#braim gone

[theblankest123]

Oh boy once again i do not feel thethered to reality once again yayyyyyyyyyy!!!!

[glorybeat]

i don’t know if this has been debated before(probably has), but can we talk about how the reasons as to why some people wanted brienne with tormund were all pretty much deeply misogynistic

[greenmtwoman]

There was harsh sound that might have been laughter or sobs, and dragging steps.  Someone was coming. Jaime gripped his sword again.  Brienne raised Oathkeeper.

[weemssapphic]

Am I no good?

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

“I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either.

CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - see A/N at end Cannibalism, slight gore, necrophilia, trauma, hallucinations, night terrors, hurt/comfort, smut, several mentions of Braime

Words: ~7.5k | ao3 link in title

Brienne gets night terrors. 

As a member of the Kingsguard your room is adjacent to the Lord Commander’s and one night, not long after her return from the North, you’d woken to a blood-curdling scream that had pierced even the thick walls of the Red Keep’s tower. The Lord Commander had been, for a few terror-inducing minutes, inconsolable; thrashing about, trying to get out of bed, and, being that you were both closest to her and the only other woman amongst the knights, your peers had bowed out and left you to ‘deal’ with her.

At first you’d tried to restrain her, resulting in an accidental black eye. You’d changed your tactic as a result, tried to be gentle with her, coo her back to sleep - which, fortunately, had worked. Then the next night, it had happened again, and again you’d stayed with her until she’d fallen back asleep. Soon after, she’d begun to sleepwalk, and so, to prevent her from getting hurt, you’d started sleeping on a pile of furs on the floor beside her bed.

Eventually, and as your relationship with Brienne had slowly changed, evolved into something, you’d started sleeping beside her in bed - anything to keep her from hurting herself, to help lull her back into a fitful sleep.

It had never been like this before, not in the time you’d known Brienne, anyway. She’d always been a light sleeper, sure, but a sound one. Even after the most brutal of battles, she’d never even woken with a start from a nightmare as you and so many of your fellow knights had. But something had changed when she’d gotten back. Something had changed since she’d lost Jaime.

She talks in her sleep now, too. That’s partially how you know what happened during all those months when she was in the North.

When it first started, you thought the sleep talking was just a part of whatever nonsensical dream (or, more likely, nightmare) she was having, conjured up, perhaps, by the imagination of a person who has seen too much and suffered too greatly. 

But then she’d woken with a start one night. It wasn’t a night terror - though she was clearly upset, she was fully lucid. This time, she didn’t scream. Didn’t thrash. Instead, she’d clung to you like a little girl, curling up against you in a way she never had before, seeking comfort. She confessed in hushed, shaky whispers between suppressed sobs the terrible things that had happened in the North. The unforgivable things that she’d done in the North. The real reason why half of her Kingsguard had disappeared. The real reason why Jaime hadn’t returned by her side.

~~~

You’ve known Brienne for years, becoming a member of her Kingsguard when she’d become Lord Commander. She’d wanted a woman under her command, and so she’d knighted you herself. The two of you had quickly become friendly with one another, sharing the unique bond of being women in a still male-dominated profession (and wasn’t that an understatement).

Though you found yourself slowly and quietly falling in love with her, your bond had never gone past friendship - it couldn’t, not with Jaime by Brienne’s side. Not when the tall, blonde knight looked upon her lover as if he held within him the key to the universe. Her first love. 

Still, you were, out of all the knights in her Kingsguard, out of all her friends, closest to Brienne, and it filled with you a subconscious sense of smugness. It made you feel special, that the strong, courageous, just, loyal, beautiful Brienne of Tarth would value your company, your opinions. That she would consider you, as she once told you, her equal, a true friend. That she held love for you, even if it wasn’t romantic love, even if it wasn’t the same kind of love you held for her. It was clear you meant something to her, and the memory of the love shared between the two of you is what you would cling to in the many months during her absence.

King Bran had had official business in the North. Some threat looming past Winterfell, beyond the Wall. Whispers of White Walkers returning - mostly fear-mongering, Brienne had figured. But King Bran had made for Winterfell to convene with the Kingdom of the North, and the Lord Commander and her Kingsguard had followed, to protect him firstly and then to head even farther north towards the Wall and beyond, to scout out the supposed threat.

Except for you. You’d been nursing a fresh injury at the time of departure, and it had been deemed too risky to allow you to join, lest the threat be real and your injury be your downfall. Brienne had tasked you with taking over some official duties during her absence - in a month or two they’d all be back, anyway. On the day that they’d left, she’d left you at the entrance of the Red Keep with a smile on her lips, that kind of crooked, cheeky one she had reserved solely for you. The one that would be seared onto the backs of your eyelids, conjured up every time you closed your eyes, for months to come.

~~~

She shouldn’t have followed that absolute dolt’s directions, Brienne thinks bitterly. She trusts her men, she truly does - she wouldn’t have appointed them to her Kingsguard if she didn’t. But today, for the first time, she wishes she could strangle one of them with her bare hands - the one who led them off the path, convinced he’d known exactly where they were going, until it had become clear that he had absolutely no idea.

They set up camp for the night and Jaime has to calm Brienne down in her tent as the others set about lighting a fire. The cold is brutal this far north - it cuts at their skin and claws its way down to their bones, and Brienne huddles close to Jaime to share in the warmth he always seems to radiate. 

Despite the cold, and despite how tired he is after trekking through the snow all day, Jaime cracks a joke, and despite how cold and tired she herself is, Brienne chuckles and rests her head on his shoulder. He reassures her that they’ll get a good night’s sleep and find their way tomorrow, and they’ll only really have lost a few hours, a few miles, at most.

Brienne trusts him.

A few hours and a few miles turn into a few days and a few more miles. It seems to Brienne, the more time passes, that the vast, icy wilderness of the North is actively conspiring against them - dead set on keeping them from both their goal and, in turn, from returning to Winterfell.

At first, it’s more of a nuisance than anything. They still have plenty of food and water. They camp out each night, huddle around the fire, weary from trekking for miles and seemingly getting no closer to anything. But optimism lingers - they’ll find their way soon, Brienne thinks, and Jaime affirms her, and her other men agree. They trust her. 

