#jaime is - unfortunately - not even his own right hand arm man

[chippedcupwrites]

[context]

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Always (or Dani, the collector of souls falls in love and Miles keeps passing out during the entire story)

If you were, hypothetically, of course, to visit a place in England called Bly Manor, you would most likely meet an odd group of people. You would see two children, one an absolute angel, the other a teenage, snarky brat of a boy, who are probably being supervised by a stern, yet extremely capable looking woman. You would probably be shown around the house by the sweetest housekeeper in the world, probably be offered lemon cakes by a tall man who looks at the aforementioned housekeeper with all the stars in his eyes. And maybe, just maybe in the middle of it all, you might glance outside and see a woman standing by herself in the garden. At first you would think she’s just moving casually, maybe dancing on her own; and then you would see that her movement has a pattern. It almost seems as though.... no, it couldn’t be.  

“Is that woman,” you would ask, hesitantly, not wishing to offend these people and some potential strange ritual of theirs, “talking to herself?”

The housekeeper (Hannah, you think she’s called) glances outside and chuckles. “Oh, that,” she says. “That’s just Jamie. Jaime’s the gardener. She’s just talking to her girlfriend.”

You would resist the urge to rub at your eyes. “Her.... her girlfriend?”

“Well, technically Dani hasn’t asked her yet,” the cook cuts in, smiling. “But it’s on the way, I assure you.”

You would look from the strange, solitary woman, to their frank, open faces, and then back to the solitary woman again, and you would think.

You would think Why, these people are absolutely fucking bonkers.

*****

(They’re really not)

*****

The first time Jamie saw the woman, it was from across the grounds, which is why it took her crossing halfway the distance to realize that she was breakdancing.

Then again, she had also got other things on her mind. Peter Fucking Quint had to go and fall off the parapet while attempting to rob the Wingraves of their old jewelry the night before last, and between helping Hannah communicate with the police, ensuring Owen received an adequate number of head pats every hour to calm him down, and offering Rebecca a listening ear for both murderous rants and angry tears, she had her hands completely full. And that wasn’t even including the kids, although they seemed to be doing fairly alright. Thankfully they had not seen the body. However, that didn’t deter Miles, who was currently going through a bit of a Hannibal phase, from popping up at random intervals to ask her what broken bones looked like, or if the blood had frozen overnight.

All in all, pretty exhausting.

Which is why the sight of the children standing in front of a breakdancing woman didn’t register at first. She was pulling out the weeds, sun high in the sky, sweat tracing an uncomfortable path down her back when something made her look up. One double take, and she was scrambling in their direction.

She reached them, panting, raised her head after her breath was a little more even and looked right at the woman, who was currently doing the robot. “Um,” she started, unsure of where to go from there. “Are — are you quite alright?”

The woman stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open. “You can see me?”

Okay, this woman was clearly mental. “Yes?”

The woman looked even more astounded. “You really can?” she turned to Flora next. “You too?”

Flora blinked. “Yes, we can.”

“But that’s impossible! You shouldn’t be able to see me. In fact—”

“Jaime, darling,” Miles cut in the middle of what seemed to be the beginning of a rapidly delivered monologue. “Could you escort this.... clearly insane lady outside?”

Jaime thwack-ed the side of his head gently. “Wanna try that again? Nicely?”

He looked sheepish. Not really a bad kid, that one, she thought. Just annoying.

“But you really shouldn’t be able to see me. By all calculations, it’s completely—”

“Well, why not?” Miles asked, now having warmed to the idea of possibly talking to someone who was crazy.

The woman brightened up. “Well, because,” she said, “this, I guess.”

And then she snapped her fingers, disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the lake, where she waved at them excitedly.

Flora is the only one who waved back. Jamie was too busy supporting the weight of a now-collapsed Miles.

*****

Jamie thought it was patently unfair that the reaper of souls was just so damn cute.

(They weren’t supposed to be cute! They were supposed to look gaunt and hollow, and angry and sad, not like sunshine wrapped up in a very human looking package. They weren’t supposed to be walking around with bright, blue, gorgeous eyes, and faces that seemed to have been sculpted by some divine power up there, and a voice that was sweet and soothing enough to put Jamie right to sleep.)

