomy prince, who missed an eye, suddenly became something kind and gentle. It made you swallow.

“Not what, princess. Who. ‘tis me, your blood.” He repeated. “You may have heard of me. Aemond. Aemond Targaryen.”

That made you pause. And suddenly you felt nauseous.

Aemond Targaryen? The prince? The same prince who had died so long ago?

“What? You cannot be. Aemond Targaryen died and I am talking to a mirror, for the Gods’ sake! You can tell Cersei-“

“I am not sent by Cersei, princess.”

“Then who sent you?!” Your disbelief slowly turned into anger. Whatever trick this was, it felt cruel to you. You had no one after all. And to make fun of your parentage like this? It was simply cruel.

“No one sent me.” He sighed in a way that made you feel calmer than before, but also tired. “Let me see you, princess. I promise you, I will bring no harm your way.”

You fought and argued with yourself in your head. The clever thing would have been to discard the mirror and inform…Who would you even inform? No one spoke to you and no one would believe you. You would end up the mad girl. So, with a soft sigh of your own, you picked up the mirror, but you held it as far away from your body as you could. And then you faced him, very carefully.

He observed your reaction and his lip twitched in amusement.

“Look at that. The princess is fearless.”

You frowned at that. “I am no princess.”

His good eye shot open. “They poisoned your mind.” He murmured.

Your frown deepened. “Who?”

“The bad people.” He hummed softly. Everything about him was so…calm. “The lions.”

After a beat, he quietly asked: “Do you even know who you are?”

You had a rough idea about it, but you weren’t entirely sure. You knew your parentage held some kind of importance to some people, but that was in the past. You were left to fend for yourself, in a pit filled with lions, but no dragons in sight.

“I…”

He tsked softly.

“My darling, darling girl. It is about time your fire returned. And I will make sure it does.”

[atopvisenyashill]

not to keep harping on but definitely the complaint i see that really sticks in my craw is that the only reason or the main reason robb planned to banish catelyn to seaguard was because of their argument over jon. it’s certainly a factor but they have spent the entire war arguing over every decision robb makes! ned tells robb “keep your mother in your council” but robb really does not! he has her there, yes, he lets her speak, yes, but oftentimes he will disregard her advice without any appeasement, misstep badly, and be worse off politically in the exact way she warned him of. she’s not the only person he blows off - he’s not exactly nice to edmure either, for example - but cat is right when she suspects there’s an element of “kings are not supposed to have mothers” and “wedded to his war" and she clocks this long before the argument over jon! robb tries to get rid of her at the beginning of a clash of kings when all cat has done is urge him to continue peaceful negotiations with the lannisters!

robb is angry because he’s in over his head and he knows it, and it's got very little to do with jon! robb is losing this war and his best friend was the son of a man who crowned himself and lost the war!! robb knows exactly what’s going to happen to the north if he loses and despite everything, he cannot seem to win despite being a near prodigy in battle tactics. and here his mother has been this whole time, fighting him on every front - just like the lords but he cant punish them for disagreeing can he? - and being so frustratingly right about more things than his lords, and now they’re picking at this wound in their family that has never been allowed to heal and a lot of resentment that both robb and catelyn are feeling at their general situation gets focused in on each other. this is such a tully thing too (pls remember these are canonically unpleasant people!) because look at lysa projecting years of resentment onto sansa, look at the entire cat, hoster, edmure situation, or even hoster & blackfish’s relationship. family is so important to them but in times of stress, “doing everything for family” becomes an anchor pulling them down, until the only thing left is to lash out at each other.

most of the lords are happy to let this nonsense play out! catelyn does not even have the privilege maege & dacey mormont do at being head of their own house - she’s just a wife, just a mother, just a first born daughter. when she disagrees, they don’t see an equal arguing with them, they see a woman sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. they do not give a single solitary shit about like, ~the plight of bastards~ they just believe, like robb, that sansa is currently “tainted” by her marriage to a lannister and can’t be allowed to inherit, that arya is dead, that the boys are dead, that jeyne is not yet pregnant, and a bastard boy castle raised who looks like ned is better than no boy at all (see edric storm, addam of hull, and larence snow). these men have not spent the last fourteen years cooking in their resentment over this situation the way catelyn and robb have!

jon is a reason. but so is rickard karstark, jaime lannister, willem lannister, tion frey, renly baratheon, walder frey, and theon greyjoy. ned is a reason as well, and bran, sansa, rickon, arya, hoster, edmure, perhaps even lysa and sweetrobin. jon is the final straw but robb isn’t (only) sending catelyn away because of some righteous fury on his brother’s behalf! he’s sending her away because she is an easy, socially acceptable target for all his frustrations and failures and fears that he can project on, and punish, in a way he cannot punish his enemies, his lords, or himself.

and catelyn is as always very aware of the deeper motivations in her son’s mind, and resentful that she doesn’t have the power to push back; she’s just a mother, after all.

[feyhunter78]

John fic saving lives one day at a time!!! Can i be added to tag list :) Can’t wait for update

Of course you can!!! Also, here's that update for you <3

Chapter Eighteen - Battle is upon them, and lives will be lost on the battlefield and beyond.

CH 19

It is early, two hours past dawn, he stands beside Robb, and his father, the prisoners in shackles, lined up so that Lord Tywin can see his family as he approaches. The field is wide, the sun still low in the sky, a cool breeze drifting through. Jon and Robb are fitted with armor, breastplates bearing the Stark and Dayne sigils respectively, and he flexes and unflexes his fingers as they wait. Ghost and Grey Wind sit between them, waiting patiently.

The Lord of Casterly Rock arrives on a war horse, and despite his age he looks fearsome, the rising sun glinting off his golden armor, his sword hanging from his side, his men behind him, the crimson Lannister banners waving in the wind.

You stand behind Jon, Margaery’s hand in your own avoiding your grandfather’s searing gaze as it sweeps over those gathered, men of the North and Riverlands set even further back, weapons at the ready.

“Lord Lannister.” Robb calls, raising a hand in greeting, putting on an air of ease, as if Jon had not witnessed Robb’s nerves force him to empty his stomach behind a tree in the early hours of predawn.

“Young Lord Stark.” Lord Tywin says coolly, dismounting with a grace Jon did not think a man of his age could possess. “I have given your terms much thought.”

“They are fair terms considering what your family has done to King Stannis’, to the realm.” Robb says equality as cool, his tone even, his voice steady even as his hands trembled behind his back.

Jon saw Margaery shift forward, her free hand taking hold of Robb’s wrist, her thumb caressing the skin, and the trembling slowly came to a halt.

“My family has done nothing, Tommen is King Robert heir, as was Joffrey before him.” Lord Tywin says, his emerald eyes unflinching steel.

A snort comes from somewhere behind Jon, echoing in the quiet of the morn, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. All the realm knew the truth, the Tyrells had ensured that.

Robb keeps his face neutral. “Lord Lannister, the truth has spread throughout the seven kingdoms, it is best if you allow the rightful heir to take the throne, we do not wish for more bloodshed.”

“You would ask that I strip my grandson of his wife, his throne, and submit my house to the mercy of Stannis Baratheon over baseless rumors.”

“They are not baseless.” Ser Jaime’s voice strained and rough from his time exposed to the elements rises above the crowd.

Jon senses more than hears your sharp intake of breath, and he wishes he could turn and comfort you, but he cannot, he cannot risk betraying any sense of weakness to Lord Tywin.

“I guess you could say Prince Rhaegar made quite the impact on me Father.” Ser Jaime jests weakly.

Jon’s eyes dart between Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime, then he glances at Tommen who shakes where he stands, the color draining from his face as he clings to his mother’s skirts.

Tywin’s lips are set in a hard line, his men behind him shifting uncomfortably. “You need not lie to convince me to yield, my son.”

Robb glances at Jon, confusion in his Tully blue eyes, then he looks back at Lord Tywin. “You accuse your son of lying about incest, of lying about cuckholding his king?”

Tywin says nothing for a moment, then, “a son cares for his father, does he not?”

“We know the rumors are true, agree to the terms here and now, or declare yourselves traitors to the throne.” Robb says firmly, tired of Tywin’s games.

Tywin draws his sword. “The only traitors to the throne are those before me.”

It is as they feared, Tywin would not accept the terms, and he would launch an attack. Jon draws his sword, nodding to his father, who grabs you and Margaery by the arms, Smalljon corralling your remaining family. All of you rush off into the crowd as Robb's men surge forward, meeting the oncoming wave of Lannisters and whitecloaks.

The Lannisters are outnumbered, not expecting the Tyrell forces hiding behind the hills, and Jon feels a sense of pity as his sword slices clean through a man’s neck, his head flying in the opposite direction. Jon turns and plunges his sword into another man’s side, right between the chinks in his armor.

Arrows whiz by his head, and when they land true, Robb laughs, calling out congratulations to Theon before his sword bites into the flesh of a whitecloak.

Jon knew the man, he has spent most of his life in King’s Landing he knows every kingsguard, and he attempts to avoid facing them head on, not wanting their familiar faces to haunt his dreams. The sun rises and with it the temperature, sweat drips in his eyes, and he blinks them clear as he ducks, narrowly avoiding a sword swipe.

“Keep sharp, brother.” Robb calls, pulling his sword from a man’s stomach as Grey Wind lunges at the next one, his powerful jaws clamping down on the man’s throat.

Ghost has been his shadow, taking out any who come within his blind spot, growling at oncoming horses, making them rear up and throw their riders. It is chaos, but he knows it will soon end, and when Dacey Mormont brings her sword to Lord Tywin’s throat, her booted foot on his chest, he knows they have won.

A plume of smoke catches his eyes, blooming up into the sky from King’s Landing, growing wider and taller. They must have done it, must have breached the city, taken it as their own. Cheers and shouts ring out, and Dacey drags Tywin from the ground, smiling savagely. “Think I’ll get my own keep for this?”

Robb chuckles and claps her on the shoulder. “You can try.”

Jon buries his hand in Ghost’s fur, leaning on him as the adrenaline drains from his body leaving him thoroughly exhausted.

“Let us rest and regroup, then we will meet with our rightful king at the gates of the city.” Robb calls, waiting until he is sure all his men have heard him before he begins to make his way back to the camp.

Jon follows, Ghost trotting at his side, tail wagging, his pristine coat tinged with blood and gore. They will both need a bath before they return to you.

Standing beside his father while King Stannis hands down the sentencing of your family, Jon is reminded of the day his uncle was sentenced to die. How you held his arm, stood in front of him and pleaded with him not to do anything foolish.

“Cersei Lannister, for your crimes against the crown and the gods themselves, you shall lose your head.” King Stannis says, his eyes not necessarily cold, but steely, unflinching, unfeeling, his hands steady as he passes down the first verdict.

Tommen cries out clinging to his mother as she glares at King Stannis, even road weary and in tattered clothes, she looks a queen, no amount of dust, dirt, or shame can hide the regal air she possesses.

“Tywin Lannister, for your crimes against the crown, you shall join your daughter’s fate.”

Jon’s eyes flicker to you, but you are looking at your uncle, your hands buried in your skirts, eyes rimmed red. He wants to stand beside you, but he must remain at his father’s side. By order of the king, the two innocent Lannister must stand alone. Perhaps it is a warning to both you, your father and any others who might try and go against the king.

“Ser Jamie.” King Stannis says. “I have had many beg me to spare your life.”

Ser Jamie for his credit raises his head, and addresses King Stannis with respect. “My life is yours, My King, do with it what you will.”

King Stannis’ lips form a hard line, then he looks off towards his wife, Ser Davos. “You killed your king, helped cuckhold another, sullied your cloak with your sister, but…I am told you saved countless lives from the Mad King, saved the entire city if not realm from his madness. Your reward shall be not watching those you love die.”

A kingsguard approaches, sword drawn, and Tommen goes pale as he is yanked from his mother. Cersei cries out angrily, hissing that all shall pay for their crimes against her. But Jon cannot help but look at you and your father, at the way you stare at Ser Jaime, at the the way your father seems to be a moment away from cracking, dissolving into dust under the weight of his grief.

The king turns, addressing the final Lannister. “Tommen Lannister.” It feels as if the entire court holds their breath, Tommen’s large emerald eyes are wide and filled with tears. King Stannis’ voice softens a fraction for a moment. “I am a just man; you shall not watch your family die.”

Then Tommen is pulled to his feet and cast towards you and your father. You take him into your arms hurriedly, holding him with a death grip, keeping his head turned away from his mother and father.

The kingsguard raises his sword and Ser Jaime is pushed to his knees.

A sob escapes you, Jon can hear it, his sense so fine-tuned to your very being it is as if the small sound is as loud as thunder.

Ser Jamie looks to you and your father. “Tyrion, y/n, I must beg your forgiveness once more, for I have to leave you both far too soon, and can no longer watch over you.”