Once, after a particularly long day and to keep Brienne’s spirits up, Jaime makes love to her - or tries to, anyway. The biting chill ruins it a bit, he can’t focus long enough to keep it up, keeps going soft as the cold seeps into his bones and makes his teeth chatter. Brienne cannot help but to find it funny - she laughs, and Jaime shushes her, a little embarrassed, but at least he’s made her pale lips turn up into a rare smile, and at least she’s holding him close and wrapping him up in her strong, loving embrace underneath their furs, and at least they have each other.

~~~

A few weeks in, one of her men falls ill from the cold, already weakened from the lack of sustenance as their food supply has dwindled down to nothing. He develops a cough, complains of chest pains. He stops often, slows down the group. Wheezes audibly as he clambers to keep up with the others. He’s feverishly warm and he looks to be a hopeless case. In just a few days, he’s gone - he dies in his sleep, and Jaime is the one to find him beside the fire, unmoving.

What ensues after will haunt Brienne for the rest of her life.

She suggests that they hold a short funeral for the fallen knight, burn the body then continue on, in the hopes of finding their way back to Winterfell - their plans to scout out the threat past the Wall all but abandoned, so long as they make it out of the North’s unforgiving clutches alive. Everyone agrees, and they use the extra wood they have for the fire to build a small, makeshift funeral pyre. Brienne says a few words and Jaime lights the fire, sets the warrior’s body ablaze. 

After a somber moment of silence, Brienne orders her knights to pack up camp. One of them lingers near the pyre, staring at the charred body of his former peer, stepping closer even as the others turn their backs to him. He ignores his Lord Commander when she says it’s time to leave. He’s hungry, he says - yes, we all are, the Lord Commander replies, a bit impatiently.

They could use the strength, they need to eat something, he argues, or they’ll meet the same fate as the knight roasting over the fire. Brienne doesn’t understand - until she does. Then she’s horrified, by both the suggestion itself and the lack of horror that the rest of her knights display. She argues - Jaime tries to back her up - but they’re overruled.

As her men feast on the body of the fallen knight, she sits on a fallen tree trunk away from the group. She refuses to eat one of her Kingsguard for breakfast.

But things are never that easy. Her men have had a taste of the meat. They remember, finally, what it’s like to have full bellies, to have enough energy to carry themselves through the day, to keep their legs going for miles on end. And, with that, any trust that Brienne has in her knights, and they in her, slowly disintegrates.

The North is a strange place, and it has a tendency to drive even the most composed, civilized men mad. Hunger, also, has a tendency to drive men mad. And driven mad they are. With no knowledge of how much longer they’ll be stuck out in the wilderness, and thus no knowledge of when their next meal will be or where it will come from, with a taste for the flesh that may be their only chance at survival in the barren wasteland beyond the Wall, the knights begin to practically search for reasons to turn on one another.

So, inevitably, begins what haunts Brienne for the rest of her life - the Hunt.

It’s simple: Hunt or be Hunted. Kill or be Killed. Eat or be Eaten. 

It’s almost a blur to Brienne.

Except for Jaime. When it comes to Jaime, she remembers every detail vividly. Too vividly.

Jaime twists his ankle one day, starts to limp a bit as he drags himself through the snow. Brienne pulls him roughly aside, her brow furrowed with fury and her grip tight.

“You cannot let them see that you’re hurt. You have to walk normally, goddamnit,” she spits out. The words are filled with vitriol - because she’s afraid. Terrified. If any of the other knights sense his weakness, Jaime will be next. And, for all that he’s one of the strongest, most strategic warriors Brienne has ever known, even Jaime cannot outrun a group of hunger-crazed men on a twisted ankle.

He insists that he’ll try, but Brienne can see the doubt in his eyes - she can feel it when he kisses her and soothes his hands down her arms; the hesitation, the trepidation. Her heart thumps so loudly she’s sure he can hear it, too.

Try as he might, even Jaime Lannister is unable to escape his fate. The knights are restless - it’s been two weeks again (or maybe three?) since their last proper meal, and they’re hungry. Brienne is hungry, too, but when Jaime suggests he sacrifice himself so that she can eat, knowing that he’s growing too weak to go on as the pain in his ankle spreads up his leg, she gets angry. Brienne knows he’s getting weaker, but such a sacrifice is unthinkable. 

“Get. Up!” Brienne shouts vehemently, the blood flowing through her veins turning to ice when, as the group treks through the snow one afternoon, Jaime feels a sharp pain in his leg and falls to the ground. She doesn’t like the resignation in his gaze, she doesn’t like how the others advance on him like he’s prey, she doesn’t like how she’s powerless to stop them because she knows, even if she fights for Jaime - defends his life - that he’s a lost cause one way or the other. She doesn’t like the sound Jaime’s neck makes as it snaps at the hands of one of her men.

She insists on being the one to handle his body and, because she’s still their Lord Commander but mostly because the others know they’ll have full bellies in a few hours, they let her. They give her privacy as they wait, huddling around the fire they’ve built.

Jaime’s eyelashes are frosty, and Brienne places her hand over his eyes, closes them. His lips are blue - they’re cold against her own and the absence of his warm breath makes her heart clench. She pushes her tongue into his mouth, exploring, memorizing. One last taste. Tears burn her cheeks - it’s not the same when he doesn’t kiss back. She flicks her tongue against his - still, unmoving - and moans, and it turns into a sob. 

She rests her forehead against Jaime’s, her breath tickling his face, her tears dripping onto his cheeks, her hands starting to undo his furs, his cloak, his armor, his shirt - lovingly, almost as if she were undressing him, as she often used to do, after a long day of work. She places her hands on his bare chest. It’s cold. His lungs don’t expand and his heart doesn’t beat. It feels both achingly familiar and completely alien to Brienne. She tosses his clothing to the ground, the pieces of his armor clattering against each other and disrupting the quiet peace of the forest. Her hands move to his trousers - as she undoes them, her lips trail down his jaw, his beard scratching at her skin in a familiar sort of way. She reaches his pulse point and sucks - she pretends she can feel a pulse, she smiles in spite of herself and she sucks and sucks and sucks at his skin, before kissing her way down the column of his throat, his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

Jaime’s trousers and undergarments join the rest of his clothing in the snow, and Brienne’s hands curl around his upper thighs as her lips find the crease between his hip and his thigh. She breathes him in and lets out a shuddering moan, and she can feel his hands scratch at her scalp, pull at her golden locks. She squirms - it makes her wet. She can feel his hips rise beneath her lips and her fingernails scratch at his outer thighs as she runs her tongue along the seam of his crotch.

Her stomach rumbles audibly and she sobers, just enough to pull back from the cold, unmoving corpse of her dead lover, hunger and guilt promptly replacing her arousal.

She straightens, reaches for the knife at her side, places the blade against Jaime’s chest. She sniffles and uses her free hand to wipe the remaining tears and a bit of snot off her face. Then she makes a clean cut down the length of Jaime’s torso.

There’s a ritualistic quality to her movements. She prepares his corpse with precision, her mind going blank, blissfully blank, as she saws off his extremities, removes his organs. It’s serene, ceremonial, as if she’s in a trance.

Later that evening, as Brienne lifts a chunk of warm, tender meat to her lips, chews it slowly, savors it, she feels a warm glow in her chest. As if Jaime is now with her, always - a strange, twisted sense of intimacy unfurling within her, a wave of peace washing over her.

~~~

When you first see Brienne again, you run to hug her, but something stops you in your tracks. She stands still, watching you stoically, trembling. You reach out to touch her but she shrinks away from your hand. You’re so focused on her that it takes you a moment to notice that she’s only come back with two of her men, and that Jaime isn’t one of them. 

All you know is that the expedition in the North was unsuccessful - with no further details as to what happened, or why your Lord Commander and her men were gone for so long. You hope that she’ll let you comfort her as time passes, that she’ll confide in you, but she doesn’t. King Bran works out a plan for Brienne to slowly take over her duties again, the ones you’ve been carrying out - she insists upon it, and he trusts her. The next few weeks are filled with strained council meetings, and it’s the only time Brienne allows you to interact with her, only ever about ‘official’ topics, skillfully side-stepping anything remotely resembling something personal, anything to do with her time in the North, anything to do with Jaime.