“It’s amazing how all of you can see me,” the reaper of souls, or Dani, as she had introduced herself, said, looking wide-eyed at all of them. Rebecca and a recently awakened Miles were the only ones who looked actively concerned, standing in the corner. Owen and Hannah were, as ever, polite and pleasant, if a little curious. Flora was already settled in next to Dani, asking her questions a mile a minute. And Jamie was—

(Very fucking annoyed at how pretty Dani was)

—completely alright.

“And you’re here to get Peter?” Owen asked her, with a sideways look in Rebecca’s direction.

“Oh yes,” Dani replied. “And boy, was that man a pain. Really whiny. Went all Boohoo I can’t be dead, I’m supposed to do so many things, I’m so cool and awesome and. Ugh. Annoying is what he was. I mean, the list says Peter Quint — died while trying to steal from Bly Manor; what am I supposed to do?”

They all nodded, a little dazed.

“And then I saw the kids and I was bored and I thought they couldn’t see me anyways so,” she continued, and then looked down, suddenly a little shy. “I really am sorry about the.... you know, breakdancing. I honestly thought nobody could see me.”

“It’s okay, it was cute,” Jamie found herself saying before she had time to process, and then wanted to stab herself with the fork lying on the table. If that didn’t work, bang her head on the surface until she bled to death. Or—

“Thank you,” Dani said, equally as quiet.

Jamie closed her eyes, willed her body to fall dead right then and there.

(It didn't work, unfortunately)

“Would you like to stay for supper?” he heard Owen ask their guest.

“Supper?” Dani asked. “Wait, is it already that late?”

Jamie looked up a moment later, when she heard everybody scream and then she opened her eyes to see a stranger standing right near the stove.

“Viola!” Dani said, alarmed. “I thought I sent a message I was gonna be late.”

The woman looked very haughty, very angry and (this is something she hated to admit, again, but) very fucking hot. Seriously. What was with these underworld people and ridiculously angelic skin? Her gaze moved past all of them, came to rest on Dani.

“I got your message alright,” she announced, blithely. “Just couldn’t figure out why you were still here.”

Dani chuckled, nervously. “So, funny story, but as it turns out — these people can — uh, see us?”

Viola tilted her head, regarded her. “Are you sure?”

“Hello,” Hannah said, ever the gracious host. “Welcome to Bly Manor.”

Viola looked flabbergasted now, doing a double take to look at all of them more carefully.

“They can see us?”

Dani nodded, gingerly.

“Seriously?”

Another nod.

“But that can’t be—”

“—Viola, I know, but—”

“—it simply cannot be allowed—”

“—absolutely not I know what you’re thinki—”

“—We have to end them!”

There was another whoosh right next to Jamie’s ear, and she took her time, turning around, only to see another pissed-off, hot woman, standing in the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“I didn’t even say kill!” Viola protested.

“You implied it!”

Their standoff was interrupted by a violent, abrupt thud. It seemed Miles had fainted again.

*****

Jamie walked into the greenhouse, paused and smiled.

“You cannot surprise me,” she said, aloud.

There was movement behind her, and then Dani walked into view.

“How do you always know I’m here?”

Jamie stayed quiet. There wasn’t a good, less-embarrassing way to say The air dances when you’re around, or I can feel your presence in the back of my neck, in the way my heart starts skipping steps on whatever treadmill it is currently running on.  

“Let me keep my secrets,” she answered.

Dani stayed beside her, as she started on the rose plants, a safe distance away, safe enough for Jamie to not feel like she would combust. “I got you something.”

“You’ve already given me so many things,” Jamie told her, hand rubbing at the back of her neck. It was true. Every time Dani had dropped in the past month, she’d brought little trinkets from her travels all over the world.  

(Travels was an excellent way of describing the action of harvesting the grumpy souls of the dead)

One time there had been crepes from Paris, courtesy the tourist guide who passed of a heart attack in a café. Another time it was one of Cerberus’ treats, because Jamie was eternally curious as to what hell dogs actually ate. The bone had been framed and now lay on one of her shelves back at home. One day, she had gotten macarons that Owen had scarfed down before Dani could get around to telling him they were filled with the eternal cries of the dead.