Jon feels his father’s hand on his arm, keeping him from going to you as press your hand to your heart, fingers gripping the rich fabric of your gown, with a weak heartbroken whimper of “Uncle Jaime…” 

Then all is silent until the blade sings, cutting through the air followed by the heavy thump of Ser Jaime’s head. A devastated cry leaves your lips, piercing him, and for a moment Jon is reminded of the tale of the death of Rhaenyra Targaryen. How her half-brother’s dragon burned her alive in front of her youngest son. How her screams and his echoed throughout the Keep, how one of Rhaenyra’s ladies clawed her own eyes out in her grief.

Then goes Cersei’s head, then Tywin’s until three golden heads lay in pools of crimson.

When King Stannis turns to Tommen again, you stiffen, a strangled sob escaping you, a torrent of tears.

Jon’s stomach drops, this is not right, Tommen was to be a ward of Winterfell, stripped of his name and titles, but alive, that is what he was told, what you were told.

“Please, he is just a boy.” You say, refusing to release your grip on Tommen, your face a portrait of anguish.

“He is, so I will not stain my rule by taking his life.” King Stannis jerks his head towards the gathering of Starks and Northmen. “Lord Stark will take the boy, he shall be no more than he truly is, a bastard, but he will live.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You say, curtsying best you can with Tommen stuck to you like a sticker burr and your vision blurred with tears.

The remaining sentencing of traitors is a blur, Jon cannot focus on anything but your anguished face, the tears that slide down your cheeks, the way your hands shake as they smooth down Tommen’s hair. It is not until his uncle nudges him, that Jon realizes court has been dismissed and everyone is filing out.

He goes to you instantly, mindful of the blood, and guides you out of the Great Hall, your father holding Tommen’s hand as the boy cries silently, the two of them trailing behind.

Jon tries to speak but you shake your head, weariness clear in your every movement. He will wait to speak, wait until you have slept and begun to grieve your family.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[supercap2319]

Jaime with a Blue Lantern BF

Jaime Reyes had never been one to expect anything out of the ordinary. He had the Blue Beetle scarab on his back, the never-ending fight to balance being a young adult and a superhero, and the occasional run-in with some pretty dangerous villains. But lately, things have been… different. Better, even. It all started when he met him—Y/N, a fellow hero with an unexpected connection to Jaime's own mission.

Y/N was a Blue Lantern, a rare hero who wielded the power of hope itself. Jaime had met him during a battle with a cosmic threat, a creature from the far reaches of space that had arrived on Earth to drain the planet's energy. Jaime had fought valiantly, the Blue Beetle's powers an extension of his will and determination. But it wasn't until Y/N entered the fray, his blue ring glowing brightly, that the tide turned.

"In fearful day, in raging night, With strong hearts full, our souls ignite, When all seems lost in the War of Light, Look to the stars-- For hope burns bright!," Y/N had shouted over the roar of the battle. His ring pulsed, sending a wave of energy through the air, neutralizing the creature's dark energy.

Jaime was stunned. He thought Batman was impressive, but nothing compared to the raw power presence of the Blue Lantern. He'd heard of them—beings who harnessed the power of hope, a light in the darkness of the universe. But this one? This one was different. He didn’t just embody hope. He made it feel real.

After the battle, the two of them talked, and Jaime was struck by how kind and thoughtful Y/N was. He wasn’t just a superhero; he was someone who genuinely cared. That was a rare trait in the world they lived in. The more they spent time together, the more they found common ground. Y/N had his own struggles, his own burdens to bear as a Blue Lantern. His power relied on hope, but hope wasn’t always easy to hold onto, especially when faced with the harsh realities of their world. Jaime, with his scarab constantly fighting for control, understood the pressure of bearing a burden too well.

They began to train together, swapping stories and sharing experiences. Jaime couldn’t help but admire how Y/N carried himself, how his calm demeanor contrasted with the chaos around them. In Y/N's presence, Jaime found a sense of peace he never knew he needed.

As the days passed, their bond grew stronger, and soon, it was clear that their connection was something deeper than just friendship. They cared for each other in a way neither of them had anticipated. Jaime had always been reluctant to open up, especially about his life as a superhero, but with Y/N, everything seemed easier. Y/N's hope gave Jaime the courage to confront his own fears, to believe that maybe things would get better.

One evening, after a particularly intense fight against a group of invading aliens, the two of them stood on the rooftop of a building, gazing at the stars above them.

"You know," Jaime said, breaking the silence, "I never thought I’d find someone who gets it. Who really understands what it’s like to constantly fight for something bigger than yourself."

Y/N smiled, his blue ring casting a soft glow on his face. "Hope is something that’s always with us, Jaime. Sometimes, you just need someone to help you see it."

Jaime turned to face him, his heart beating a little faster. "I think I see it now."

Y/N's eyes softened. "I’m glad."

Jaime reached out, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The weight of the world seemed a little less heavy with Y/N by his side, the constant flicker of hope lighting the path ahead. And for the first time in a long while, Jaime allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make a difference together—not only as Blue Beetle and Blue Lantern but as something more.

"Let’s keep fighting," Jaime said with a smile.

Y/N squeezed his hand. "Together."

And under the stars, with hope shining brighter than ever, they shared a kiss between each other as Jaime's sister, Milagro, took a picture and shouted down from the rooftop of the house. “Mami! Tio Rudy! Nana! Jaime has a boyfriend!”

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

If a sane/politically adept blonde Joffrey won a Great Council against Stannis and Renly and convinces the realm he’s legitimate, what would happen afterwards? Would Stannis and Renly give up or keep trying for the throne? What could they do after having lost stare decisis before the whole realm?

Sorry, I don't think Joffrey would win a Great Council even if he were "sane/politically adept". He's 13, and Great Councils have shown bias against child-age candidates before, much preferring mature men who could rule with no need for a regency. See Laenor (age 7) vs Viserys (26) at the Great Council of 101 AC, or Maegor (1) and Vaella (11) vs Aegon (33) at the GC of 233 AC.

Joffrey would have to be as strong a political personality as Daeron the Young Dragon (who took the throne without a regent at age 14, though that decision may also have been from his uncle Viserys's terrible memories of Aegon III's regency), and I doubt any child of Cersei and Robert could ever approach that level. (Not a nature argument but a nurture one, alas.) Even Robert didn't accomplish his great deeds until the age of 20-21. And Joffrey's counterpart, Robb Stark, was at least 15 when he was acclaimed as king by his bannermen, and he had already won an important battle and showed his worth and maturity. And note though Robb had no legitimacy questions, he did still have to deal with his young age causing doubt among his bannermen.

Maybe in the AU of GRRM's original concept letter, where Joffrey does take the battlefield, he could prove his worth to a Great Council? Although there Joffrey (who was probably a bit older) lost in battle to Robb (and got maimed) and was likely assassinated by Jaime afterwards, so, uh, maybe not.

Anyway. I think the only way even a political/military genius young Joffrey could come close to winning a GC versus the bias is if Tywin bribed all the lords. Which he would have to do heavily, and there's enough lords with true honor (a few, but enough) to reject it and also spread the news of bribery. (Bad ending #2!)

Though either way, there's reasons Renly rejected the idea of a Great Council out of hand. Both he and Stannis would likely refuse to attend in the first place (the same way Rhaenyra refused a GC for her own succession situation). And with both Baratheons' allies also refusing to attend (including the Tyrells, Hightowers, Velaryons, all of the stormlords, etc), there would be no true Great Council to begin with. Sometimes political hypotheticals are just impossible on too many levels to speculate further, I'm afraid.

[crimsonbastard]

Alright, might as well adress the elephant in the room:

- The absolute desecration of Alicent's Character is infuriating. Her straight up surrendering to Rhaneyra and throwing her sons to the wolves?? And betraying her own Father? Alicent HAS her issues with her family but there's no way that she's going to stoop as low as straight up giving them up. And oh, her saying that she was "fond" of Viserys?? Like what?? You mean the man who groomed you?? Put his rot in you and neglected you and your children??? What the actual fuck??? Was this the same woman who attacked Rhaenyra when her son got mutilated?? All of that for what?? Nothing! And what of your Grandson Alicent?? The little boy who was butchered?? Does his death mean nothing??

- Helaena's complete 180. Seriously?? Her guiding Daemon? The man who orchestrated her son's death? I understand Helaena not wanting to fight, and as Queen she has every right to deny Aemond, but her guiding Daemon towards his path?? Seriously?? And since when did her Visions get Lucid enough to pinpoint Aemond's grave?? Atleast Condom and Hiss had the courtesy of Helaena feel something towards her husband when she confronts Aemond about what he did.

- Oh Aemond, literally the only Green who (besides Cole & Daeron) who's fighting for his family. Him trying to force Helaena felt out of character, as, besides his mother it's her he cherishes the most. We see him lash out, that cold calculated mask finally dropping as he starts getting desperate when he lashes out on Sharp Point and it's innocent citizens as well as his sister. He still is that angry boy who lost his eye.

- We've got Rhaenyra openly admitting what Team Black had been denying all along. That for her to ascend, Aegon must be put to the sword.

- Cole finally being vulnerable and showing what's going through that head of his. How he thinks that this war is for nothing, and that whatever ideals he held onto before, have been let go of and that the only thing that keeps him going is Alicent. He knows that chances of him making out of this war are slim but he goes along with it, for her. Him admitting his hypocrisy, and that he has no shame was the cherry on top. A Jaime Parallel.

- Ah yes the Weirwood vision that conveniently removes any daemyra angst later on. Daemon realising how serious the upcoming horrors from beyond the north are, and that Daeneryes cameo is nothing but a cheap attempt by Condom and Hiss, just to:

a) Shoehorn Daenerys to appease Dany Stans

b) Remind the audience of the "divine right" of the Targaryens to rule westeros as only they can "unite" the realm.

c) Completely absolve all the future atrocities comitted by Rhaenyra and Daemon, as it is for the "Greater Good"

d) By doing so, they gave Daemon a convenient excuse to go on his "murder suicide" battle with Aemond other than abandoning his wife for one last girl he groomed, her being Nettles who is cut from the show, so as to not anger the Daemyra stans.

e) It doesn't even matter in the end, as it's Arya who kills the Night King.

- Alyn verbally decimating Corlys for abandoning him and his brother until his legitimate heirs were gone was satisfying to see.

- Aegon wanting to fashion himself as "The Realms Delight" Is interesting. Considering he will go down into the history books as the Rightful King whereas Rhaenyra goes from being "The Realm's Delight" to "Maegor with Teats". Aegon being negatively viewed by the smallfolk this season despite wanting to do good by them (to get their love and approval) whereas Rhaenyra leading innocent people to their deaths (by dragonfire) and watching from atop, and also sending a few "gifts" to the starving smallfolk, she herself being the cause of their starvation, via the blockade. If the writer's don't further fuck up, we might hopefully see the smallfolk shift their perception towards both rulers, with Rhaenyra being finally called "Maegor with Teats" and Aegon being somwhat looked at positively.

- Sunfyre cannot be dead. He's too important. I hope they made Larys mention that just to subvert our expectations.

- We finally get to see Tessarion, and she looks like a recolored Arrax. Hopefully with a bigger budget they'll give her a more fitting look.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Please what about Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle) x shyreader x ex!Billy Batson? the adopted daughter and well known superhero/protege of the only Wonder Woman where the gods & Zeus gifted his adopted granddaughter powers & weapons. Jaime deeply in love with her tho they’re dating, fluffy. https://pin.it/37REnv4

Bonus: her, Damian Wayne and Jon Kent being bestie trio. Jaime, Jon & her being fliers trio

Things between you and Billy didn’t work out (bummer) and so came the joint decision to call it quits. Enough said.

Damien wanted to get rid of Billy permanently but had to be talked down from actively doing so by you and Jon, telling him how that wouldn’t be necessary and that all you needed was some time and comfort from your dearest friends. Yet in Damien’s eyes, the offer to be rid of Billy was still very much on the table.

All you have to do was just say the word and he’ll dispose of Billy for you.

Now did it hurt? Yeah naturally, but you were back on your feet within record time just in time to for whispers of a new hero by the name of Blue Beetle found itself reaching you and your friends ears.

So after a long winded debate amongst yourselves you, a begrudging Damien and Jon decided to indulge your curiosity and set off to meet up with the newest hero on the block; Which -whether you were aware of it at the time- happened to lead you into meeting your now boyfriend, Jaime Reyes.

Khaji-Da would probably think you and Jon as potential threats, completely dismissing Damien at first until being proven wrong for underestimating him. Kinda like;

Khaji-Da upon first meeting Damien: what’s this sassy lost child?

Whereas now the Scarab would then constantly forewarn Jaime of Damien’s presence whenever he was spending quality time with you.