Until the night terrors begin.

~~~

You pass Brienne on your way to breakfast the morning after her first night terror. The corridor is narrow and, with each of you clad in armor, you have to turn to the side a bit as you pass each other in order to not bump shoulders. Brienne’s gaze sweeps your face, then pauses. It gets stuck on the fresh bruise around your eye, and her brows knit together in confusion. 

“How did this happen?” she asks softly, raising her hand to your face but stopping just shy of touching you, as if she can’t bear to. Her fingers twitch and she drops her arm back down to her side.

You frown. “You don’t remember?”

She’s silent for a moment - you can almost hear the cogs turning in her head. She shakes her head, a strand of hair falling onto her forehead. It takes all of your restraint not to reach out and brush it back with your fingertips.

You almost want to make up a lie as to what happened - you don’t want to put her through any more misery than she’s already experiencing. But you know it’ll all come out sooner or later, so you tell her the truth.

As you explain what had happened, the lines on Brienne’s face deepen, her skin grows pale, her lips part to let out a shaky breath. Then she presses her lips into a hard line, offers you a slight nod of her head. There is an apology in her eyes, unspoken - she brushes past you and disappears around the corner without another word.

She doesn’t join you and the rest of the Kingsguard (what few men had been left, and a couple of newly appointed men) for breakfast, nor does she show up at lunchtime, and her seat remains empty at suppertime. You contemplate going to her chambers and seeing if she’ll talk to you. Remembering how unwilling she was to say even a word to you this morning, you decide against it - though you’re woken once again by a piercing scream at a quarter to four in the morning.

Again you sit with her, try not to touch her, to just let her screaming and thrashing run its course as you coo at her as you would a child. Again it works, but this time you linger a bit longer by her bedside once she’s fallen back asleep, just watching her.

Guilt muddles the sympathy and longing that gnaw a deep pit into your stomach. Brienne looks almost angelic, curled up on her side in the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the window. It renders the eyelashes on one half of her face translucent, the other side cast in deep shadow. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, her hair falls in sweaty strands across her forehead, her fingers twitch against the furs on her bed - it makes you long to curl up against her back, wrap your arms around her waist, bury your nose in her hair, feel her lungs take in air and her heart pump blood and all the things that make her alive and real. Watching Brienne sleep, a dam inside you breaks - all of the feelings you’d suppressed for her sake, for Jaime’s sake, come bubbling to the surface.

~~~

Against your will, you’ve fallen into a routine with Brienne.

Neither of you talk about it. You’ve never been more intimate with her, and yet you’ve never felt so separate from her. The worst part is that you can tell she feels the same, but whatever happened to her is preventing her from opening up to you. So you give her the space she needs during the day, and try to reign in your emotions during the night.

Your little routine changes after about a week and a half when, lying wide awake and staring at the ceiling, you hear the creak of a door. Padding to your own door and peering out, you see Brienne exiting her room.

“Brienne?” you call out.

She ignores you, closing her door behind her, and you creep into the hall, the stone floor cold as ice beneath your bare feet. 

“Brienne, where are you going?”

“We need food, or we’re going to die out here,” she hisses urgently. You furrow your brow. What the hell is she on about? 

“Brienne, it’s the middle of the night. Are you okay?”

“Make yourself useful and get wood for the fire.”

It takes a moment but then it hits you - she’s not awake. She thinks she’s still out there, in the North. You approach her cautiously, well aware that one wrong move could get you punched in the eye again. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” you say softly, stepping in her way to prevent her from heading towards the stairs. You gently point Brienne back towards her chambers, trying to coax her into going back to bed with promises of finding food and getting her warm. Eventually you succeed and she’s crawled beneath her furs once more.

Sitting gingerly at the edge of her bed, every muscle in your body stiff as a board and every hair standing on end, you watch her intently, waiting until her eyes have fallen shut and her breathing has evened out. Even then, the thought of leaving her alone like this nearly kills you - you’re not sure you’re in your right mind but, spotting a woven blanket on the chair in front of Brienne’s wardrobe, you take it to her bedside and wrap it around yourself as you settle on the ground. 

Hugging your knees to your chest, you try to generate enough warmth to be able to fall asleep. You’re only partially successful and sleep finds you an aching, shivering mess sometime just before dawn - only once your mind, running rampant with worries, has finally tired itself out enough to allow for an hour or two of rest.

~~~

Dawn breaks, the first rays of early morning sun licking at the windowsill, spilling onto the dusty floor of Brienne’s chambers and illuminating your sleeping form, and Brienne stirs in her sleep.

She stretches her arms over her head, letting out a soft groan at the ache that spreads through every muscle in her body. Mornings have been hard for her since she’s gotten back - she often feels as though gravity is conspiring against her, chaining her to the bed with a heaviness that takes over every limb, every muscle, every organ in her body.

As she turns onto her side, fighting the pull to just remain in bed all day and try to sleep away the pain, her gaze lands on a lumpy blanket beside the bed - a lumpy blanket that’s breathing, with a head of unruly curls poking out. 

Brienne’s breath stutters in her chest and she props herself up on her elbow to lean over the edge of the bed. Relief floods her body as she realizes it’s just you - though that same thought, a mere moment later, causes her pulse to race.

Before she’s had a chance to wonder what you’re doing on the floor beside her bed, your eyelids begin to flutter and you shift beneath the blanket. Your eyes open and meet Brienne’s, and for one fleeting moment, it feels like the most normal thing in the world as your lips spread into an automatic smile and Brienne’s heart skips a beat.

Your smile quickly fades, however, when you wake up enough to see the perplexed frown etched onto Brienne’s face, and you quickly scramble to your feet, stuttering out an apology.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Brienne says, pulling her own furs up to her chin, as if doing so will hide the vulnerability that’s crashing over her in waves.

Your brow furrows. Brienne’s stomach sinks - she hates feeling as though she’s being kept in the dark. “What?” she huffs out impatiently, anxiety lapping at her ribcage from the inside. 

“You, um…” You hesitate, your voice still gravelly from sleep. You clear your throat. “I found you in the corridor last night, sleepwalking… I didn’t want you to get hurt so I stayed.”

It’s clear from the way you can hardly meet Brienne’s eyes, instead shifting your gaze to your feet as you subtly shuffle them, that you’re nervous. About what? Brienne wonders. Being reprimanded? She uses your lowered gaze to her advantage, her own gaze raking over your form from head to toe and back again, drinking you in. She feels a pang of regret. The two of you used to be close. She used to confide in you, used to trust you. But after everything that happened, who can she trust? Certainly not herself.

Still, she feels as though she owes you something. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You look up and her heart clenches as a tentative smile spreads across your face. She offers you one in return - it feels a bit foreign, to smile again after so long. As if she’s forgotten how. 

You reach down, folding the blanket and placing it at the foot of Brienne’s bed. “I’ll see you at training?” You look as if you’re about to say more - Brienne wishes you would say more - but you don’t.

Brienne swallows thickly, nods. “Yeah. See you.”

It’s not until you leave the room that she feels her fists unclench against her furs.