(He’d spent the entire day walking around convinced he was going to die. The doctor said it was indigestion)

She opened the neatly wrapped box and picked up the pomegranate. Turned it around in her hand, examined it.

“Aren’t these supposed to tie me down to the Underworld forever?” she asked, only half-serious.

“Gosh, no,” Dani said, nervously chuckling. “These are not that kind.”

Jamie waited.

“Um, so these,” Dani went on, “these seeds are kind of multi-purpose things? So basically you can eat them, but these seeds, when planted, they can grow any plant in the world. Doesn’t matter what soil they’re on. I mean, I heard you mention that flower you’ve always wanted to grow, but England doesn’t have the climate suited to it and — well. This would work.”

If Jamie could speak, this is what she would have said: I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t know why you’re here, why you give me so much of your precious time, time that you could be walking around the whole world in. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around me, how to breathe, how to look, and I’m an utter godforsaken mess, but I’m eternally grateful you barged into our lives a while ago. I don’t know what I was doing before you came. I hope you never leave.

She would have said I know you collect souls, but there’s at least one heart lying in that bag of yours, and there’s a good chance it’s mine.

As it is, all she did was grab onto Dani’s hand, and squeeze.

*****

“You have got to stop doing that!” Owen gasped, hand on his heart.

Dani shrugged from on where she was now perched on top of the table, sitting directly in front of an open-mouthed Miles. “Hannah always knows when I’m here.”

“That’s because I really do have eyes everywhere,” Hannah turned around, smiled brightly at Dani. “Spaghetti?”

“I’ve been asking you for the past five minutes!” Jamie said, indignantly.

“Well, now we know who’s her favorite,” Dani shoots an infuriatingly smug grin in her direction, and pats the top of her head and—

Jamie would feel annoyed if her heart wasn’t racing and there wasn’t a blush fighting to make its way up her cheeks. This love thing was annoying.

(Not that it was love, of course. Certainly not)

“As charming as that sounds, Hannah darling,” Dani continued, “I actually came for a purpose.”

“Is it to set murderers on us again?”

“No, Miles,” Dani replied, patiently. “Plus, Viola and Perdita wouldn’t really have.... killed you. Maimed you, at best.”

Rebecca shuddered delicately on the other side of the table.

“Remember when you said you’d had a bit of a dinosaur phase when you were a kid?” Dani directed this towards Jamie.

“... yes?”

“Well,” Dani snapped her fingers, and to their extreme horror, a parrot sized creature appeared next to her, “meet Battery!”

“—completely house trained,” she heard Dani explaining to Hannah, while she extended a hand towards (what was he called? Right) Battery. He opened his mouth, stepped closer, licked the entire length of her finger with a long, slimy tongue, and then immediately nipped at her nail.

(Jamie may or may not be helplessly charmed)

Before she could say anything, however, Miles fell from his chair onto the kitchen floor.

Rebecca sighed, got up from her chair. “You guys know there’s going to be permanent brain damage if he keeps doing that.”

*****

About three things went wrong the day Jamie decided she was finally going to tell Dani she was in love with her.

The first thing was that she needed to get drunk, and decided to trust Owen and Hannah to deliver. The second was that Battery wasn’t adequately educated in the intricacies of human weirdness and tended to panic at the first sign of strange behavior. Third, lakes weren’t the most romantic places to confess your love, but apparently nobody had told Jamie this.

So when she found herself flailing for breath after having somehow made her way to the middle of the lake in a makeshift lifeboat and then having upturned it in the process, she only had herself to blame.

“What,” Dani started, looking absolutely furious, hair all over the place as she held Jamie up, “the fuck were you doing in the middle of the lake?”

“Hey!” Jamie sang, because the alcohol was making her feel very sing-song-y, “You shouldn’t be here yet! It’s not time!”

“Battery panicked and summoned me,” Dani explained. “Are — are you drunk?”

“No, she’s not!” Hannah called out from where she and Owen had just reached the lake. “We gave her loads of strong bitter soda and convinced her it was watered down whiskey.”

(Now that she was thinking about it, the whiskey had seemed pretty fizzy for her liking)

“Oh,” she Jamie, now sobered up. “But I was drowning.”

“Yeah, in about five feet of water.”

Well, that was anticlimactic.