Damien is just watching out for you in the only way he knows how and Jon happens to get himself caught into it more often then not at this point but has proven to be just as defensive over you as Damien in some instances.

Khaji-Da: Jaime, I sense a threatening presence behind you.

Jaime: who- *looks over his shoulder to see Damien just stood there menacingly as Jon brightly smiled from beside him, being none the wiser.* oh. I see what you mean now.

Jon: he’s nice, isn’t he Damien.

Damien, sharpening his sword whilst keeping his eyes on Jaime and you : hmmm

Jon: jaime and y/n are cute together.

Damien: hmmm

With that kind of out of the way, let’s move forward and focus on your’s and Jaime’s relationship because honestly it’s tooth rottingly sweet.

First off Jaime will always, and I mean always, look at you as though it was the first time he was seeing you after you, Damien and Jon assisted him in battle. It was a wide doe eyed look filled with awe, wonder, admiration and immediate infatuation that pre-relationship you often found it adorable how hard Jaime tried to find the time where you weren’t being tailed by either Damien or Jon or both of them together, just so he could spend some alone time with you.

When he did manage to catch you alone, it always ended the exact same with Jaime walking you back, lending you his hoodie when he noticed your lack of warm clothing, smiling to himself when he saw you muzzle yourself deeper into his warmth that had transferred over to the hoodie. Before proceeding to pushing the hoodie back into your hands when you tried to give it back to him; Not so subtly hinting at you that you should give it back to him the next time he sees you as he wished you a goodnight as he heads back home with images of your sweet smile locked within his head, all the while a dopey grin spread across his face as khaji-Da comments on his ever growing fondness towards you.

This type of shit never stopped even long after you started dating, if anything it only became more rampant to the point where your cheeks would be hurting from all the smiling Jaime had you doing because that’s the effect he had on you and you loved it more then anything. It was a breath of fresh air to be in love once more and to get to be in love with Jaime Reyes was a blessing sent from the gods, it was almost as though you were in a honeymoon phase of your own when you were with Jaime, you felt alight with him as he did with you and that in of itself is beautiful.

Love is beautiful.

You honestly didn’t think you’d get back into a relationship since Billy but you were glad that you were wrong because Jaime brought you to life, you were able to breath and be yourself with Jaime without shame of who might be looking and you hoped that’s how he felt with you, because you wanted him to be just as comfortable with you as you did with him. And he did. Jaime felt all that you felt with him but tenfold, he loved love and he loved being in love with you. It didn’t matter how long you’ve been dating for because Jaime would always feel as though he’s falling in love with you with each and every day.

Cliche as that might seem but it was the gods honest truth! Jon and Damien couldn’t ignore that fact either given how they could read you like a book due to how long you’ve been friends. You’ve never looked happier then you did when you were with Jaime and vice versa.

You’d hold hands whenever you felt convenient, giggling away with one another as the brightest smiles spread across your faces, completely and utterly lost within one another to the point where it seemed that the only thing that either of you could hear was the sound of each other’s childlike chuckles and voices that tasted as sweet as ambrosia.

*You and Jaime being cute and shit*

Damien: 😑😒🤢

Jon: 🤩☺️🥹

Bonus content based off a video I saw:

Jaime, siting next to you: don’t look now but I think that guy in the seat opposite you has a thing for you.

You: ???

*Jaime, then rushes himself to sit in the empty seat opposite you, smilingly widely as he stares at you.*

You: 🥺☺️🥰 Aww Jaime!

Jon: Aww jaime!

Damien: I think I’m going to puke-

[winitichorrors]

𝘈𝘚𝘏𝘌𝘚 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘖𝘕𝘖𝘙. (𝘑𝘈𝘔𝘐𝘌 𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘕𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘟 𝘛𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘈𝘙𝘠𝘌𝘕! 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙.)

The winds of King's Landing whispered secrets of the past-ash and fire long since buried beneath layers of gold and steel. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, stood at the edge of the Red Keep's balcony, his golden hand cold despite the sun's warmth.

"I thought Targaryens weren't afraid of heights," he said, voice low and almost cruel.

You didn't flinch. "We're not afraid of falling. We're afraid of being pushed."

His jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You had the look of your ancestors-silver hair kissed by moonlight, eyes burning like violet embers. You were a reminder of everything he'd sworn to destroy, and everything he hadn't meant to lose.

"Is that what you think I did to your family?" Jaime's voice wavered, a crack in his armor.

You turned toward him slowly, the hurt in your gaze sharper than Valyrian steel. "Didn't you?"

Silence stretched between you. It wasn't the silence of peace but of battlefields left unspoken, where oaths weighed heavier than swords.

"You don't understand," Jaime muttered, looking away.

"I do," you whispered. "You killed a mad king to save a city. But tell me, Jaime-who saved you from becoming the villain?"

His breath hitched, but you were already gone, leaving him with nothing but the ghost of ash in the air and the echo of what could never be.

The halls of the Red Keep felt colder without you in them. Jaime's footsteps echoed like accusations, each one dragging the weight of old sins behind him. He should've let you go— let the past drown with the kings he'd slain.

But here he was, standing outside your chamber door, fist hovering like a question he didn't have the courage to ask.

"Go away, Kingslayer," your voice cut through the wood, sharp but frayed at the edges. Tired.

Worn down by ghosts in silver crowns.

He leaned his forehead against the door. "I never wanted to hurt you."

You laughed—a sound brittle enough to break.

"You didn't hurt me, Jaime. You destroyed me.

You looked me in the eye and still chose the blade."

"That wasn't you! It was your father. Your blood." His voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. "I didn't-"

"Didn't what? Expect me to survive the fire your family lit?" The door creaked open, and there you stood, shadows painting your features hollow. Eyes like frost, voice like smoke. "You saved the city, Jaime. But you damned me in the process."

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The tension was thick, heavier than the golden lion on his chest. His hand—it wasn't real, but the ache in it was-twitched uselessly at his side.

"I see him every time I look at you," Jaime admitted, voice low, bitter. "The man I killed.

The man I swore to stop. But you're not him." His eyes softened, raw with something dangerously close to regret.

"You never were." You swallowed hard, every ounce of your Targaryen pride keeping you from shattering.

"Then why do you keep treating me like I am?"

For once, Jaime Lannister had no answer. Only the silence of a man who had won every battle but lost every war that ever mattered.

And the worst part?

You wanted to hate him. But all you could feel was the hollow space where forgiveness should've been.

[morganas-pendragons]

Fruits Of My Labor | Aemond Targaryen

I was blasting Fruits by Paris Paloma when I wrote this and came up with this idea in the shower. This will contain MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILED, DO NOT READ IT. I did change two things in this as compared to Fire and Blood. 

Enjoy! I’m excited to see what you guys think. This is my first time writing for this universe other than for Jaime Lannister! 

Edit: This literally took me over a week because having a full time job is so time consuming lol 

You should have known better. You were a true born Velaryon, a daughter of the sea and a fearsome dragon rider. You were smart. Fierce. Deadly. 

But you were also a child. A child who had lost her older brother and sister and mother. 

Your cousins. Your life. 

Your family had been your livelihood for so long that you didn’t know how to live without them. Your mother’s comfort, your sisters compassion, your brothers steadfastness, your father’s loyalty. 

You’d take them in all their faults for even a moment if it took your focus off of what fueled you when they were no longer around: Your anger. 

And oh.. you were so prone to your anger. 

***

Blood and Cheese 

When word got back to you about the atrocities committed against Helaena Targaryen, you were furious. Fuming. It had been a long time since someone had been able to provoke you to such rage. 

You understood, and yet you didn’t. A son for a son. Did Rhaenyra not give any considerations to her half-sister? Aegon may be the subject of her ire, but Helaena Targaryen had done nothing to provoke being witness and victim to such levels of cruelty. 

You couldn’t imagine it. So you made Rhaenyra imagine it for you, while your mother stood in the back of the room and bore witness to the dragon fire that lay deep within you. 

  “The gall you have..” You murmur, drawing Rhaenyra and Daemon’s attention where they stand by the fireplace. “Do you realize what you just did?” 

  “They took my son.” Rhaenyra snaps, harsh and cold, the eyes of a grieving mother staring back at you. “Which is something you could not begin to fathom, seeing as how your betrothal ended so abruptly.” 

Oh. That’s wonderful. So now she’s going to use Alicent breaking off your betrothal against you as well? 

  “No, no I didn’t. But at least my children would have been legitimate,” You snarl. Daemon steps forward to intervene, as he always does when it comes to Rhaenyra, but you slamming your fist against the painted table stops him in his tracks. “Did you even consider the ramifications of this, Rhaenyra? Jahaerys was innocent!”

 “The Greens took Visenya and Lucerys from me. They killed my children. It is only fitting that retribution be paid through the loss of their own son!” 

  “Helaena will never be the same again because of what you took from her! You took your vengeance upon a girl who did not deserve it. She was sweet. Sweet, and good, and loved by the commoners. One of my dearest friends.” You jab your thumb at Rhaenyra angrily, eyes lit by the firelight of the candles around the painted table as the two of you stand off against one another. “You took her child away and ruined her. Whatever blood falls upon us now? That’s on you.” 

Rhaenyra is left to hear one final curse before you flee the room, Daemon’s hand resting upon her shoulder to prevent her from following you. 

Things are never quite the same after that. It’s only days later that Meleys is paraded through King’s Landing and your mother’s body lay broken and unmoving after the Battle of Rook’s Rest. 

There’s no one left to temper your anger. 

So, for the rest of the war, that is what fuels you. Your anger and your grief. 

If it gets the job done, who cares what it does to you? 

Anger always wins. 

***

The last time you saw Rhaenys Targaryen, she’d bid you goodbye with a kiss to your forehead and tucked her favorite cloak around your shoulders. It had always been two sizes too big.

She’d whispered affirmations about your future and how proud she was of you in your ear before she walked out the main doors of Dragonstone to Meleys.

You never saw her again.

***

She died less then 24 hours later.

Rhaenyra was the one who told you about Aemond’s involvement in it.

He’d played a hand.

He’d killed your mother.

***

You spent the days following your mothers death weeping, clutching the fabrics of your favorite cloak she often wore when you were a child in trembling fingers. You mourned her presence. Her comfort. You often wished you could join her just to be free of the Dance. 

To be free of him. 

You were a child, and children are impressionable. That was why you loved him. Even when you truly, deeply loathed him for all the pain he caused you and your family. 

  “My Lady? Are you well?” 

You don’t hear your Lady in Waiting call for you from across the room. There you sit beside the window, frail and well beyond your years, eyes cast upon the waters outside the castle while you linger inside the recesses of your own mind.

The Dance of the Dragons ended a long, long time ago. 

You are the only living survivor.  

Your memories are far more pleasant to live in because they are in all of them. Your family is not reduced to the ghosts you now know them as, but are flesh and blood and so very, very real. 

  “Forgive me, Theah... I was just remembering.” 

  “Remembering what?” 

You smile sadly. Something lingers in your eyes as you meet her gaze - she’s so young and so eager to live a life she hasn’t had the opportunity to greet yet - and you see the same lingering within her own that calls to you. It’s familiar. 

It was the same thing that drew you to Aemond. A desire for adventure, for freedom, for life. 

And well... The Dance kept you confined to your duties and kept you from being able to pursue it. 

  “Remembering a better time, sweet girl.” 

*** 

You remember it vividly. Watching from the scorched beaches while Daemon and Aemond take to the skies above Harrenhal, otherwise known as the God’s Eye, to engage in a fearsome battle neither will emerge from. You know it in your heart of hearts. 

A more innocent part of you that still lingers deep inside aches to go to him. To make him see reason, to convince him to surrender to Daemon and Rhaenyra and just... stop. 

To just let it go. The Green’s haven’t been able to do that once since the Dance started, to submit to the succession of Viserys the First would mean abdicating the throne. 

Otto would never let it stand. His lust for power and influence over Alicent had gotten Aegon the throne and plunged the realm into war over the true successor of the Iron Throne. 

The battle descending from the clouds above you is beautiful, in an incredibly tragic and devastating way. 

Daemon and Aemond are locked in a terrifying battle as they plunge from the clouds, Caraxes and Vhagar desperate to bring the other down first. You watch the dragon’s stomach be torn open. The other ripped at the throat. You can’t bring yourself to look away. These two had been friends once. 

You know there’s nothing you can do to prevent what is about to happen. They both brought it upon themselves. Aemond Targaryen brought this painful, agonizing end upon himself with his involvement in the Dance. 

Your breath catches as Daemon rises from his saddle and lunges across the gap to drive Dark Sister into Aemond’s other eye. There’s nothing you can do. You weren’t even permitted the ability to take part. 