~~~

Brienne sleepwalks again the following night, and again you guide her back to bed and make a nest for yourself on the floor beside her. This time, you manage to sneak back into your chambers just before dawn, though you leave the blanket on the floor, so that she knows you were there, so that you don’t feel like you’re sneaking around.

The night after, Brienne wakes as you try to sneak back to your own bed (your back is stiff as a board). Her voice calls after you in the darkness as you’re halfway to the door, giving you a start.

“Just get in the bed, for God's sake…”

You can hear the sleepy exasperation in her voice and you quickly insist that you should go back to your own bed, that it would be improper - the moonlight casts an eerie glow on Brienne’s eyes when she rolls them. She scoots towards one edge of the bed and awkwardly pats the space next to her.

Neither of you sleep a wink for the rest of that night. You’re too distracted by the heat of Brienne’s body, too afraid that, if you fall asleep, you might wake up spooning her. She’s too focused on your breathing, acutely aware that you’re lying awake beside her, wishing she could take comfort in your presence but too afraid to do so. Your combined warmth beneath the furs is like a furnace, but you don’t dare move, for fear of spooking Brienne and being sent away. 

As dawn breaks, you climb out of one side of the bed and Brienne swings her legs over the opposite side. You say “see you” and Brienne grunts in response, and the whole experience is so awkward and tense that you almost don’t go to her chambers the following night. Habit, however, guides your feet right to her door, and she opens it as she hears your footsteps approaching, as if she were waiting for you. This alone, the lack of rejection, makes you braver - that night, you dare to lie just a little bit closer, your arm touching hers.

Every evening you get a bit more daring, and every morning is a little less awkward than the last. Brienne’s walls are far from torn down, but every so often she shows a sliver of genuine warmth that makes your heart skip at least three beats: a shadow of a smile flitting across her face when you show up at her door in the evening; a lingering glance after the two of you have said goodnight, filled not with annoyance or trepidation but with curiosity, perhaps even a hint of gratitude; a gentle brush of soft fingertips against your arm as she adjusts the furs so that you’re both covered.

The night that she wakes with a start and tells you everything would be seared into your mind for the rest of your life as the turning point in your relationship with Brienne. It isn’t about the things she confesses to you - though horrified at the anguish that plagues Brienne, you can’t find it in you to judge or condemn her. Not when she’d woken you in tears, her hand tentatively curling around the sleeve of your night shirt, her lower lip trembling as she’d whispered that she had to tell you what had happened, and then, later, pleaded with you to stay. Nothing she told you, nothing she would tell you, could make you leave. Quite the opposite, in fact - the worse her confessions seem to get, the closer your bodies get, until she’s curled into you with her face against your chest and your arms wound tightly around her, your lips pressed to the crown of her head - anything to provide some semblance of the comfort that she’s sorely been missing.