*****

At midnight, she sat by the lake, covered in a warm, fuzzy blanket Dani had draped all over her. Dani sat beside her, Battery on her lap, smiling at her from time to time.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, out of nowhere, and Jamie didn’t have the heart to disagree. “What am I even going to do with you?”

“You could,” Jamie started, ponderously, like she hadn’t spent three months of her life thinking this over, like her heart wasn’t an over-excited ping-pong in her chest right now, “you could always take me out on a date, you know?”

“Really?” Dani murmured. “Well, that’s a novel idea.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Depends. Would you be okay dating someone who is almost constantly grumpy from carrying around beleaguered souls all day?”  

Jamie pretended to think. “I think so, yes.”

“Someone who regularly hangs out with a murder-friendly woman?”

“.... maybe?”

“How about someone who may have to keep going away for lengths of time?”

Jamie turned to her. “Would that someone come back to me, though?”

Dani’s eyes were shiny and hopeful, and she felt her breath get stuck in her throat like a lovesick little fool. “Always,” Dani whispered.

“Well, then,” Jamie whispered back to her, and then leaned in for the most picture-perfect happy ending of all time.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Warrior Queen

Request: Hey can u do Rhaegar x reader where rhaegar survive the battle and she is his Wife instead of Elia martell and the mother of his children she is very kind witty knows how to fight and is beautiful and angry at him and lyanna ( she survives) but loves little Jon since she doesn’t blame a parents sin on the child and rhaegar tries to win her trust and love since he loves her and reader tells him she was pregnant but lost it when she tried to protect the children and a lot of angst but fluff plea. Requested by anon.

Request: Hey can u do a rhaegar x reader where he wins the Robert rebellion and lyanna survive to and the reader is is wife instead of Elia and the mother of his children’s the reader is loved by many she is sassy beautiful treats the poor people with respect and is a deadly warrior she love little Jon as her own but is angry at rhaegar and lyanna since her children almost dies and lost on while protect the children rhaegar who is madly in love with Her tries to win her back some angst and fluff please. Requested by anon.

Request: Au rhaegar x wife reader where rhaegar survives and reader is angry at him and lyanna but adores Jon rhaegar tries to win her back but she refuse and can’t look at him without thinking how her children’s are dead because he decide to marry another man women . Can the reader be immune to fire and tells rhaegar she was pregnant but lose it while trying to save their children’s please (rhaegar loves the reader and reader is called the warrior queen. ) please. Requested by anon.

Warnings: violence, miscarriage, cheating, angst!

Word Count: 2149.

There were rumors about Rhaegar being with another woman, but you decided to trust your husband over silly people’s words. How foolish of you! Then Lyanna Stark was supposedly kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar, but you knew better. He took her away, fearing what you might have done to her out of rage. Her father and oldest brother came to plead with your father in law, but he killed them, starting a war, which was called the Robert Rebellion.

At first, you thought he was sleeping around with some random whore because you were pregnant. Since,men tend to do that due to the lack of sex, but you never thought Rhaegar would be one of those men. After all, he was kind, gentle, loving and caring. For all the years you’ve been together, he’s been nothing but good to you. Never raised his voice or hand on you.

The two of you met, while you were training. He immediately noticed your skills and instead of announcing himself, he decided to fight you with a knight’s helm on. You came close to defeating him, but he won. He was the first man to ever defeat you. You were curious to know who that man was and at that moment he revealed himself. Instead of bowing down to him, you complimented his fighting skills as if he was a normal man. That’s what he liked about you. You treated him like anyone else. With kindness and respect but not as if he was in a higher class than you or anyone else.

Naturally, you were loved by your people and each one of them would die for you.

Flashforward to the war, there were rumors that Rhaegar was killed by Robert Baratheon. The mad king was murdered by Jaime Lannister and the army of the Lannisters sacked the city.

“My lady, we have to go now. The King is dead and there are orders to kill you and the children” your handmaiden entered your room and locked it behind her. Luckily, there was a secret corridor that led to the sea, where a boat awaited you.

“Let’s go! It’s alright, you’re gonna be safe, I promise you” you kissed Aegon and Rhaenys’ forehead.

From the secret corridor, you took the children and stopped by Rhaella’s chambers.