The commoners had seen to that themselves.  They'd mercilessly killed all the dragons who remained in the dragon pit. The numbers were dwindling, growing fewer and fewer as the Dance progressed. Four had fallen. Tyraxes, Morgul, Dreamfyre, and Nightshade. 

When Rhaenyra wailed over the death of Joffery - barely a boy, thrown from Syrax for trying to flee to the dragon pit and rescue his birth right - you were simultaneously crying over the agonizing pain that seared through heart, body, and soul at the loss of your dragon. 

By that time in the Dance, you’d lost nearly everyone within the Blacks. All that remained was your father and Rhaenyra, who were at odds anyway. They had been ever since Rook’s Rest. 

Was this your curse? The last of your House, destined to outlive all the others? Is this what the fruits of your labor as the youngest child of House Velaryon had gotten you? 

It’s over before you realize it. 

This was where they fell.

***

  “What time could have been better? You spent so much of your life engaging in war. You are practically a veteran to it,” Theah absently remarks from your bedside. “I do not envy you. War is-” 

  “Debilitating. Agonizing. Crippling.. suffocating. War tore my Houses apart at the seams and took away everything and everyone I loved,” You interject. “I was thinking about when I was barely a woman grown, not longer after being betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.” 

  “Anything specific?” 

It’s always something specific with your memories with Aemond. They usually take you to the same two places: A little run down shack on the cliffs above the sea, not too far from Driftmark. 

The other is a field of endless wildflowers. 

  “The first time Aemond ever took me away on dragon back was not long after he’d claimed Vhagar. We’d disappeared in the middle of the night from the guards posted outside my door, and I’d guided him back to Driftmark to this little house my mother spent a lot of time in before she married my father. It was very out of the way.” You twist the ring on your finger as you speak, the fading memory of your mother’s face flashing in front of you as you do so. The ring is the last thing you have of Rhaenys. “We spent the night there. I told him I wanted to do it forever. That I wanted to leave behind duties and obligations to experience something I never really got to have. Not like my sister and brother did. My mother doted over me far too much.” 

  “And what was the thing you never got to have?” 

You smile wryly. “My freedom, sweet girl. As I am sure you well understand.” 

Theah goes quiet for several minutes. She was brought to you by Aegon the Third not long after the two of you had met. Once he’d read his mother’s last testament - found in her former chambers in the Red Keep after her death - and found your name written within, he’d sought you out and gave you a Lady in Waiting. It had been freedom for Theah. Being your Lady had gotten her away from the brothels. 

You’d thanked both Viserys and Aegon profusely after that. She may be the only soul left in this world sympathetic to your plight.  

You’d never anticipate them traveling from King’s Landing to Driftmark to see you.

  “Did you think it would last? Your betrothal?” Theah asks. 

 You did. Aemond didn't. He knew the Targaryen customs, he knew his duty. He knew Aegon didn’t want to marry Helaena. 

Alicent had also seen how much you meant to her son.

And that could not stand.

  “I would’ve burned down the world to hand its remains to Aemond Targaryen if he’d asked me to,” Something shifts in your gaze then, something cold and hard and unyielding that most have not seen in you before. It was something you’d only learned to embrace during the Dance of Dragons. “And then he betrayed me.” 

Theah furrows her brow in confusion. “What did he do?” 

Lucerys’ innocent face replaces that of your mother. Another soul lost to the war so many years ago, the first of many. Lucerys’ death had been what catalyzed the beginning of the Dance. 

All at Aemond’s hand.

  “He killed my sweet, innocent cousin. He killed him. Then he played a hand in killing my mother and I never forgave him for it.” You shrug. “That was the beginning of the end for something we’d never get to have anyway.” 

***

The minute Rhaenyra received news about Lucerys, you were quick to have the Maesters write a note that you would be hand delivering to Aemond yourself. You would not give him the satisfaction of being able to speak to you in person after the atrocity he’d just committed. 

Poor Luke. He was a boy. So good, so innocent, desperately trying to do his duty and do right by his mother. 

He wasn’t a warrior. He was a child. 

And Aemond had killed him anyway. 

You leave the note pierced through the center by one of your daggers inside of the shack overlooking Driftmark. When Aemond bursts through the door several hours after fleeing Storm’s End, he finds it and frantically opens the letter to reads the words written upon. 

Aemond, 

You have brought what follows the death of Lucerys upon yourself.

Kesan ilimagho līr iksin dōrī  āzma ezīmagon bisa vys.  Se kesan daor ilimagho ao skori aōha hoskagon maghagon aōha ropagon. 

He swallows the knot in his throat and presses his forehead to the paper.

I will not mourn that which was never born into this world. And I will not mourn you when your pride brings your fall. 

Aemond wishes he was brave enough to tell you like he did in this little house on the cliffs all those years ago. 

But just like the dreams of things that will never come to pass, his harbored desires for you die as he flees the cliffsides to Vhagar. 

The house on the cliffs is never occupied again. 

***

You know when you do find what little remains of him that this is what he wrought. There was nothing to be done. 

Nothing, you think, as you remove Dark Sister from Aemond’s other eye and throw it into the water. 

You don’t unchain him. His body will be found years later still confined to the chains that held him to Vhagar’s saddle. 

It’s... quite fitting, really. Aemond Targaryen - the one who sought freedom - dying confined to both his physical and metaphorical chains made quite a lot of sense. 

The thought of it almost made you smile, despite the tightness in your chest. 

You had wept profusely for your mother. For Laenor, for Laena. You refuse to give Aemond that same satisfaction, despite that part of you from your childhood that still wants to chase him forever. 

The childlike spirits of you and Aemond Targaryen run far away together in a field of wildflowers. Far away from war, from pain and suffering, and.. happy. You’re happy. 

Oh how you wish you could be there. 

You grimace and bend down to cup water in your hands. The air is thick with smoke and difficult to breathe in, but you’re more focused about keeping yourself together then falling apart as realization falls upon you. 

Aemond is dead. 

You should be fine with it. He hurt you irreparably. 

So why does looking at him hurt? Why does thinking about all the things you should’ve gotten to do, to be - as his wife, Aemond would’ve let you be anything you wanted if it meant you were free of your duties and obligations as a Velaryon - cut deeper then the sharpest knife? 

   “I would’ve brought this entire country to its knees for you,” You murmur. The water at your feet is tinged red now. The dragons corpses had been settled in it long enough to stain it red. “But you never could have done the same thing for me.” 

It will be quite some time before either is pulled from the water. You are quick to leave - unable to do so on dragon back, since almost all the dragons have been killed by now - by horseback to Driftmark. You and your father are the last Velaryons, and he had made it clear you were to not be directly involved on the fronts of the war anymore. 

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t send Alicent a parting gift first. 

***

  “Were you there when the Dowager Queen died?” 

  “Oh no, but I sent my regards. She got what she deserved. You reap what you sow.”

The regard in question: Aemond’s sapphire eye, taken out with your own fingers, and his sword - both recovered from the body that you left chained to Vhagar. 

You hadn’t been present for most of what happened after the God’s Eye. You’d gone straight back to your father in Driftmark, where he forced you to remain until the end of the war. Corlys was not about to let anything else happen to his family like it had Baela, Rhaena, Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor. 

He’d pass peacefully in his sleep some years later. 

When Alicent Hightower died around the same time, you lit a single candle and placed it in your window. You didn’t mourn her. You hoped she was suffering the same way she’d allowed you and your family to suffer. 

The flame flickered out, and the last of House Velaryon stood. 

*** 

Someone else has entered the room. You’re not sure who, given that your chambers are mostly off limits, and Driftmark is scarcely occupied these days. You pay no mind to it when Theah stands in the midst of your conversation to go and greet your guests. They must be important if your guards let them pass. 

It was only recently that you’d been declared unfit to rule Driftmark. It was never supposed to be yours anyways, but with the lack of heirs and the death of your House, it had gone to you anyway. 

With your passing would also be the end of House Velaryon, never to be remembered as anything other than the House dragged into the darkness with House Targaryen after effectively tearing each other apart. 

  “My dearest one,” Your eyes snap open. It’s been so long since you’ve heard that voice. “The years have been kind to you. You look peaceful.” 

  “The years kept me from you, Mother.” You whisper. “Especially when I needed you most.” 

Rhaenys is the one you keep seeing, both in your waking and dreaming moments. It’s cruel. It’s cruel knowing she’s the only family member to appear to you when so many others could be the the ones to guide you home. Out of this darkness and into the waking light. 

It would be so much better where you were going. 

  “I have waited so long for you to come home to your family.” Rhaenys murmurs, and you find yourself unintentionally leaning outward in search of her touch when her hands extends toward you. “I’m sorry to have left you behind.” 

It didn’t matter. You had sought vengeance for your mother’s death once and for all when the list of living Targaryens dwindled and left so few alive. 

No one ever did find out who poisoned Aegon the Usurper. 

In the corner, Theah stands frozen at the sight of who lingers in the doorway. “Your Grace,” She murmurs in shock, clearly unsure of what to do. “This is a most unexpected surprise. For both Targaryen brothers to be here-” 

Aegon the Younger holds up a hand. He’d only just recently been granted the time to read his mother’s last testament. After being present at the time of her death, it had taken decades for him to gather the courage to even go near the document she’d left behind for her sons. 

That was why he’d let Viserys read it first. That was what led them here. 

  “My Hand and I have come to express our thanks to the last Lady of House Velaryon,” Aegon remarks. “As our mother had asked of us. According to her last testament, she is also the last survivor of the Dance of Dragons who fought on the front lines of the war. We wish to extend our gratitude for all she's done since.” 

Behind her stands Rhaenyra. She’s the same age as she was when she was killed by Aegon, wearing your favorite hairstyle and dress that you’d thought always complimented her so well. You want to think her stare of longing is directed at you. 

It’s not. 

She’s looking at her sons. 

  “My boys. My beautiful boys,” She whispers, coming to stand beside Rhaenys. “Tell them I’m proud of them.” 

So you do. You tell Viserys and Aegon that you can see their mother, as clear as the last time you ever saw her, and that she is sorry for all the suffering they endured during The Dance of Dragons. That she’s proud of who they became and how they honor their family. 

You miss the single tear that falls down both faces at the confession. 

*** 

  “It’s coming.” Viserys the Second murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as both he and Theah watch you from the side of the room. Aegon is quietly murmuring to you from your bedside. Ever since you’d told the brothers that their mother was proud of them, Viserys had known deep within him that you were not long for this world. 

  “What?” 

  “The end.” 

Aegon feigns a warm smile as he squeezes your hand. “Our mother spoke highly of you, My Lady,” He whispers. “I hope now that you can find some peace of mind.” 

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy reaching, reaching, reaching for your mother’s hand that you’ve so longed to ache for the last several decades that have passed since the end of the Dance. 

  “My love.” A whisper echoes in your ear as you sigh softly, the rise and fall of your chest slowing as Aemond slowly appears in your peripheral. He’s still the same age he was when he died. “Come home to us. Let me make it right.” 

A single tear rolled down your cheek.

  “Can we go to the wildflowers?” You whisper. “And the cliffside overlooking the ocean?” 

  “It’s beautiful here. There’s no pain. No pain, anger, no blood, no suffering... No obligations to our duties.” Aemond extends his hand. “Your mother is waiting for you in the house on the cliffside. A field of wildflowers awaits us. There’s so many to choose from. Come home.” 

  “Aemond...” 

  “I’m ready to love you the way you always desired. I just never knew how. I do now. And I regret every moment that has passed since I cast you aside.” His eye softens. There’s something about him that just seems... gentler. It’s an odd contrast to how you knew him when he was alive. “Come home.” 

Hm. You’d thought that the fruits of your labors over the last decades had rotted and died, leaving you with nothing. No legacy, no heirs, no one left to remember your name. There had been no point to all the fighting for you because you’d lost anyway. There was never a war to be won because it was always going to be lost. 

The Dance of Dragons had effectively torn apart House Targaryen at the seams. 

Maybe your fruits were ripe and you just didn’t know it. You know that all the people you love are waiting for you. That the current king on the Iron Throne knows you well - because his mother had taken careful care to write about you in her last testament - and his brother holds you in high regard. That your Lady in Waiting knows your story and all the horrors that fall upon it. About how you endured and survived, how resilient you became, how you spent the rest of your days ensuring people would not forget the name Velaryon. 

Your last wish for Westeros was to make sure people remembered. Not your name, but your mothers name. Your fathers name. 

They deserved the credit and legacy far, far more than their headstrong daughter driven by the anger that came from duty. 

  “I’m coming, Mother.” You whisper once again, eyes falling closed. “I’m coming, My Love.” 

Your hand falls limp in Aegon’s. No one will admit it, but something dies in both of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sons that day. They’d had so much still to learn about the mother they barely remembered. To have someone who knew her first hand and had cared deeply for her had prompted them to pursue a relationship with the Heir to Driftmark. 