Once the dam has broken, once Brienne has laid bare all of her sins - and is met not with condemnation but with unwavering support - she starts to let you in, little by little. Little by little, she starts to trust you again and, little by little, she lets you care for her.

~~~

Brienne is standing in front of the fireplace when you enter her chambers. You can’t see her face but you don’t need to - you know that her eyes are fixated on the flames, flecks of warm orange licking at bright sapphire irises. Lost in thought, in some place deep within her where you cannot join.

You close the door with a bit of force, so that Brienne hears it, knows you’re there. You approach her from behind with audible footsteps, then wrap your arms around her waist. You turn your head to rest your cheek between her shoulder blades. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. She smells like soap and burning wood and something else, something ineffable, something distinctly Brienne. 

She stays where she is but folds her arms over your own, leans back ever so slightly. You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, but eventually Brienne starts to turn and you loosen your grip to allow her to face you. She looks down at you, her eyes dancing between your own. You think she might kiss you, like she sometimes does nowadays. You’re certain that there’s a hopeful glint in your eyes as your gaze flicks briefly to her lips, then back up to her eyes, though you try not to show it, try to let Brienne set the pace.

Instead of kissing you, she takes a step back, and you let your arms fall to your sides, feeling a bit cold after the sudden loss of her body heat. Brienne’s eyes never leave your own as she starts to untie her shirt at the front with long and nimble fingers. In your peripheral vision, you see her fingers work their way down her shirt, which then slides off her shoulders and falls to the floor. You cannot break eye contact, however - there’s something in her gaze that you’ve never seen before, not directed at yourself anyway, and it has you pinned in place, frozen in space and time.

Brienne’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips and she steps closer again, and the movement breaks you from whatever spell you’re under. Your gaze drops to her bare breasts, the small mounds of flesh pale and supple, nipples soft and pink, not quite fully hard yet. A wave of arousal washes over you as you allow your eyes to trace her body - every soft, womanly curve, every hard, toned muscle. Brienne, the woman. Brienne, the warrior. You feel her eyes on your face - you know she’s watching you drink her in, and it makes your breath quicken.

Reaching up to your own shirt, you start to untie it - until Brienne’s fingers brush against your own, gently pushing them aside and taking over for you. She takes her time, and her fingertips caress your skin, and you shiver as your shirt joins hers on the floor.

She steps closer still, until there’s no more room between the two of you. Her breasts press against your own and her skin warms yours, and then her hand slides into your hair, cupping your neck just beneath your ear and pulling you towards her until her lips meet your own. They’re impossibly soft and a little wet, and you’ve kissed Brienne before but it feels different this time, and it makes you moan - not a soft, sweet moan of pleasure but a deep, guttural moan of desire, and then Brienne pushes her tongue into your mouth and her free hand flattens against the small of your back, keeping you flush against her as she walks you backwards in the direction of her bed.

“I want you,” you whisper against her lips as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Brienne pushes against you, until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you. She resumes the kiss, her breath coming out in little pants against your lips as she straddles your waist and you scoot back into a more comfortable position. 

Large, callused hands slide down your torso, leaving a blazing fire in their wake. They reach the waistband of your trousers and you raise your hips, silently inviting Brienne to pull them down - she does, along with your underwear, and discards both.

Her lips trail along your jaw and you tilt your head back and to the side, giving her more access to nuzzle and kiss and suck and nip. The little noises that escape her lips and vibrate against your skin are heavenly, stoking the fire in your belly and ringing in your ears like the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard.

Her teeth, hard and dull-edged, sink into the junction between your shoulder and your neck - a stark contrast to the feeling of her tongue, warm and velvety, running up the side of your neck just a moment later - pausing at your pulse point, feeling the pounding of your heart, the rushing of warm blood through your body. Your pulse quickens even more as she lingers there, and then you feel a wetness. 

You feel no pain but, still, you wonder if it’s blood, if she’s somehow broken skin.

Then you realize that the droplets dripping onto your neck are Brienne’s tears. 

You pull back, placing your hands on her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark and stormy as she wrestles with something that you aren’t privy to. Her shoulders start to shake beneath your palms, her entire body trembling as she begins to sob in earnest, sitting up and dropping her head into her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as she lets out a low, shaky wail. 

“Brienne?” you whisper cautiously, sliding your hands from her shoulders up to her neck, prying her hands off of her face and cupping her cheeks, urging her to look at you. Your thumbs soothe across her cheekbones, wiping away each tear as it falls - her eyes dance between your own, uncertainty and pain reflected back at you in equal measure. But there’s something else there, a deep longing, a hunger, and you aren’t sure what for and you aren’t sure if you want to know. 

“I love you,” you say, your voice quiet yet firm. You say it partially because you don’t know what else to say, but also because you know it’s true. You do love her, more than you’ve ever loved anyone else, more than you ever thought you could love another person, more than life itself, perhaps. 

“Don’t say that,” Brienne chokes out, her brow scrunching as she sniffles and tries to suppress another sob, making her chest heave. 

“I love you.”

“P-please…”

“You’re not a bad person, Brienne, in spite of what you may think.”

“I am,” she spits back, her tone harsh in contrast to the softness in her eyes as she wants desperately to believe that you could be telling the truth. That you could love her, and think she’s a good person, worthy of being cared for. “I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either. 

Brienne sobs. Her forehead wrinkles and her mouth turns down at the corners and she sobs. She buries her head in your chest, squeezes her eyes shut. Her tears wet your bare skin, her hand curls around your waist hard enough to bruise, gripping as if she’s holding on for dear life. As if you’ll evaporate if she lets go. 

You coo at her. Run a hand through wavy blonde locks. Let your fingertips trace her spine. You tell her how good she is, that she’s safe, that you care for her. You tell her that you love her, over and over again, as many times as it takes to make her believe it. You tell her that Jaime loved her, too. That he would have understood, and forgiven her. That he would want her to be happy. She sobs harder, shakes her head, and you cup her cheek and stroke your thumb across her cheekbone. He would want the world for her, you tell her, and you believe it. You believe it because it’s what you want, and if Jaime loved her half as much as you do, then, surely, he would want that, too. 

Finally, her tears subside. She hiccups, and it makes you smile in spite of it all. You kiss the tears off her cheeks, lick gently at her salty skin. Then you capture her lips in a sweet, wet kiss. She kisses you back. You keep it slow, gentle - you part your lips, an invitation for Brienne to set the pace. She licks into your mouth, entangling her tongue with your own, whimpering softly. 

“You t-taste so good,” she mumbles, and then she freezes. The double entendre doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you ignore it - you moan and deepen the kiss, because it feels good, and because Brienne tastes good, too.

Her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you close, and your hands slide down her back. They slip beneath her trousers and cup her ass, and she rolls her hips against you with a breathy sigh. 

You push her trousers down, then her undergarments, and she helps you remove them completely. You push her onto her back, hovering over her - you give her a sweet kiss, then trail your lips slowly and reverently down her body. Your hands caress her sides, curling around her waist as your thumbs trace over her ribs and your tongue runs down the center of her abdomen.

Brienne’s hips push upwards as her head tilts back, and you look up through your lashes to see the underside of her jaw clenched; her breasts rising and falling; her nipples hard, rosy peaks that jut out into the air. You moan as you settle between her legs and kiss the crease of her hip, the scent of her arousal strong and heavy, making you feel dizzy.

You trace a path up her slit, using the tip of your tongue to part her sticky folds. Her arousal gathers on your tongue, exploding on your tastebuds like sweet ambrosia - you savor it, swallow it down with a hum. You get greedy as you retrace the path of your tongue, eager for more, humming gutturally, and then you feel Brienne’s fingers thread into your hair, her legs parting even further as she pushes you towards her clit.

Latching onto the throbbing bud, you suck feverishly, relishing in the wanton moan that erupts from deep within Brienne’s chest. Her fingers tighten in your hair, knuckles going white as her back arches off the bed and her abdomen ripples. You can feel the heels of her feet press into your back as her legs bend at the knees, her entire body responding to your hungry ministrations.

Brienne quivers. Releases the tension in her body like an arrow gone into flight. Her arousal coats your chin, sticks to the furs beneath her ass. She tugs at your hair, insistently, even as you lap at her folds, cleaning her up. You relent and allow her to pull you up, allow her lips to meet yours, and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and licks her own arousal off your face, desperately, as if she’s trying to devour you.

Her hand remains threaded in your hair as her other hand slides down your abdomen. Short, labored breaths leave her lips and hit yours in little puffs as long fingers feel how wet you are, smear your juices across your clit, dip into your center, stroke your walls.

Her eyes are open and she maintains eye contact with you as she fingers you. Her gaze is soft and loving beneath the lust, drinking in your every reaction and holding your heart, soul, body captive. She can tell you’re getting close and she pulls her fingers from your cunt, pushing you onto your back and sinking between your legs to finish you off with her mouth. Her lips latch onto your clit and she sucks hungrily, her eyes still on yours, her pale eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she brings you over the edge.

When you cum, she kisses your inner thigh, mumbles “I love you” as if it were a confession. Then she says it again. And again. Repeats it as if it were a mantra. It rings in your ears, as if all you’ll hear for the rest of your life is the echo of Brienne of Tarth telling you she loves you. You.

~~~

The embers of the fire are slowly dying. Brienne is on her back and you’re curled up against her side, an arm slung around her waist. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness and are tracing her side profile, your heart swelling at the sight. It feels different after what you’ve just done. You feel light - euphoric.

“Do you like it when we lay like this?” you ask her softly, suddenly. Your voice is gravelly with a pleasant exhaustion and your eyelids are starting to feel a bit heavy, but you feel you cannot rest if you don’t ask.

Brienne pauses for a moment, as if she’s mulling over your question in her head. Her lips curl into a small smile - the special one, the one reserved for you, the one you feared you might never see again. She turns her head and meets your gaze in the semi-darkness. “Yes,” she says decisively. 

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but Brienne sleeps through the night.

---

A/N: I know this is truly a very ~niche~ fic, but if you made it to the end, thank you! This fic popped into my head late last year when I was obsessed with Yellowjackets and kind of imagined a Yellowjackets-type scenario with Brienne - the smut was actually the first thing I wrote, and then I wrote the rest around that. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[alishaaxo]

List of All Elia Martell-centric fics I enjoy:

Elia Martell And The Crown She Didn’t Want: AU where she marries Baelor Hightower yet Rhaegar is longing for her, which is unreciprocated.

Two Father’s, One Son: Everyone Lives AU where Jon Snow dies unexpectedly and Elia comes back to KL, married to Baelor Hightower.

The Isle Of Faces Does Not Welcome: Elia and Rhaegar have a third child, and Elia confronts Lyanna. No bashing of her, from Lyanna’s POV.

Clean AU: Elia and children are missing, assumed dead for 15 years, until a mystery knight returns to KL, claiming the blue roses his mother deserves.

The Queen And Her Bastard: Everyone Lives AU. Legitimised bastard Jon with sympathetic Lyanna slowly turned more cunning against Elia. Jon-Aegon have positive relationship, in spite of their mother’s ambitions.