“Your majesty, it’s time to go. King’s Landing has fallen” you informed her.

Unfortunately, she her water broke and she was about to have a baby girl; Daenerys.

“Your majesty, listen to me! You can’t have this child yet. If you do, they are going to kill it in front of you, then they will rape you and when they’re done, they will kill you. We need to move now! Just hold on a little longer” you wrapped her arm around your neck and helped her up and out of the chambers.

Your handmaiden took Viserys, Rhaenys and Aegon ahead of you.

When you reached the boat, you helped the queen on it first and started boarding the children, when three guards appeared.

“Kiyara take the children and leave, now!” You instructed your handmaiden.

“But my Lady-“.

“Do as I say now!” You kissed your children goodbye and as the guards tried to reach them, your Valyrian steel sword blocked their attack. “NOW!” You started fighting them and prevented the guards from reaching the children.

“Just three?” You asked.

“One can take you down” one of the guards said.

“If you’re so sure of yourself, why bring three? I’m the Warrior Queen. Who are you?”.

“I will be remembered as the knight who killed a queen” he smirked.

“Presumably you do live to see another day, do you think people will think that’s honorable. Three soldiers against a pregnant queen? I don’t know what’ll be more dishonoring that or that that queen defeated you and spared your life”.

“You are in no state to win” he looked at your belly and you looked down to see. You had been wounded when you tried to defend the children, but only now did you start to feel it. You feared that your nightmare has come true and that you’re losing your baby. You were so enraged, that you attacked them without thinking, tearing them limb from limb until two of them were dead and the third wounded and begging on the ground for you to spare his life.

“I would have, but you harmed by unborn baby and now I’m gonna rip your heart out with my bare hand” you knelt next to him and took his heart out from him to see before he died.

You may have one this fight, but you’ve lost the war. You lost everything. Your children were gone. Your husband was supposedly dead, the Lannister army control the city now and you were sure that you were losing the child you carried inside of you. You were badly injured and didn’t know what to do next. You lay on the sand next to the dead guards and waited for your death. Until you heard the bells.

A feeling inside of you told you that Rhaegar is still alive and is back with a bigger army.

You took your sword and went back to the city. Tywin Lannister saw you and because he knew he was losing, he wanted Rhaegar to lose as well. He took an arrow, lit it on fire and shot you in the stomach with it. Fire was surrounding your body, but luckily for you, you were wearing war clothes made of Valyrian Steel, so they didn’t melt, exposing your naked body to the world.

You took the arrow out and started bleeding again. You wanted Tywin’s head and you eventually got it.

“H-how?” He was surprised to see that you were immune to fire.

“You don’t have the time to find out” you slit his throat and ripped his head off.

Your army was winning the war and Rhaegar was searching for you, worried that you might have died.

“Y/n! Y/n!” He shouted in the streets of King’s Landing until he saw you from behind. He knew that outfit right away.

You turned to face him, blood all over you. Some of it yours, the rest of your enemies “Rhaegar” you muttered dropping your sword and collapsing on the ground.

—-

“Where are my children?” Was the first thing you asked once you woke up.

“They’re on their way home. You need to rest” Rhaegar placed his hand on yours.

“No, no! I need to see my children”.

“Y/n, you lost a lot of blood. You need to let your wounds heal”.

“You want to talk to me about wounds? How do I let my wounded heart heal? While, I was pregnant with your child, you were fucking Lyanna Stark. Then you dared to run away with her, leaving me and your children alone. Where were you when they sacked the city? Where were you when they almost killed your family? Your mother? Your brother? Your unborn sister? Your children? Me? You were too busy fucking her that your flesh and blood didn’t matter to you”.

“Y/n, I- I’m sorry”.

“Is that all you have to say? That you’re sorry? My baby is dead, isn’t he? His blood is on your hands, but mine as well, for staying here when I knew you’ve gone with her. How foolish of me!” You sat up and tried to leave the bed, but you were too weak to do so.

“Hey, hey, listen to me! It’s not your fault. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I truly am. I will do anything to make it right again”.

“Can you bring me back my dead son? No, I thought so. I want you to leave! When the children are back. I’m going to take them away. Away from here, away from you. Away from the danger that surrounds you”.

“Y/n, don’t do this”.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t”.