You knew their story, their mother, better than they ever would. 

   “The Realm has lost quite a woman today,” Viserys murmurs, swallowing the knot in his throat as he presses his hands to Aegon’s shoulders. Theah can’t help but shift uncomfortably. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment she cannot comprehend. “May the Seven bring her the peace she was never able to find in this world.” 

When the Silent Sisters tend to your body, a single crown sits upon it at completion. 

People would know the Heir of Driftmark died today. 

And so the last of the Sea Snake’s line would cease. 

[joanna-lannister]

I promised I would make a masterlist of all my favorite JC fanfictions, so here you go. Those fics aren't sorted out by Canon or AU, they are just a mix of what I loved over the years.

How My Story Ends by Millie55 Cersei and her army arrive in Winterfell to aide in the battle against the Night King. Or Cersei and Jaime reunite in Winterfell.

Casablanca by LordStannisTheGodDamnMannis666 Tywin extends Jaime’s business trip abroad at short notice with express instructions to fly directly to the next country. Jaime however rather likes the idea of a detour, and he knows the perfect person to join him. Aka As long as he gets there by Monday morning it doesn’t really matter what he does in the meantime, does it?

They Want to Make Me Their Queen by Millie55 Cersei has lost everything except 2 things: Jaime, and her Kingdom.

Until Death Do Us Part by LordStannisTheGodDamnMannis666 A new law is passed in parliament that changes Jaime and Cersei's lives for good, allowing them the opportunities, freedom, and happiness that they once could only dare to hope for.

my blood alone remains by houselannister The Austrian Princess is barely fourteen when she leaves her homeland for France. She speaks very little French, and is wilful, stubborn and capricious. She leaves Vienna with an escort of two thousand men, loyal Austrian soldiers.

The Ribbon by Magnolie Cersei is shipped off to France by their mother to part her from Jaime. But there is no without each other for them, only together.

Oh come all ye faithful by Magnolie Jaime and Cersei have their own ways and excuses to escape the boring Christmas Parties and even if they have to stay... there is always a way to spice things up.

therefore each to other bound by copacet Having escaped Stark custody, Jaime returns to King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater—thus solving some of his family's problems while also creating several new ones.

of love and beauty by liesmyth “We’re lions.” Jaime’s hand clasped around her own. “Let them all choke on it.”

The Price of Love by nightingalesighs Cersei studies her sleeping twin’s face one night trying to pinpoint when Jaime’s feature’s had changed. When his hair had started going grey and what caused the wrinkles on his familiar face.

She's always been afraid of storms by vwoolf Cersei's afraid of storms and seeks out her brother's company.

you gave away what you never really had, and now your purse is empty, I can see why you're sad by houselannister It's been five years since Jaime left London. Now Tywin is dead, and business is business. Cersei flies to Paris to get what's hers.

foreshore by lutece Still, the lions linger—perhaps they are dead across the sea, but in Pentos they have flourished with their cub.

The Better Cure by corrielle After being unhorsed by Loras Tyrell on Prince Joffrey's name day, Jaime visits Cersei to soothe his wounded pride.

perihelion by houselannister London, 2020 - After Tywin Lannister's death, Jaime and Tyrion uncover their father's most precious secret: a hidden sister. Money and power intersect with family and obsession.

Prophecies & Promises by spinsterclaire When the 18-year old Lannister twins find themselves locked out of their father's townhome, they visit an old acquaintance to escape the Manhattan blizzard. There, they must confront their fears about keeping promises, accepting fate, and bringing new life into the world.

Study Me, Study You by LordStannisTheGodDamnMannis666 Jaime needs help with his homework, and who better to help than Cersei?

Take My Hand, The Night Grows Ever Colder by LordStannisTheGodDamnMannis666 Across the Narrow Sea, in a stone house on the shore of Pentos, Cersei Lannister dreams of her children.

The Loneliest Girl in Town by Millie55 Cersei fears she may have lost Jaime for good - every last piece of him.

Quiet. by frozenpapers Tywin interrupts Cersei and Jaime.

Hush. by frozenpapers A phone call interrupts Cersei and Jaime.

[ilynpilled]

"When we were little, Jaime and I were so much alike that even our lord father could not tell us apart. Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other's clothes and spend a whole day each as the other. Yet even so, when Jaime was given his first sword, there was none for me. ‘What do I get?' I remember asking. We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so differently."

"Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel … whole."

"Jaime lost himself in her flesh. He could feel Cersei's heart beating in time with his own and the wetness of blood and seed where they were joined."

"What a jape the gods have made of us two," she said. "By all rights, you ought to be in skirts and me in mail."

Within the tower, the smoke from the torches irritated her eyes, but Cersei did not weep, no more than her father would have. I am the only true son he ever had.

It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? "Father," he told the corpse, "it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you."

Sometimes he even wept, until he heard the Mummers laughing. Then he made his eyes go dry and his heart go dead, and prayed for his fever to burn away his tears.

Cersei gave them all the words that she had in her, gave them everything but tears. That they will never have, she told herself.

"Would it amuse Your Grace to be a man one night?" If I were a man I would be Jaime, the queen thought. If I were a man I could rule this realm in my own name in place of Tommen's. My brother, Jaime, thirsts for battle, not for power. He's run from every chance he's had to rule.

"Is that what you would do, if you were a woman?" If I were a woman I'd be Cersei. "If I were a woman, I'd make them kill me.”Deep down Robert Baratheon was a coward. In time the assaults did grow less frequent. During the first year he took her at least once a fortnight; by the end it was not even once a year. He never stopped completely, though.

"Pull his mane, I dare you." He never did. I should have had the sword, not him.

If the gods had given her the strength they gave Jaime and that swaggering oaf Robert, she could have made her own escape. Oh, for a sword and the skill to wield it. She had a warrior's heart, but the gods in their blind malice had given her the feeble body of a woman.

But Jaime's walls were gone. They had taken his hand, they had taken his sword hand, and without it he was nothing. The other was no good to him […] It was his right hand that made him a knight; his right arm that made him a man.

"The lovers," Shagwell sighed loudly, "and what a lovely sight they are. T’would be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady." "Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"

"What is this woman to you?" "My protector."

"Was it your hand they hacked off in Harrenhal, or your manhood?"

"Oh, an angry cripple. How terrifying." She laughed. "A pity Lord Tywin Lannister never had a son."

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid…

Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. : She reddened. "My name is …" "Brienne of Tarth." Jaime sighed. "I have a gift for you."

[jedimaesteryoda]

"I'd waited long enough. I hated watching Robert stumble to your bed every night, always wondering if maybe this night he'd decide to claim his rights as husband." -ASOS, Jaime IX Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king's shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. "The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer." He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. "Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!" -AGOT, Sansa II

Jaime and Robert's relationship can be described as one of mutual jealousy in spite of their similarities. Both are noted warrior who killed Targaryens in relationships with Cersei, and down to having children killed with Robert ordering Dany's murder and Jaime pushing Bran out a window.

Robert secretly envied Jaime for being the image of what Robert once was in his youth before he had gone to seed: the handsome, prodigious warrior. Jaime envied Robert for being married to Cersei and being able to lay with her whenever he wanted as well as being celebrated for killing a Targaryen.

Craven, Jaime thought, as Brienne fought to stifle her moans. Can it be? They took my sword hand. Was that all I was, a sword hand? Gods be good, is it true? -ASOS, Jaime IV "Rhaegar … Rhaegar won, damn him. I killed him, Ned, I drove the spike right through that black armor into his black heart, and he died at my feet. They made up songs about it. Yet somehow he still won. He has Lyanna now, and I have her." The king drained his cup. -AGOT, Eddard X

Jaime didn't know that killing Rhaegar never brought Robert any peace as it didn't replace the loss of Lyanna anymore than his marriage to Cersei. Robert never realized that in spite of being the handsome, famously skilled knight he wished he still was, it didn't bring Jaime any happiness. If anything, Jaime built his whole identity around his martial ability, and wanted to die after losing his hand.

They also share a lack of self-awareness with Jaime saying people only hate him for killing Aerys when he pushed a child out a window, and Robert saying his marriage was failing because Lyanna was the only woman for him rather than him being a shitty husband.

Jaime loses his famous martial ability as Robert does, but where they differ is how they choose to respond. While initially, Jaime has the same ableist attitude as Robert with regards to debilitating injuries, ie better to die than be a cripple, he moves past that.

When Robert lost his martial ability, he didn't try to find new skills like in administering his realm. He just drank, feasted, hunted and whored dumping all the responsibility of ruling onto his Hands. He also isn't active in his kids' lives, dumping that onto Cersei and the septas. After losing his hand, Jaime worked on rebuilding his identity, and learns to use his head in solving problems rather than his sword exemplified by his taking Riverrun without battle. Jaime tries to be more active in his kids' lives such as when he gives emotional support to Tommen and backs him against Cersei. He chooses to be kore active in politics and do what Robert should have dine to check Cersei. He also tries to adhere to the values he once looked up to in his youth.

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. -AFFC, Jaime IV

Jaime later realizes that Cersei wasn't all she was cracked up to be, and by AFFC, he effectively dumps her. He seems to be doing what Robert didn't do, and moving on with someone else who interestingly enough, is the image of Lyanna: a highborn girl who loves chivalry, swords and participates in a tourney.

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

Buck & Doe (15)

Summary: Natasha attempts to take down Dreykov, who is mind controlling Black Widows. In her quest she recruits Y/N, a former Black Widow turned science experiment. Bucky and Natasha share a history in the Red Room but his life might be intertwined with more than one Widow. The closer they get to taking down Dreykov, the more secrets come to light.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Not Beta’d

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 15

Yawns passed around the room; exhaustion was rooted deep in everyone's bones. The group huddled in Rebecca’s living room swapping stories, reminiscing as if it was their last night alive. The dreaded mission loomed like a storm cloud threatening to rain; a constant reminder of what was to come. Like a child refusing to go to bed, Y/N fought to keep her eyes open. She didn’t want to miss a single story. She looked forward to Rebecca’s stories when she was in the Red Room. It was like a payment for all of the cruelty she had experienced. A chance to escape, to live a life beyond the Red Room. She had finished that chapter of her life, but the story wasn’t over. Tomorrow she would return to the Red Room and if things went south, it would be these stories that she would cling to.

Steve twisted his body, leaning over the arm of the cloth chair. With a stoker in his hand, he poked the logs in the fireplace. Ash fluttered around the wood like snowflakes falling from the sky. The flames were mesmerizing, a game of charades warning the bunch they were playing with fire.

Rebecca frowned catching, Beck yawning. His sister slumped on the floor beside him. With an authoritative voice that rivaled Steve’s Captain America voice, she commanded, “Alight kids, head up to bed.” Though the teenagers hadn’t been involved in anything involving HYDRA, the long hours in the car had drained them as well.

When neither of the pair moved, Harold nudged Beck. “Come on, you heard your aunt. Bedtime.” Jaime groaned, suddenly sitting straighter. Her back pressed into the couch keeping her upright. Rebecca’s lips parted but Harold towered over the kids. The fire lit up his back casting his face in an intimidating shadow. “I got them. I’m gonna head to bed myself. Big day tomorrow and all.”

After a series of goodnights, an eerie silence fell upon the room. The only sound coming from the crackling of wood. Y/N’s head rested on Bucky’s collarbone, his metal hand carding through her hair. Her eyelids twitched struggling to remain open.  She swore the super-soldier was coaxing her to sleep on purpose. Bucky was skilled at reading people. Between her confession on the way to the HYDRA base, the long car ride, and the uncomfortable motel bed he knew she needed a good night's rest.

She would have lost her battle with her consciousness had Natasha not elbowed her ribs. Y/N’s eyes sprung open, lifting her head slightly to look at the redhead seated beside her. The super-soldier’s fingers gently guided her head back into his chest. It almost felt like a silent battle between Bucky and Natasha. The tension between the two had yet to settle.

Thanks to Steve and Rebecca claiming the single chairs, Y/N had been caught in the middle of whatever war was brewing between the assassins. Sam sat on the floor with the kids between Steve and Bucky. Though the teenagers were older than his nephews, he was happy to pick the minds of the youth. Kids always know more than adults think they do. Due to his time counseling veterans, he had hoped to gain something from the two. Unfortunately, they were a lot more like Bucky than he had thought. They remained silent or talked about something else. After their departure, he had been left on the floor hogging the heat emitting from the fire.

“Jane, what’s your favorite story?” Natasha asked.

Bucky peered down at Y/N, curious himself. Like him and Natasha, Y/N didn’t have many positive memories. Unlike Y/N, Bucky remembered a life before HYDRA and Natasha had a life with the Avengers after the Red Room.