The Brightest Sun: Elia and kids transported to Harry Potter Epilogue era. Train and arrive to Westeros during GOT. 200K words.

Poetry is what he thought, but did not say: Erik Kilmonger as Rhaegar. Ruthless Elia with ruthless Rhaegar who has a controversial temperament and bad reputation. Interesting dynamic with Barristan, Arthur and Aerys.

Dragons spin and spin: Spiders weave and weave: Mainly Elia Martell AU oneshot collection, with other characters included.

A tigress, not a woman: Elia Martell scorned by Rhaegar, wants for a annulment. Elia beloved by the Smallfolk.

Poison is a Woman’s Weapon: Queen Regent Elia watches on as Aegon gets crowned, reminiscing on the past.

An unexpected news item: Elia Martell gets shocking news. Very exaggerated bashing of Lyanna.

With Careful Hands and A Strong Chin: Doran died as a babe, Elia is the heir to Dorne. Arthur-Elia.

With Duty In Mind: Elia and Rhaella clean up Rhaegar’s messes.

Gone Girl: Elia dies only to wake up before her wedding. She runs away, with Rhaegar following suit in her trail in regret.

In The Chaos Of A World: Rhaegar dies while Lyanna and Elia live to see Robert ascend. Robert-Elia not in a romantic light, but political.

Caged Beasts And Cloudy Skies: Braime-centric, yet Elia-focused as they wish to crown her after the scorn from R+L, and bring her to rest at her homeland.

Lex Talionis: SIOC of Elia, takes the war into her own hands. Jaime-Elia centric.

Lady of Stormsend: Annulled Elia-Rhaegar, yet Elia married Robert and jealousy and resentment arises.

From Where Blessings Flow: Robert and Elia marry, yet the Realm is not settled as Aegon and Rhaenys grow. With Rhaenys-Viserys.

Living With Regret Of The Chance Not Taken: Rhaegar and Lyanna are married, while Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys are missing… until they are not. And life turns on it’s head. No bashing, just critical of R+L.

Planetos React: Modern AU react to historical figures Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys and Jaime found within tombs, and go wild on tumblr.

But A Woman Is A Changling (always shifting shape: My fic!! Selfless promo! Elia has a green-dress moment ala Alicent where she shows pride in her heritage and snarks towards Rhaegar and Lyanna.

This is all the Elia-centric fics I know of and enjoy! If you have any, please comment them and I’ll add them to this masterlist!!

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks!

Hello and welcome to this new story.

The premise is quite simple: in another universe, Colin is about to get married to Marina. Somehow, on the day before his wedding, he arrives at the Featherington estate. Colin and Pen welcome him...

How this meeting will change his life?

(Inspired by a braime fic with a similar concept).

Let's start with this first chapter.

Enjoy.

--

First part | second part | third part | fourth part | fifth part | sixth part | seventh part | octave part | ninth part | tenth part | eleventh part

---

Colin was nervous.

He thought that probably every man who was about to get married was nervous, twenty-four hours before the event.

He was about to say yes to Marina - sweet, caring Marina. Yes, he knew she was already pregnant, she told him before their courtship become serious. Of course, he would still marry her. What kind of man would he be if he would retire just because of that?

Still, he was nervous.

He took his horse for a ride - just to calm a bit. And maybe to seek guidance.

Unbidden, his thoughts went to Pen. He would certainly be in need of her advice, still they haven't managed to talk since the wedding was confirmed.

He hoped to see her tomorrow at the ceremony...

His eyes catched something in front of him , but lost in his thought as he was, he didn't notice until the very last minute the branches that were on his way.

He fell off the horse - his last thought before passing out was "I hope I don't miss my wedding because of this".

Colin woke up some time after.

It was impossible to tell how long, but some hours must have passed, because the sun was in a different position.

Looking around him he realized he must have gone further than he realized, because he was way on his way to the Featherington estate. Strange, he want even going in that direction.

His horse was missing - probably run away (Anthony was going to kill him). Still, after a good ten minute walk with a massive headache, he realized he was just outside the Featherington estate.

Bloody hell.

How long was his ride?

Still, there was no doubt that was the Featherington estate.

It look a bit different. Like some renovation were just finished.

No one told him about this.

Still, he thought that it would be best to go inside, ask the servants to give him a horse so he would be able to come back to Mayfair in time for his wedding (maybe?? He would had to ride all night, but that was the only solution he could thought off).

Colin thought it was best to avoid the main entrance and going straight to the servant one - thankfully he knew how to get there.

Night was approaching fat, or he would observe several things he would not recognize.

A swing for children hanging from a large branch; a bench with a B and a F combined together;

What he did notice was a couple of lovers - most likely servants, being loud and proud of doing God knows what outside.

Propriety dictated he should chastised them. Still, he could not look away.

It was clear they knew more than him.

He hoped that Marina was not asking for a performance, because he knew what to do only in theory...

A small light hit the woman of the couple. Fiery red hair, and he knew that profile anywhere. That was Pen.

He was shocked.

Pen. Kissing a man like that!

What was she doing here by the way?

Did she lie to him about helping for the wedding?

He was just about to turn around and go to Mayfair by foot ( a crazy ide, still better that to acknowledge the weird feeling in his stomach) when finally the man's face was revealed to him.

He stopped in his track and stood there, because the man Pen was kissing was him.

A few years older perhaps... But it was cleary him.

He was caressing Pen with a intimacy that made his stomach turn.

A small gasp made the couple aware of his presence.

The older Colin looked up and smirked.

"Sweetheart, we have guests" he said, and when Pen noticed him too Colin did the only thing he made sense to him.

He passed away again.

Tbc

[maidentarth]

as much as i love braime with all my heart i wish ppl would talk ab brienne more individually and her character because i truly am obsessed with her!!! i think she’s one of the most revolutionary female characters ever tbh (i think a lot of the asoiaf girls are kinda revolutionary but that’s because they’re much more well written than a lot of characters) like when do creators ever let they’re supposedly “masculine” female characters be soft and genuinely empathetic as well as heroic?? when do creators ever let a woman be ugly! like the complexity of her never being able to fit in anywhere, she’s not allowed to be woman because she’s ugly and the society she’s born in can’t even stomach her and when she tries to defy the gender roles that said society won’t even let her fit into by picking up sword she’s mocked and ridiculed and her womahood is stripped of her even more and tells her to be more like a woman !!! JUST RAHHHHH i love her sm i’m sorry ab this rant i’m tired and have been thinking ab her. BEFORE I END FHIS RANT i fuckjng HATE HATE HATE d&ds depiction of brienne they could not understand even what her arc was ab!!! they stripped her of everything she is!!! her loyalty, her naivety, her empathy, her heroism ITS ALL JUST GONE!!! instead they decide to make her the stereotypical badass androgynous warrior woman and like there’s nothing wrong with that trope hell i like it but all the nuance surrounding her arc and her gender are just gone. i would’ve loved to see gwen play a book accurate brienne because i loveee gwen and she is what saved show brienne for me

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Actually, actually, actually! Idea! (But only if you like it.)

In HoS, it has literally been 10,000 years since all 3 died.

What if Shadow wasn't supposed to be all-the-way back? And the only reason he is is due to being the Hero?