“I- I love you”.

“That’s not even a reason to begin with”.

“I’m the king now! I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you”.

“You promised me that a long time ago, but look at us. How can you not let anyone hurt me, when you’ve been doing that all along?”.

“I won’t let you leave! You can’t take away my children from me!”.

“Your children? The same ones you left to die? Now you want to be their father? If it wasn’t for me, they would’ve died and me along with them, leaving you to return to nothing”.

“You need to rest. I will place guards in front of you chambers and a handmaiden and the healer will stay with you” he informed you.

“Are the guards for my protection or to prevent me from leaving?” You asked.

“Both” he admitted.

“I hate you!”.

—-

When Aegon and Rhaenys returned, Rhaegar immediately took them to your room escorted by Kiyara.

“Oh, my babies!” You sat yourself up and they ran towards you to hug you.

You winced from the pain but didn’t let them go.

“Alright. Children! It’s time to go, let your mother rest” Rhaegar instructed.

“No, I just got them back, I won’t lose them again”.

“They are safe here! Nothing will happen to them” Rhaegar reassured you.

“Liar!”.

“My lady” Kiyara bowed and greeted you.

“Kiyara! I’m glad to see you. You’re the only one I can trust in this place” you looked at Rhaegar.

“Then, she’ll stay with the children”.

—-

Days have passed and you were still locked in your chambers. The children would visit you every day, but Rhaegar didn’t let them stay that long. Finally, you have recovered and started walking normally again. Today was the day you’ll get out. You didn’t know what was happening outside those four walls that you confided in.

“I have brought you food” Kiyara entered your chambers and greeted you.

“I’m finally leaving” you expressed.

“About that…” Kiyara seemed uncomfortable.

“What is it, Kiyara?”.

“It- it’s nothing”.

“Everyone out of my chambers!” You ordered the others to leave “you can tell me now, what is it?”.

“It’s…”.

“You’re scaring me! Did something happen to the children?”.

“No. His majesty brought someone back with him” she informed you.

“Lyanna?”.

“Not just her. Aegon-“.

“What does Aegon have to do with it?”.

“He had a child with her a- and named him Aegon. I wanted to tell you so you wouldn’t be surprised when you see them”.

“That monster! He dares bring his mistress and his bastard child to my residency. My city” you were so angry at him. After all, this was a sign of disrespect.

You got dressed and went to the chambers where Rhaegar was having a meeting.

“How dare you do that to me?! What kind of honorless man are you?” You barged into the room.

“Y/n, we can talk about this later. We’re discussing important things”.

“Don’t ever speak about importance again! I’ve had enough. I am leaving you and I’m taking the children with me” you threatened and he immediately ordered the men to get out and close the door behind them.

“What has gotten into you?” He held your upper arms.

“First, I lose my child because of you. Then, I’m confined in my chambers for weeks, only to find out it’s not because of me, but so you could have more fun with her. And now, you bring her and your bastard child here. Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to deserve this?” You crumbled in front of him and he knelt next to you.

“I don’t! I love you! I didn’t tell you before because I wanted you to heal properly and I knew if I told you, you would’ve collapsed again. She’s only here because of my son. He needs his mother. Once he’s old enough, she’ll go back to Winterfell. I do not love her. It was a mistake! But I will not abandon my son, the way I did with you and my other children. Give him a chance!”.

—-

At the beginning, you hated that baby so much and couldn’t bear to look at him. Whenever you were walking in the Red Keep, Lyanna wouldn’t come out of her chambers, but Rhaegar took the child out, for your children to familiarize with him.

With time, you have grown to love him. After all, he was innocent and wasn’t to blame for his parents’ sins. He was like the son you lost. That’s how you treated him, but you called him Jon.

You didn’t let Rhaegar into your chambers or anywhere near you, but he understood. You needed time to heal and you might never forgive him, but he was trying his best to make it up to you for the mistakes he made.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Of Warmth and Growth

pairing: dick grayson x f!reader characters: reader, the team, dick grayson word count: 7.7k+ warnings: angst, self doubt, and boat load of fluff summary: dealing with a broken heart isn’t easy, but your friend megan is hoping to get you out of that fink by inviting you to her holiday party where you meet someone that might help you move on. a/n: there’s a whole story behind this--originally this was started as a requested oneshot, but i couldn’t bring myself to finish it, so i revamped it and wrote a different story that i posted some time ago. fast forward to november, i made it my goal to finish this before the new year, and i was so close, too, but family took priority. there might also be a disconnect, but I really tried smoothing it over, hopefully I did well. anyway, better late than never, though?