Y/N pushed against Bucky’s chest, bolting upright. Her eyes twinkled as she faced Rebecca, the fire reflecting in her eyes had Rebecca on edge. The younger Barnes had hoped her favorite memories didn’t revolve around her time in the Red Room. “I don’t know about my favorite story but I do like the ones Rebecca tells.” Rebecca relaxed back into her chair, a soft smile on her lips. “Oh, I know one you could tell,” Y/N clasped her hands together. “Tell the story about when you almost kissed Steve. I like that one.”

The room froze. Y/N settled back against Bucky delighted to hear a story that she knew the end to. Bucky’s hand didn’t return to her hair. She had been unaware of the intense stare down Bucky had been giving Steve over her head. Steve ignored Bucky; his cheeks dusted a light shade of red as he stared at Rebecca racking his brain for when Rebecca Barnes could have possibly wanted to kiss him. Rebecca averted her gaze, her ruddy complexion in the fire turned a shade darker.

Twirling a strand of hair with her finger Rebecca mumbled, “I don’t know what story you’re referring to.”

Y/N rolled her eyes opening her mouth to speak but Sam beat her to it. “Well if Jane remembers the story, she could always tell it. I’m sure she won’t hold back any details.” Everyone knew he was instigating the situation by the toothy grin he was sporting. No one cared though as all eyes snapped to Y/N. Once again, Y/N opened her mouth to speak but was cut off, again.

“Fine!” Rebecca snapped. Her hands covered her face. “There’s not much to tell.” She peeked at Steve. At that moment, the blonde super-soldier who had shed his underweight identity had looked like the boy she knew growing up. Years may have passed, and his body may have changed but his heart and mind were still the same. Turning to her brother she pointed a finger at him, “It was your fault anyway, always bringing him around.” Bucky remained silent, a stoic expression on his face. “Sarah had just passed, Steve’s mother,” Rebecca clarified for Sam and Natasha’s sake. “Bucky went over to Steve's to invite him to stay with us but he was stubborn. He refused, determined to get by on his own. He turned into a hermit, stopped coming over, shut everyone out.”

A solemn look crossed Steve’s face at the memory. His mother’s death was a dark time for him. “Before that, Steve was always over. Our house was chaotic. I grew fond of having him around, we all did. When he stopped coming over, our house just felt incomplete.” She dared glance at her brother, the grim expression he wore told her he remembered the same empty feeling she had.

“The Rogers were always good to us, the selfless bunch they were.” This was the first time she had told the story since she knew Steve was alive, so she corrected herself, “I mean, are.” Lost in his own world, Steve continued to stare into space. Rebecca wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have told the story. He didn’t need the reminder that his family was dead while Bucky had reunited with his. It wasn’t fair. “Anyway,” she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Bucky invited Steve out several times. He always refused. Bucky was exhausted, juggling long hours at work and attempting to cheer his friend up. Not to mention, the string of dates he had lined up. Never one to disappoint a woman, he refused to cancel.”

Bucky tensed as Rebecca recalled the many dates Bucky had been on. He wouldn’t have cared had Y/N not been there. He didn’t want her to think he was some sort of playboy. Even if he was in the 40s, those days were behind him. Y/N could feel the way Bucky’s chest tightened beneath her ear. Nuzzling her head against his chest, she brought his metal hand back to her head. Bucky resumed stroking her hair subconsciously. He had nothing to worry about. Y/N had heard the story already and she liked it. It unnerved Bucky to know that she knew parts of his past that not even he was aware of.

“While Steve might have been able to turn a blind eye to girls and dancing, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore,” a sly smile painted Rebecca’s lips, “a fight, a chance to do the right thing, to be a hero.” Steve eyed her warily. “I once overheard Bucky and Steve talking about a guy their age, a real handsy fella. Up until that moment, I avoided the man like the plague but at that moment, I didn’t care. There was a dance down the street from Steve that weekend. So I asked the guy to go with me, which took a lot of convincing once he found out I was Bucky’s little sister. I waited until Bucky left to meet up with the guy. If things didn’t work out, I knew Bucky would be at the dance. This guy wouldn’t try anything in front of Bucky.” It was true, Bucky could hold his own in a fight and after saving Steve plenty of times, everyone knew it.

“As expected, the man was handsy the moment we met up. I ignored it until we walked past Steve’s house. Stevie was always home so I knew he’d hear me. I let the guy have it, yelling at the top of my lungs. Steve ran out in no more than his trousers, his chest puffed out.” Rebecca chucked at the memory. “The moment Steve was between us, the guy backed down. I think he recognized who he was. Usually, wherever Steve was, Bucky wasn’t far behind. After that, Steve lectured me. A good ol’ fashion Captain America lecture, I’m sure you are all familiar with by now.” Sam nodded enthusiastically.

“I waited while Steve dressed. He was going to walk me home but I couldn’t let a perfectly good dress go to waste. I convinced him to walk me to the dance hall instead. He only agreed because Bucky was there, he didn’t realize I was asking him to be my date.” Her ears turned pink. “As promised, he dropped me off at the dance hall when he spotted Bucky. He had been a true gentleman. At that moment, I wanted him to kiss me outside of the dance hall,” she narrowed her eyes at Bucky, “and I didn’t care if my brother saw.”

Natasha leaned forward, “So what stopped you from kissing him?”

Rebecca laughed, reliving the moment she nearly kissed Steve. “I batted my eyelashes at him, squeezed his bicep for good measure. I thought it was clear that I was flirting with him but he didn’t make a move. Our families were close, Bucky was his best friend, and he wouldn’t betray him. He had already lost his parents. I knew I had to be the one to make the move but when I leaned in, he patted my head, bid me a good night, and went home.”

Sam howled with laughter, “You patted her head!”

Bucky glared at Steve, “You turned my sister down?” He cocked his head arching his eyebrow, “Is there something wrong with her?”

Steve panicked, turning beet red, “N-No! Of course not!” His head whipped to the younger Barnes, “You were flirting with me?”

Rebecca chuckled, “Yes and you were clueless.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, “Well that explains why your love life is so terrible.”

“It’s not-” Steve attempted to defend himself. Natasha’s pointed stare silenced him. The Widow had tried to set him up with plenty of women, but the Captain declined every one of them, too busy to settle down.

“I can see why you like this story. It’s good to know Captain America isn’t so perfect,” Natasha joked.

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, it has nothing to do with Cassanova over there.”

“Of course, it does Sam,” Y/N teased. Bucky could see the mischievous look she gave him before addressing his sister. “Oh, Becca, tell the story of how Bucky-” Bucky slapped his metal hand over Y/N’s mouth. She had successfully embarrassed Steve, Bucky wasn’t looking to be next.

Bucky cut his eye to his sister, “I don’t know what you told her but let’s not tell any more embarrassing stories.” Steve nodded in agreement. Y/N’s eyes were wide, a deer in headlights staring up at Bucky. She was trapped, Bucky’s arm around her shoulder, his hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were level with his lips forced to watch his lips pucker and curl with each word he spoke. The pink of his tongue poked between his teeth running across his lips. She never wanted to kiss anyone more; so close yet so far. A deep exhale spread heat against Bucky’s palm; the sensation contrasting with the cold metal had his eyes trailing down to meet hers. Bucky was no stranger to women; he knew what she wanted. He wanted it too. The brunette super-soldier hesitantly removed his hand, grateful she had been facing him. Surely the group would tease him for what he was about to do after Steve’s embarrassing story. But they couldn’t see her face, they didn’t know the way she looked at him, the desire.

His eyes betrayed him the second his hand released her. How could he not stare at the lips that had been pressed against his palm? He longed to feel the skin of her lips with his own. Bucky cleared his throat, “That goes for you too, no more embarrassing stories.” Then, almost identical to Steve, Bucky reached up ruffling her hair just as he had done before in the very same spot on the couch. It had worked before, and he hoped it would kill whatever tension was brewing between them.

It worked. With a grimace on her face, Y/N reached up, smoothing her hair back down. “I hate it when you do that,” she groaned. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind the gesture if it didn’t kill the mood every time, he did it.

Bucky could feel Sam’s eyes studying the pair, so he snapped, “Got something to say, Wilson?”

Sam rolled his shoulder, raising his palms in surrender. “Just wondering what’s going on here is all. I’ve been out of the loop for a hot minute.” 

Bucky grunted. Had their interaction been that obvious? If Sam was able to pick up on it, Natasha definitely did. Perhaps Steve and Rebecca had too. Not that anything was going on but it seemed like everyone around them was able to pick up on his feelings.

“You know,” Sam began, “when little boys like girls, they tend to pull on their pigtails on the playground.”

Bucky tensed. Was that what he was doing? His eyes darted between his sister and best friend. Is that what Steve had been doing? No, it couldn’t be. Pulling a girl’s hair hurt them, at least the way little boys did it. Bucky and Steve weren’t hurting anyone. They were being friendly? Maybe Bucky wasn’t friendly, maybe his metal fingers hurt when he ruffled her hair.

Noticing the odd worried look Bucky was giving Y/N, she asked, “Bucky, are you okay?”

“Did I hurt you?” He whispered, low enough for only her to hear.

Her eyes widened, “What? No, of course not! My hair just gets messy.” It wasn’t completely true; his subtle rejection had hurt but she’d never admit that to him.

It wasn’t long before Y/N fell asleep. The heat of the fire and the comfort of Bucky lulled her to sleep. At that moment, she was safe. She could let her guard down and she knew everyone in the room would protect her. She was home.

“Are you gonna join them?” Natasha nodded towards the kitchen. As soon as Y/N’s light snores filled the room, Rebecca, Sam, and Steve moved to the kitchen to discuss the mission.

Bucky stared at the woman resting against his chest. She was like a cat laying on a human. Bucky feared if he moved even in the slightest, she would wake and run. He bit the inside of his cheek, “In a few. I wanna make sure she’s out before I move.”

The redhead nodded, turning to face Bucky. One leg bent resting on the cushion while the other dangled to the floor. He could tell she wanted to say something, but she remained silent.

“You don't have to stay,” Bucky offered.

“I want to.”

The assassins sat in tranquility, listening to the hushed voices in the next room.

Bucky bit his bottom lip, “You told Jane about us?”

Natasha pursed her lips, “I implied it, but she figured it out.” She shrugged, “She is a Widow, she was bound to figure it out at some point.”

The brunette contemplated her words. He wasn’t angry or disappointed that Y/N knew. They agreed it was better to not tell anyone. His history with Steve was already complicated enough. They worked well together; they didn’t need anyone splitting them up on missions. They were also both private people, so Bucky was shocked she told Y/N so soon after reuniting with her when she kept it a secret from everyone else.

“She would have distanced herself from you if she found out about us on her own. I assured her we’re just friends now. You’re welcome by the way.” Natasha flipped her hair over her shoulder.

He huffed, clenching his right hand into a fist. “Is that what we are, friends?” he spat. The past few days have been rocky between the two but they were still friends. Bucky knew that but he couldn’t help but snap from their built-up tension.

If his harsh tone affected Natasha, she didn’t show it. “I’d like to be.” She rested her elbow on the back of the sofa, her head rested in her hand. “It really hurt me that you didn’t tell me about the Wolf-Spider Ops. How could you keep that a male version of the Red Room existed from me?”

Bucky avoided her eye, “Because I killed the only person in the program.” He knew it hurt her because it was close to her own experience which is exactly why he didn’t tell her. “If I told you you would have been scared of me. It could have easily been you that they ordered me to kill. You would have made the connection between yourself and Niko and cast me aside.”

Natasha’s eyebrows softened, “Is that what you thought? That I’d leave you? I was ordered to kill people too Bucky.”

“But never a Winter Soldier.”

Natasha's hair whipped around her face as she threw her head back laughing. “And if I had, would you have left me?” The silence was enough of an answer for Natasha to continue. “You’re too harsh on yourself Bucky. You’re your own worst enemy. You have to trust that people don’t see you the way you see yourself.” Bucky’s focus latched onto the fire. “You wouldn’t know a good thing even if it fell into your arms.” That caught his attention. His head cut to the woman in his arms. “Or maybe you wouldn’t think you deserve it.”

He deserved it. He deserved her. At least he hoped he did. It terrified him how accepting she had been of him as if he was never the Winter Soldier. She knew what he did, everyone knew at this point. Stillness took over once again.

Gods were real, at least that’s what Y/N had gathered while listening to the Avengers discuss the best way to get in contact with the god of thunder, Thor. Y/N had just escaped the Red Room, the real world was still new to her. No amount of training in the Red Room would have prepared her to meet a god. She was overwhelmed.

Staring up at the ceiling, Y/N couldn’t help but listen in. At some point Bucky had disappeared, leaving her to sleep on the couch. The sofa had been more uncomfortable than she remembered. She reasoned that it had something to do with the super-soldier acting as a buffer between her and the cushion last time.