What about Hemisi & Nabooru?

Who's to say Gdorf's magic would've even worked on them? What if they were already reincarnated by that point?

What if, even reviving their bodies would've resulted in little more than mindless puppets? (Honestly, I kinda wanna read about the shear horror on both their faces. Like, horror & panic on Gdorf's end & horror, but slight relief on Shadow's. Because he can only hope that whatever's keeping Nabooru from suffering the same fate as himself means that she's free.)

What if the only way to get them back fully was to do some pretty dark, nasty stuff? Like, legit bad, horrible stuff? What if Gdorf has to sacrifice their new incarnations to do so?

What if, in order to even bring Shadow back, he'd already done something bad? Though, due to the Hero's Spirit, he was able to get away with just the sacrifice of someone who'd been related to Shadow? Like a great x1000 times grandnephew or something?

What if Shadow learned of this? The betrayal.

Like, massive dark spell stuff. Which, I've always found it weird that he & the Twinrova were the legit only Gerudo with that shading, yet each of them used black magic.

So, that's what I think causes it. Black magic. Like, legit evil deeds.

Who knows, maybe that stuff actually corrupts the mind the more you use it? What if you have to stop cold turkey to stop the process?

What if Gdorf had stopped doing that stuff, but the Secret Stone tapped into that source & now it's sort of rotting his brain away?

Also, what's the deal with the Twinrova here? They evil witches? No?

Sorry, when I get started, my braims refuse to shut up. 😓

Don't be sorry, you're fine! ;D It's fun to talk theories and ideas!

Ganondorf would be so devastated if Nabooru and Hemisi were just mindless puppets, I think. But I also think he wouldn't give up. He'd just be like "Well, this is a setback, but at least they'll listen to me until I can figure this out better." I don't know if Link would feel much relief from it or just be plain horrified, it would feel like such a desecration to him.

If they'd actually reincarnated, though, and if Ganondorf needed to sacrifice them to revive them, I wonder whose Nabooru would be? The best person I can think of is Urbosa, which, uh, makes things difficult. Should've thought that one through, Gan, before your stupid Calamity wrecked teh place! >:|

But anyway, Ganondorf isn't using black magic - Urbosa and Riju have lightning magic, which Gdorf also has in OoT, so honestly it seems very much like the Hyurle Royal Family - they just have a high affinity for it. (also, not gonna lie, Twinrova plays absolutely no part in this storyline because I don't know what to do with those two, honestly)

What Ganondorf does have, though, which is unusual for his people, is healing magic. I thought it would be interesting to give him this gift, it would add another layer to him as a character, especially since he actually cultivated it a little. Here's a snippet from a draft I have tucked away (I have been writing entirely too much for this AU LOL I am gonna have to make a word document to organize it, honestly):

“Here, let me see your hands,” Ganondorf said, pushing Link away enough to gently grab at his wrists. He flipped the teenager’s palms up, thumbs brushing against them as Link hissed in pain. His skin was blistered angry red from burns, standing out easily against his all-too-pale, practically grayish complexion, and he knew his face probably was too. Ganondorf swiped at his hands again with his thumbs, and Link felt a tingling, warm sensation on them. The pain numbed into nothingness, and he glanced down, confused. The burns were gone. “How—you know healing magic?” He whispered, looking up at the man. “Is it the stone?” Ganondorf smiled a little, brushing hair out of his face to examine a burn on his nose. “Secret stones only amplify one’s power, Link. Of course I know healing magic. You thought I didn’t?” Link hesitated a moment before just saying what was on his mind, looking down and muttering, “I thought all you knew how to do was destroy.” “One has to burn the forest to make way for new growth,” Ganondorf replied simply, easily, as if it were just like gardening, as if people’s lives weren’t at stake. “A good king must know how to rebuild as well as how to destroy.” “You’re just full of idioms, aren’t you?” Link sighed. It was almost funny, having this conversation. Almost. “Because I’m right,” Ganondorf said firmly. “Nabooru and Hemisi didn’t seem to think so.”

[anthonycrowley]

ALSO i went in the braime tag the other day and nikolaj is still a fucking warrior for the ship. if you were wondering. like six months ago he was promoing something and was like jaime should have married brienne :/ king you don’t have to promo the show anymore it went so terribly that we’re all gone. he’s doing that for himself. he’s like my own personal misha collins complete with the cringefail. the ship literally answers the question what if destiel was straight.

[wulfhalls]

[Morticia Addams voice] You've gone too far. Your Daemon takes. Your love of a mid show about Rome. All that I can forgive, but Username-Formerly-Iskariot... finding Braime boring?

(Jk love you queen, but I love my pathetic 30yo fail man trying to find redemption in the eyes of a 19yo girl who has lost her gay bestie because he girl bossed too hard and has just just been asked to Uber this loser home)

and by god I'm glad we can all have such varied experiences with fiction! but to me it just does not hit in any way lol

[entireoranges]

I’m sad. It looks like the Braime YouTube video of all their scenes; minus season 8 (I believe it was made before then) is gone. It was like 45-55 minutes and I watched more times then I should admit. Had an urge to watch again as I said its gone. Tried every possible word combinations I could think of, changed filters, etc… nope. Some of the scenes are on other videos, not all of them and even ones that are don’t feel the same. I wonder if YouTube removed it for copyright claims or if the individual who made took it down? Ultimately it doesn’t matter. I just know I miss it.

[atopvisenyashill]

asoiaf songs

i used to make playlists and fanmixes allllll the time (rip 8tracks, you were a real one) and I had a lil mini asoiaf to listen to when i was reading, i'm gonna subject everyone to the songs now.

time to pretend - bran stark

I'll miss the comfort of my mother And the weight of the world I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home Yeah, I'll miss the boredom And the freedom and the time spent alone But there is really nothing, nothing we can do Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew

there was a gifset with this song that i saw years ago and i dug through my entire asoiaf tag on my other blog and couldn't find it i'm devastated!!!

the parting glass (the version from twd with emily kinney and lauren cohan) - starklings

but since it falls unto my lot that i should rise and you should not i’ll gently rise and i’ll softly call goodnight and joy be with you all

swear to god, right after the red wedding aired, someone made a sad ass starklings graphic with those line and it ruined my whole year and once again i can't find it.

bang bang (my baby shot me down) - theon/robb

Now he's gone, I don't know why And 'til this day, sometimes I cry He didn't even say goodbye He didn't take the time to lie Bang bang, he shot me down Bang bang, I hit the ground Bang bang, that awful sound Bang bang, my baby shot me down

until we bleed - jon/ygritte

You wasted your times On my heart you've burned And if bridges gotta fall Then you'll fall, too Doors slam, lights black You're gone, come back Stay gone, stay clean I need you to need me So we're bound to linger on We drink the fatal drop Then love until we bleed Then fall apart in parts

(this one came from my seventeen year old brain and they're a genius for it honestly)

blood in the water - cersei lannister

Now I am the violence I am the sickness Won't accept your silence Beg me for forgiveness We'll never get free Lamb to the slaughter What you gon' do when there's blood in the water? The price of your greed, your son and your daughter What you gon' do when there's blood in the water?