Happy Harbour

December 7, 2019

“Sometimes it’s very hard to move on, but once you move on, you’ll realize it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You’ll see.”

You want to laugh bitterly at Megan’s words, but her sympathetic smile and warm gaze are holding you back from doing so. She’s only trying to help, you’re reminded by your conscious as she continues to spew words of healing and bullshit. Utter bullshit. 

Your bitterness wins and you say, “I know,” wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. 

Her smile turns sheepish and she pats your hand affectionately before excusing herself to get more coffee, or to get away from you. You wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, you haven’t exactly been good company to keep around since your break up.

Sighing, your eyes trail to the world on the other side of the small cafe’s window. It’s bustling and full of people with shopping bags, all of them preparing for the holidays. It really is a different world outside, you muse. Everything inside the coffee shop is warmer and cozier—quieter compared to the outside. It almost, almost makes you forget about your broken heart that was ripped and stomped on by the person you thought loved and cared for you, things that you still, unfortunately, feel for them.

Your red-haired friend comes back with two styrofoam cups instead of one, and she sets one down in front of you, taking her seat across from you once more. “I got you another earl grey.”

You pick up the warm styrofoam, enjoying the heat against your palm. “Thank you.”

Megan doesn’t say anything for once, instead she watches the world with you, letting only the soft jazz of the cafe to envelop you. You can tell she’s going over something in her mind, she’s never this quiet unless she’s thinking, and that’s—usually—never a good thing, at least not when it pertains to you. 

It’s not until you’re halfway done with your drink that she finally speaks, having grown restless with her thinking. She’s looking at you, her eyes narrowed and a little shaky, never really making contact with your own, but still facing your direction. “Sooo, I was thinking,” she drawls, “Conner and I are inviting some of our old friends over for a little get together this weekend and I thought, hey, maybe I can convince my best friend in the whole universe to finally meet my other friends, you know, I want us all to be friends and—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right; sorry. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just a few of us watching crappy movies and drinking spiked eggnog, maybe play some games or something.” She reaches for your hand holding your drink and finally meets your eyes. “And I really want you to be there. What do you say, huh?”

“Megan,” you start warningly.

She raises a hand as a peace sign. “I know, I know! You said you wanted to keep a low profile this holiday season, but I really want to introduce you. They’re really nice people, a little odd, but so am I and you’re still my friend!”

You purse your lips, mulling over the idea. “Are the girls going to be there?”

“Yes! Well, Karen will be, I’m not sure about Wendy, yet. Should probably ask her tonight.”

Again, you think it over. Not only will you be in a small, confined space with a lot of people (she might have said it wasn’t going to be huge, but you and her have different definitions for small and huge), you’re going to be stuck in a confined space with strangers. It doesn’t sound very pleasing, but then again, you haven’t been very pleasant and there’s no denying that you always dodged her past intents to get you and her friends to hang out, and yet, she’s still here, trying to cheer you up. 

You owe it to her. 

“Okay, I’ll go.” She immediately squeals. Loudly. Blushing, you look around the cafe, and just as you feared, everyone in the small cafe is looking at you. You sigh, lifting a hand to stop her from over exerting herself—and from embarrassing you any further. “Just don’t expect me to bring anything.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! As long as you bring yourself, I’m content.”

You’re going to regret it, you just know it.

Happy Harbour

December 14, 2019

You tug at the hem of your outfit, uncomfortable. You could hear the loud laughter of the people inside accompanied by the soft hum of Megan’s holiday playlist. In your hand is a Tupperware full of brigadeiro, a Brazilian dessert your grandma used to make for the holidays before she completely quit eating sweet things (in front of your mom anyway).

Fingers tighten around the container. Maybe you should go... You could always deal with an angry Megan later. 

“Are you going to go in or are you just going to stare at the wreath all night?” A deep, amused voice registers in your mind and your body jerks in response, almost making you drop the Tupperware if it weren’t for the steady hand holding you against their strong, chest. “Whoa, there!” he exclaims, warm air fanning over your neck. “You all right?”