“I just wanna make sure we consider all our options. Because people who shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me too,” Sam’s voice pierced Y/N's ear from the other room. He was concerned but thorough. There was no reason to take the easy way out if it meant risking someone’s life.

“Can’t sleep?”

Y/N propped herself up on her forearms finding Natasha standing in the archway.

Shaking her head, Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Done already?”

The redhead strolled further into the room with crossed arms. “Not exactly. We're taking a break.” The way Natasha stared down at Y/N left her feeling tense as if she knew a secret. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh-ok,” Y/N mumbled. She scrambled into an upright position, sliding over so Nat could sit beside her. The Avenger ran a hand through her hair letting out a long sigh. The uneasy feeling pooled in Y/N’s gut. Something wasn’t right. “What is it?”

Natasha pursed her lips, emerald eyes filled with remorse as she met Y/N's eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen on the mission, but I want to say this before things get messy.” Y/N nodded hesitantly, encouraging the Widow to continue. “Barton saved me when no one else wanted to. He fought for me, introduced me to Nick Fury, and gave me a second chance. One of the requirements to get a second chance was to leave my old life behind. I had to get rid of Dreykov.”

Y/N smiled weakly at Natasha. The Widow didn’t have to open up about her past to Y/N, but Y/N appreciated it.

“I had the shot. Barton asked me if it was a clear shot, but I wanted out so bad. I was furious at what Dreykov had done to me and all of the other girls, so I lied.” With her green eyes trained on the floor, she continued, “His daughter was there. She was young and much closer to me than Dreykov.” A strand of hair fell forward, covering the shame that painted Natasha’s face, but she didn’t attempt to move it. There was comfort in the shield her hair provided, protection. “I killed her. Dreykov lived and then he became fixated on you. What happened to you was my fault, I’m so sorry Jane.”

When Natasha finally looked at Y/N, she was met with a more youthful version. Y/N sat there kicking her feet, her fingers twirling her hair.

“Uh, Jane, can you bring the other Jane back?” Natasha pleaded.

“She doesn’t want to,” Y/N dismissed as she jumped off the couch searching for something to play with.

Natasha swore under her breath. She shouldn’t have listened to Clint. She should have waited until after the mission. She had to sort this out before Y/N’s reaction affected the mission. Blue eyes halted Natasha’s movements. Ignoring the child, she followed the blonde super-soldier’s eyes toward the front door. Long brunette hair swooshed as the front door clicked shut. Rebecca was leaving.

Crouching beside Y/N, Natasha smiled sweetly, “Hey, Jane. Do you want to play with Bucky for a bit?”

The young girl nodded exuberantly, forgetting what she was doing in the first place. Natasha stood up, patting the girl’s head. After Natasha called Bucky’s name, the two watched the super soldier round the corner. His eyebrows raised at the sight of Y/N.

“Key!”

Bucky braced himself as Y/N charged at him, jerking his metal hand to the other side of the room. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

Natasha sighed, glimpsing out the window. “I told her about Budapest, and she shifted, I think she’s having a bad reaction.”

Bucky wanted to reprimand the Widow, but Y/N needed him. Tongue in cheek, Bucky ignored the redhead. Natasha observed as Bucky sat cross-legged beside the child, his back to her before slipping out the front door.

“Key, do you speak Russian?” Bucky frowned at the sudden inquiry but nodded. Y/N jumped up and down full of energy. “Let’s play a game. I say a word and you,” her tiny finger poked Bucky's chest, "say it in Russian.” Bucky didn’t see how it was much of a game but indulged the child.

Sam and Steve watched the two from the other room. “Who knew Bucky was good with kids?” Sam mused. The corner of Steve’s lip jerked upward. He knew. Bucky came from a big family and even though he had his hands full with his siblings, it didn’t stop Bucky from taking care of Steve too. “I’m still not over Bucky’s nephew looking just like him. I could barely handle one of them but two? Not to mention he’s already outlived his life, no offense Cap. His face has been around well before me, but now it’s gonna be around long after me too?”

“You could always have kids, pass on your own genes,” Steve suggested.

Sam shrugged, “I'll stick to being an uncle for now.”

When Y/N shifted back, the first thing she noticed was how sore she felt. She groaned as she sat up. Her arm crossed her chest to massage her shoulder.

“Sore?” Bucky mumbled, his head propped up by his metal hand covering the corner of his mouth. His figure slumped in the chair beside the couch Y/N was occupying.

Y/N nodded, “This couch sucks.”

The brunette snorted, “It’s a sitting couch, it’s not made for sleeping.” The furniture was from the 40s, a time when people would entertain their guests in their living rooms. They weren't made to sleep on. They weren't supposed to be comfortable.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “You seemed pretty comfortable the last time you slept here.”

“I’m used to it; I usually sleep on the floor. Bed’s too soft. Don’t sleep much anyway.”

Bucky had a rough life between war and HYDRA, it didn't take a genius for Y/N to guess why he wasn't sleeping. She still wanted him to clarify that it was the only reason. “Nightmares?” Bucky stiffened for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Is that why you’re always drinking coffee?”

Another nod. “Gotta keep going somehow.” Stroking his chin, he asked, “You wanna talk about what Nat said?”

Y/N recognized Bucky was deflecting, not wanting to talk about his own problems, so she indulged him, shrugging. “It’s in the past. The damage is done. We can’t change it. Just needed to process it.”

Bucky slapped his knee, leaning forward, “Anything I can do?”

Y/N felt guilty once again. While she didn’t remember, Bucky’s presence when she woke was enough to tell her he had entertained the child once again. She didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, but she did need a friend, a distraction. “Actually, can I use your phone?”

The super-soldier fished his phone from his jeans, tossing it in her direction unlocked. He had not been concerned by her request until she scrolled repeatedly, clearly searching for something.

Y/N had been scrolling through Bucky’s contacts hoping to call Tony. She wished someone had checked in on her in the Red Room. She knew it would mean a lot to the Avenger to know she cared. Besides, if there was anything Tony was good at, it was chatting about himself. Y/N would welcome the distraction from anything HYDRA. Like Bucky, she too wanted to evade discussing herself. Unfortunately, Bucky had 3 contacts in his phone and Tony wasn’t one of them.

"Something wrong?"

Y/N peeked up from the phone, "You don't have Tony's number."

Bucky shrugged, "Never needed it." He paused, catching a glimpse of disappointment on her face. "Until now, I guess." Clearing his throat Bucky pushed himself into a standing position. "I'll ask Steve to borrow his phone. Tony probably wouldn't answer my number anyway."

When Bucky returned, smartphone in hand Y/N thanked him. She had expected him to return to his previous spot but instead he plopped down beside her. She ignored the rosiness that dusted her cheeks as his arm slithered around her, resting on the back of the sofa.

The phone rang for a few moments before a woman’s face appeared on the screen. Her black framed sunglasses reflected Y/N’s face on the screen, the clear sky above the woman’s head. They had gone on vacation after all.

“Uh, hi?” Y/N mumbled.

“You’re definitely not Steve.”

Bucky wrapped his metal hand over Y/N’s turning the phone to him. “Pepper, this is Jane. Mind handing Tony the phone.”

Pepper’s eyes raised behind her sunglasses. “Oh. Nice to meet you, Jane. Tony’s told me so much about you.”

Y/N perked up at the idea that Tony spoke to his wife about her. “How is Venice?”

“Beautiful,” was all Pepper replied before the sky disappeared. Seconds later Tony’s face popped into the screen. His wife was long gone.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” He squinted, his forehead taking up the majority of the screen for a second. “Is that the Manchurian Candidate’s arm behind you?”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows turning to Bucky for an answer. The only answer she got was a shrug. “Um, it’s Bucky.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, pointing a pen at the camera. “Fully clothed I hope.”

Y/N giggled at that. While Tony was serious, she imagined this is what it would be like to have a father.

“Nope, just letting it all hang out Tony,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

Tony deadpanned, “He better be joking.”

Whatever Tony had been tinkering with wasn’t visible to Y/N and Bucky, but she could tell he was in a lab. “I thought you were supposed to be in Venice?”

“I am. Some work can’t be put on hold just because you’re on vacation.” What Tony really meant was he was restless.

“And your wife, can she be put on hold?” Y/N asked, remembering the short answer Pepper had given.

Tony paused, spinning in his swivel chair to face her. “Did she say something?”

“Not exactly. I just thought you were trying,” Y/N worded carefully. She didn’t think Tony would appreciate Bucky knowing his business.

Tony resumed tinkering. “A man can only try so much in a day. We’re taking a break.”

Y/N flushed, and it didn’t take much for Bucky to know what they were discussing.

“Is something bothering you?” Tony asked.

Yes. “No, just nervous for tomorrow.”

“Word of advice,” Tony began, “we create our own demons.”

Y/N wanted to reply when a notification appeared across Tony’s face.

I followed her to a pharmacy. I’m going in to get a better look.

Bucky frowned at the message from Natasha. His gut told him he knew what was going on but he had to give his friends the benefit of the doubt. “Hey Tony, sorry to cut this short. We gotta go.” Before they could exchange goodbyes, Bucky snatched the phone calling out for Steve.

“What’s going on Buck?” Steve asked, finishing pulling a t-shirt over his torso.

Y/N watched from the couch, confused. She had been asleep and the other version of herself for so long that she knew she was missing something.

The brunette extended his arm, twisting Steve’s phone toward the blonde. He could see the moment Steve had finished reading it. The guilt instantly washed over his face.

“Where’s Rebecca?” Bucky growled. “Are you tailing my sister?” His lips curled into a snarl like a rabid dog.

Y/N flinched, expecting Steve to back down. Instead, Steve squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “We had to make sure she wasn’t leading us into a trap. You’re too close to her, we knew you would try to stop us.”

Bucky’s fist clenched around the phone, nearly snapping it in half. “You knew I would try to stop you and yet you did it anyway!”

“Keep your voice down,” Steve hissed. “Rebecca doesn’t want the kids to know anything about the mission.”

“This isn’t about the mission, this is about you not trusting my sister, not trusting me. What would you have done if she was working with HYDRA?”

Steve paused; his hands raised as if he was trying to tame a wild animal. “Whatever I had to do to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.”

Bucky scoffed, dropping Steve's phone between the two of them. He turned, storming toward the front door. Before he could reach the door, he glared back at the blonde. “Too late.” Then, he was gone.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@nelly-belly @small-death-and-codeine @amberritonicole @hallecarey1 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @val-writesstuff @rhiamaymay @lilhoodhippie @buckysbarne @shadypaperwitch @samfreakingwinchester @calwitch @jupitervenusearthmars  @vicmc624 @sigynxlokiwifelover

[ladystoneboobs]

"So long as Theon Greyjoy sits in your father's seat with your brothers' blood on his hands, these other foes must wait," Catelyn told her son. "Your first duty is to defend your own people, win back Winterfell, and hang Theon in a crow's cage to die slowly. Or else put off that crown for good, Robb, for men will know that you are no true king at all." From the way Robb looked at her, she could tell that it had been a long while since anyone had dared speak to him so bluntly. -Catelyn II, aSoS

no, but the way that even in asos post-jaime release, catelyn's still the only one who can speak to robb so bluntly, with no pushback from him here (only a hint of defensiveness, but no assertion of kingly authority), but only bc she's urging him onto violent vengeance befitting a warrior king. the detoriation of their relationship had a lot to do with him being crowned and the reverse in power dynamics, but there was also a shift in messaging from catelyn. when they first reunited after ned's arrest, she wasn't happy about him leading the army but agreed it was too late to turn back, and furthermore, more importantly agreed that they had to go to war regardless as the only way to save their family, bluntly telling him victory on the field was the only way to do that and that if he lost they'd all die. afterwards, once ned was beyond rescue, she changed her tune to talk of peace to save her daughters. being a woman is not too much a dealbreaker in itself for robb or most of his vassals (see mormont women fighting in all robb's battles) but acting too soft, too much like a worried mother, and later treating the king himself as still a child to be protected, that's just going too far. a warzone is no place for a woman who can't fight and worse, can't even be gung-ho enough to support all her son's violence while worrying about the danger he's in and the plight of her other children.