(also just my brain, although really, you could apply this song to a lot of characters, i just think it fits cersei's story the best)

king - rhaenyra/daenerys

The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most But you need your rotten heart Your dazzling pain like diamond rings You need to go to war to find material to sing I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king I need my golden crown of sorrow My bloody sword to swing My empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king

would that i - braime

With each love I cut loose I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Laying waste to my lovin' long ago And it's not tonight Where I'm set alight And I blink in sight Your blinding light Oh, it's not tonight You hold me tight And the fire bright Oh, let it blaze alright, honey Oh, but you're good to me Oh, you're good to me Oh, but you're good to me, baby

(this one was my brain too, although recent obviously)

no sound but the wind - robb stark

We can never go home We no longer have one I'll help you carry the load I'll carry you in my arms We walk through the ash And the charred remains of our country Keep an eye on my back I'll keep an eye on the road Help me to carry the fire To keep it alight together Help me to carry the fire This road won't go on forever

immigrants we get the job done - varys

Man, I was brave, sailing on graves Don't think I didn't notice those tombstones disguised as waves I'm no dummy, here is something funny, you can be an immigrant without risking your lives Or crossing these borders with thrifty supplies All you got to do is see the world with new eyes

endless night - bran stark

You promised you'd be there Whenever I needed you Whenever I call your name You're not anywhere I'm trying to hold on Just waiting to hear your voice One word, just a word will do To end this nightmare I know that the night must end And that the sun will rise And that the sun will rise

THIS IS MY ULTIMATE BRAN SONG.

[spacephobos]

The lovers

[slothishlife]

raise your hand if you’ve pulled an all nighter to read an entire fic

i wanna know how many of us crazy dumb fic addicts are out there :)

[nooooooooooooooooooooone]

listen, I can recognise that there are many issues with the portrayal of women in asoiaf, and i could definitely do with fewer instances of boobscription, but I can also recognise that Brienne of Tarth is among the most important and beautifully written female characters in the history of fantasy lit, and for that, i’ll be honest, i’m willing to forgive grrm damn near anything

[eryiscrye]

5. one night stand and falling pregnant au + braime

#5-One Night Stand and Falling Pregnant AU

Going to 100% admit that SpiderWEB is not from my pebble brain but from DefinietlyAHumanBean’s galaxy brain from when they commented on The Ties That Bind. I hope Anon enjoy’s and I’m sorry the pregnancy doesn’t get quite as much airtime... it was just a good place to end 😅

Brienne wanted to tear her hair out and scream. How hard was it to find the hottest person in Westeros? Really, she should have been able to type in blonde hair + green eyes + GOD into SpiderWEB and he should have been the first result that sprung up. But no, he was not the first result. He wasn’t even the second. He didn’t appear any where on the first or - Seven forbid she had actually clicked them in sheer desperation - the second or the third page. She had tried altering her search terms to include descriptions like golden, and emerald, and Warrior, but none of those had worked either.

Had his sheer hotness been a figment of her imagination. She wouldn’t put it past her. Her first and, she determined, her only one night stand, and she had done it all wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Who learned everything about a guy and then fucked him without at least getting his first name?

And this was the problem. They had talked about everything in that dimly lit, medieval style, frankly ridiculous bar. From her childhood traumas to how she was trying to get past them, from his mistakes to his future hopes and dreams. Most relevantly, they had talked about how both of them dreamed about having children of their own, a family they both never really had, and how neither of them really knew how to make that into their reality.

Brienne put a hand over her flat stomach. Well, this was probably not what he had meant by a family, a slap dash one-night stand where the contraception had gone wrong. But still, maybe he deserved to know that she was going to keep it so that he could have a chance at being a dad, no other strings attached and no obligations if he didn’t. 

Brienne groaned as she looked at her watch. She would have to continue her search of him another day. She needed to get to the studio. Grabbing her camera bag and her other bag full of gear, Brienne exited her apartment and began to make her way towards downtown. 

She didn’t know what to think about her client today, some rich heir who up until this point had somehow avoided getting his photo taken and was only doing so now because he wouldn’t be just an heir for much longer. Her client’s agent had told her, in quite unprofessional exasperation, that her client often thought that he was “too hot to handle”, but the tongue-in-cheek tone of the agent’s voice did make her wonder if it was true. Not the hot part, the part about the fact that someone actually thought that about themselves.

Brienne had disregarded the middle name of her client, which the agent had given her, knowing that “fookin’” was definitely not right, and had tried to SpiderWEB one “Jaime Lannister”. There wasn’t even a single pap photo of him. How an heir to a fortune managed that, she would never know. His twin though, who looked oddly familiar, was splashed everywhere.

Brienne sighed as she reached her studio and unlocked the door. Podrick would be arriving to help assist in about half an hour, but the first part of the day was always her own. 

It gave her time to reintroduce herself to all of her equipment, feel the weight of her camera in her hands, play with the way the sun would affect the lighting, and just in general, breath the successes, the good things, in her life in. Today, it also allowed her to think more of the mysterious stranger who she had bedded.

She had woken up in a hotel room, the morning after, a little bit hung over, sore, and covered in hickeys, finger print bruises, and light abrasions that must have been from his beard. He had been nowhere in sight, his clothes gone, and she had snuck out as quickly as she could. It made her a little bit sad to know that she hadn’t been anything more than a quick - well not quick, they had gone on for hours - fuck, but at least she would always have the hazy memories of the best sex of her life. 

Brienne sighed again. Maybe he didn’t want to hear from her. Maybe everything he had told her had been a wonderfully fabricated lie. Though… she didn’t think that a man who looked like him would need a sweet and vulnerable back story to tumble any woman he wanted.

Podrick arrived five minutes early with two cups of coffee, which they drank together as they discussed which sets to pull out for the session. If their client liked the first set of shots, then the next time they would go off-site to some of Brienne’s favourite places to take photos.

Exactly an hour after Podrick arrived, a brown haired man charged into the studio with a loud clattering of the bell that hung over her door. “You Brienne Tarth?” he asked and held out his hand.

“You must be Bronn,” Brienne greeted and shook it. 

He nodded at her, “Jaime’ll be in in a minute. He’s just being all moony on the phone, has been all week. The love sick twat. Can’t even do casual sex right.”

Brienne raised her eyebrow at the easy familiarity of which Bronn discussed his client, even with him right outside. It said a lot about Jaime Lannister if he tolerated this kind of lip service and she kind of liked him already.

The bell above her door rang, “Have you already turned the photographer against me, Bronn? I only gave you about a minute.”

Brienne turned and held out her hand, “No Mr. Lannister, he…”

And there he was, her golden haired, emerald eyed, Warrior God.

Jaime Lannister dropped his phone in shock while letting out a breathy, “You…”

Bronn looked between them, “Oh! So she’s the one you’ve been desperately searching for. Thank the fookin’ Seven, I’ll never have to listen to you mooning after her again.”

Bronn was right, but he was also wrong. He never stopped hearing about Brienne and then, nine months later, Evie Tarth-Lannister ever again.