"kings aren't supposed to have mothers" is a sword that cuts both ways against mother and royal teen son. a boy who comes into power at 15 is only a year away from westerosi coming of age, "almost a man grown", and so must prove his manhood accordingly from the start. a boy of that age should become a man upon his father's death, so a surviving parent still treating him as their child is surplus to requirements. more convenient if she could be politically dead too, fading into the background and not asserting herself too much as a mother to the teen ruler. by the standards of their society, not only is he ranked above her once coming into power but it's his job to protect her as manly head of the family, certainly not the other way around. by the time of asos, robb is officially a man grown at 16, but has also made his own softhearted mistakes. first, by releasing his buddy theon no strings attached (a choice i doubt those lords who fought against balon's first rebellion liked any more than catelyn did), and then, compounding the original theon-related mistake, marrying jeyne westerling at the cost of his military cause after falling into her bed in his grief over theon's alleged murders of bran and rickon. he can publicly pardon his mother's release of jaime as a magnanimous king understanding a mother's womanly softness, but has all the more reason to assert his own manly strength once again. that prick lord karstark was the only one actually expecting the king to punish his own mother for treason, but most of the other lords, like the greatjon umber, could only forgive her in a patronizing way. "It was a mother's folly. Women are made that way." surely, they'd all think she had just proved they were right to dismiss her talk of peace before the greatjon made robb king, and surely they'd believe she'd fully proven she was not fit to be a trusted adviser after ned's death. what kind of weak mama's boy would still listen to a hysterical, grieving mother who cared more about her children's safety than winning the war? after making his own unwise choices driven by love, robb could not be contaminated by catelyn's. the king who lost the north had to lose his mother at his side too to compensate. kill the always respectful son looking to his mother for answers to let the king be born, or something.

[c0ffe3c4t]

❝ SCARS AND COMFORT. ❞

PAIRING : Jaime Lannister x Fem! Stark! Reader.

SYNOPSIS : After the brutality suffered at the hands of Locke's men, Jaime Lannister faces the scars that mark both his beloved and himself. As they both cope with the pain of their past, a night of insomnia and guilt forces them to confront their deepest fears, seeking comfort in each other. Amidst the scars of war and the fragility of life, love becomes their only refuge.

WARNINGS : Mentions of violence, torture, graphic wounds, psychological trauma, guilt, themes of abuse and sexual violence, post-traumatic stress disorder.

A soft gasp broke the absolute silence that reigned in the dark bedroom. Jaime took a brief moment to identify exactly where he was, as his dream had been so vivid and realistic that it left his mind bewildered. King's Landing. He was in his chambers, surrounded by the familiar scents that always filled the room: chamomile and honey, scents that both he and Cersei insisted the maids use. The heat of the season had caused him to remove the blankets, but now, in the stillness of the night, he felt the cool air of the room brushing against his bare skin. He reached out in search of the fabric, covering himself completely, but as he did, a strange feeling overtook him.

The scar. Instead of the hand that had wielded a sword with such skill, there was now only a horrendous reminder of what he had lost. A clean cut, left by the war as an unpleasant souvenir, deep and grotesque, running across his forearm. It had been a war wound, the one that marked the transition in his life from a feared and respected man to one marked by vulnerability. The worst part, however, was not the physical pain, but the emotional scar that loss had left. The dream he had just experienced had dragged him back to those moments, to the brutal fall he suffered at the hands of Roose Bolton’s men, the man who severed his hand with a single move and left him in the darkness of helplessness.

It was then that something distracted him. A slight movement beside him pulled him out of his thoughts. Someone had shifted, and the bed he had once shared now seemed eerily empty. A sigh of protest escaped his lips as he noticed the cold breeze taking over his bare body. He opened his eyes, barely aware of the moonlight filtering through the finely decorated windows. In its faint glow, the figure beside him became visible, a figure who seemed lost in her own thoughts, as detached from the world as he was at that moment.

At first, he said nothing, watching in silence. She seemed so distant, so caught up in her own mind, as if battling something greater than either of them. The stillness was eventually broken when her hand brushed against his cheek. Jaime reacted instinctively, his body tensing at the gentle touch, but the warmth of her skin was like an anchor pulling him back to reality.

—What’s wrong? —he asked, his voice low, almost fearful that any word might shatter the calm.

Jaime didn’t respond at first, but the gleam in his green eyes, clouded by sleep, told her everything she needed to know. The weight of his thoughts was dragging him back into the nightmares that tormented him. The exhaustion was palpable, and the anguish wrapped around him like a dense fog. Still, he said nothing, as if refusing to speak of what tormented him.

—The same dream again, right? —she asked, her voice soft but filled with a concern she couldn’t hide. She knew well what was happening.

Jaime turned his head slightly, his expression grave. He didn’t say anything at first, but the gesture of raising his hand to move the hair from her face told her that, although his words didn’t flow easily, their bond was still strong. Her touch offered him some comfort, a kind of peace amidst the storm of his mind.

—Cersei must be planning something. She always has something up her sleeve, —he murmured with a grim tone, as if the shadows of his sister were rising over them even now.

His lost, distant gaze made it clear what he feared: Cersei’s threat. The thought of her harming the one he loved most disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. The worry enveloped him, as if the constant threat of his sister could tear him apart completely.

—I don’t want her to touch you. I don’t want to lose you. The fact that you’re a Stark is already a death sentence for her, —he added, his voice rough with fatigue and desperation.

She sighed, trying to calm him, but the fear of losing him remained, palpable in her words.

—Your name, your status would be enough to convince anyone who wanted to harm me. You don’t need both hands to protect me as brutally as you do, —she responded, gently caressing his face, trying to erase the anxiety from his mind. Then she kissed him, a soft kiss but filled with all the love she felt.

Jaime let out a soft complaint, the feeling of his back against her being the only thing that kept him grounded in reality. He moved to caress the smooth skin of her back with his healthy hand, his touch acknowledging the need to feel her close, to keep her safe from anything that could threaten her.

—It would definitely help, —he murmured, his voice full of bitter sarcasm, as his fingers traced her skin.

She smiled tenderly, kissing him again. This kiss was different, deeper, more meaningful. The love and commitment she felt for him filled the space between their lips. In those moments, nothing mattered outside of that room; all that mattered was the promise that he, her lion, would always fight for her, as he had always done. No one, not even Cersei, could touch them while they were together.

—My brave husband, fighting for his wife, —she whispered against his lips, feeding his ego with sweetness, watching him tighten his grip on her with a force that showed how fierce his love was. No one could stop a man so powerful. No one.

Jaime didn’t need to speak. The strength of his touch and the fierce determination in his eyes already said everything. He would destroy everything in his path before allowing anyone, not even his sister, to harm her.

Jaime couldn’t help but slide his fingers over the huge scar on [Reader]’s abdomen. He always felt a pang of guilt every time his fingertips traced that mark, a wound that should never have appeared on her skin. It was Locke. His men had taken her when he couldn’t do anything, when he himself had been reduced to a helpless prisoner, a knight without a sword, a lion without claws. Remembering that moment only fueled the rage and helplessness that still burned within him.

But that wasn’t the only scar.

Jaime let his gaze wander over her skin, illuminated by the soft moonlight. Some marks were smaller, fine pale lines crossing her arms and hands, memories of knives and chains. Others were deeper, irregular, scars that spoke of a brutality that had no place on someone like her. She had a long scar running down her side, from her ribs to her hip, the result of a malicious slash that nearly killed her. Another on her forearm, the skin deformed where a sword had grazed it. Even her collarbone bore a fine mark, the evidence of an attempt to break her, to shatter her, as if they had wanted to bend her completely.

Jaime knew these weren’t just scars. They were war marks, marks of resilience, of a struggle she should never have faced alone. And above all, they were a silent sentence for him, a constant reminder that he couldn’t protect her when she needed it most.

—You should never have had them, —he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Reader opened her eyes slightly, feeling his fingers trace each of her scars. She knew what he was thinking, what he felt every time he saw her body marked by violence.

—It’s not your fault, —she murmured, covering his hand with hers. She knew Jaime felt guilty, even though it wasn’t clearly his fault. He felt that he could have done something to stop them from violating and torturing her the way they did.

Jaime clenched his jaw. He knew those words were a kind lie. If he had been stronger, faster, deadlier… if he had had his sword, everything would have been different. She wouldn’t be marked, she wouldn’t carry those scars and those horrible memories.

—I should have been there, I should have stopped it, —he insisted, his voice rough with frustration.

Reader held his gaze, her fingers gently squeezing his.

—You were there. You helped me keep going when I thought I couldn’t. Do you remember what you told me?

Jaime frowned, his memories clouded by guilt. But she didn’t need him to answer. She came closer, pressing her forehead against his, forcing him to look into her eyes.

—“Survive. Resist. And when the time comes, make them pay,” —she whispered, repeating the words he had told her that night when everything seemed lost.

Jaime felt his chest tighten. He remembered. He remembered seeing her hurt, bloodied, her eyes glowing with rage and determination. He remembered using his last breath to tell her to fight, to live. And she had.

—You did, —he murmured, a mix of admiration and sadness in his voice. —You resisted.

Reader smiled faintly, her fingers tracing invisible lines across his chest.

—And so did you.

Jaime exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be. But as long as she was still breathing, as long as he could keep touching her, protecting her, making sure she never went through that again… maybe, just maybe, he could redeem himself.

—I will never let it happen again, —he swore, his tone full of fierce determination. —I won’t let anyone touch you like that again.

Reader looked at him, her expression soft but firm.

—I know.

And with those words, she kissed him, without urgency, without desperation. Just with the certainty that, despite everything, they were together. That their scars, though reminders of the past, wouldn’t define their future.

The stillness of the room wrapped around them, and though the scars, both physical and emotional, still weighed heavily on them, there was something comforting in the proximity of their bodies. Jaime hugged her softly, as if afraid that if he held her too tight, she might disappear into the air,

୨୧

The nights in King's Landing became endless for Reader. Every time silence fell over the city, the darkness of her memories was unleashed, wrapping her in nightmares that left her waking up drenched in cold sweat. Trembling hands and a racing heart were only the beginning, but the worst part was the feeling of vulnerability, of being once again at the mercy of those men, of that pain. Every time the memories overflowed, her mind filled with images of her scars, of what she had suffered, of what she had been unable to prevent.

Jaime knew. He knew that no matter how much she tried to hide it, those scars not only marked her skin but her soul. The internal struggle she faced every time she woke from one of her nightmares tore at his heart. It wasn’t just the terror of what had happened that kept her trapped, but the fear that he might also see her as weak, marked. It was something she tried to hide, and that was why her murmurs in the dark, her nervous movements during sleep, broke his soul.

Every night, Jaime kept her close. He held her in silence, wrapping his arms around her, trying to give her comfort, a refuge that no one else had ever offered her. Physical contact was uncomfortable for her, even unbearable, but Jaime had become her exception. Only he could touch her without the pain of being touched by others overwhelming her. Sansa, of course, also had that permission, but no one else did.

The maidservants, assigned to help her dress, tried cautiously to clothe her, but they always encountered an invisible barrier that kept them from getting too close. It wasn’t just a matter of comfort. It was a deep, almost visceral issue: physical contact brought her a sense of invasion, an invasion of her personal space that made her feel exposed, vulnerable.

Her dresses, carefully designed to cover her scars, became a barrier that everyone, from her acquaintances to strangers, misunderstood. Rumors began to spread through the castle halls. Many whispered that Reader was too proud, that her secrecy about her own body was arrogance, that she didn’t want to show her skin to the world. Others, more cruel, speculated about what she was really hiding: perhaps she was so broken inside that she couldn’t bear to be seen without the perfect facade she showed the world.

But Reader ignored the whispers. That they spoke didn’t matter to her. The rumors, though hurtful, didn’t touch her soul as deeply as her memories did. She had become accustomed to living in the silence that her solitude offered, the stillness of her thoughts, the serenity she found only in the hours when Jaime kept her close.

One of those nights, while she lay restless in bed, trying to fall asleep, Jaime wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, seeking to give her the warmth of his body for some peace. The contact was comforting, despite everything. He knew that his mere presence could be the most powerful cure for the invisible scars within her.

—Does it hurt? —he asked softly, as if afraid the slightest sound might break the peace of the moment.

Reader didn’t respond immediately, as if the weight of the question had paralyzed her for a moment. It was an uncomfortable truth, one she couldn’t always share. However, she knew that at least with him, she could be honest.

—Sometimes, —she murmured softly, almost a whisper.

He tightened his embrace a little more, wordlessly, because he understood. Jaime knew that the scars one carries on the skin are only a reflection of those unseen, the ones buried deep in the heart. And though Reader struggled to maintain a facade of strength, he could see the vulnerability in her eyes that she never showed to the world.

—I promise you, you’ll never be alone in this again, —he whispered, pressing his face into her hair, breathing in her scent as if it were the only anchor keeping him grounded in reality.

She didn’t respond, but the fact that their bodies were so close, intertwined, offered more comfort than any words. The scars, the rumors, the fears—all of that faded away when their hearts beat in unison, when their physical contact became a mutual refuge. In that moment, the shadows of the past didn’t seem so terrifying, because both knew that, together, they could face them.

Almost at dawn, when Reader's nightmares began to fade and Jaime's warmth gave her the deepest sleep she’d had in days, the tensions of the past dissolved, and only the two of them remained. The love they shared, with all its scars and fragility, remained their greatest strength.

—Maggie ☕