He doesn’t allow you to pull away until he steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting you go. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and you whirl around to meet your assailant and savior—and holy fuck is he gorgeous. They were gorgeous, too, but in that average kind of way. Nothing about them stood out to people, but to you? They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen. But this man in front of you, you had to be stupid not to notice how gorgeous he is. Striking blue eyes peering into you, a mischievous glint in them and matched by the lopsided smirk adorning his face; unruly black locks in waves and falling to one side as he runs his fingers through his hair. There’s something distinctly boyish and alluring about him that it renders you speechless.

“Megan never told me she had such a gorgeous friend,” he suddenly says. Or maybe not so suddenly because you’re sure his mouth had been moving before you allowed yourself to fall under his spell.

Hold on. 

Wait a second.

Gorgeous?

Did he really just call you gorgeous, too?

Your throat closes and your eyes widen, hopefully not comically or at all because holy shit. A really gorgeous man just called you gorgeous. The last person to ever compliment was your mom. But she’s your mom. She’s supposed to think you’re pretty good looking. And before that it was them. And realizing it now, they probably never even meant it. So this? This is new and weird and what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that to someone like him. “I—“ 

A draft of air hits your back as the door is swung open behind you. The Christmas music that Megan has been preparing since June is louder than before without the door closed.

“You’re here,” she squeals, wrapping her arms from behind you, her chin settling on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came!” She kisses your cheek messily and something sweet and alcoholic fills your nostrils. “And you brought something!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t make it a thing.” You laugh, pulling away as she makes a show of having to let you go. “How much eggnog have you had?” 

“Not too much.” Her eyes turn to the other guest and her eyes brighten. “Dick!” Dick? What kind of name is Dick? Was his mom angry at his dad? Noticing your stare, he smiles down at you, amusement never leaving his face before he turns to Megan. “You’re here! Wally and the others are already here.” She moves away from the door to let you both in.

Dick gestures to the inside of her apartment. “After you.”

Blinking owlishly, you thank him and enter the loud apartment full of people you don’t recognize—well, mostly of people you don’t recognize. There’s Karen and Mal by the Christmas tree talking to a redhead and a blonde, who Dick makes his way over to after excusing himself. Wendy is with Marvin by the snack table, the two arguing—really it's Marvin arguing—about which dessert is the best for the holidays, and a few other really gorgeous and fit people. Why are all of her friends ridiculously good looking?

“You okay?” Megan asks, her hand settling on your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

Your head swivels in her direction. “What?”

“You were frowning,” she says softly. “Hey, if I forced you to be here—“

“No,” you interrupt her quickly. “No, I’m glad you invited me, I just—I’ll be okay. I promise. You were right about me having to move on. I can’t avoid society forever because of a broken heart. I just need to get used to… this,” you say, moving your eyes around the party of people that seemed to already be coupled off.

She smiles gently but doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?” She takes the Tupperware from your hands. “Come on, let's say hi to everyone.” When you bristle, as you take off your coat, she laughs. “In moderation.”

An hour into the party and you’ve already become acquainted with mostly everyone at the party. You meet Wally and Artemis, the couple who were with Karen and Mal when you first arrived; Raquel and her baby boy, Amistad. Cassie and Tim; Jaime and Bart; Gar and some really weird guy who keeps glaring at Conner; Kaldur, who looks strangely familiar—and only smiles when you mention it before being pulled away by Megan—and Barbara, who eyes you momentarily before flashing you a warm smile. She’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest.

There are still a few more people you have yet to meet, but you seriously need a break, and you say as much to Megan.

“You said a little party,” you say accusingly, as if you hadn’t known this was her definition of small.

She laughs, her arm hooked around yours as she pulls you towards the spread of food and drinks. “It is little!” She lets go of you, opens the treats you made and places them between all the others. She then grabs a clean cup to fill it with eggnog before handing it to you. “Here! Conner and I made it, so it might not be… good.”

You take a tentative sip of the thick liquid made out of egg and spices and doused with alcohol and holy fuck do you regret it. “You and Conner made this?” you sputter, the taste of bourbon lingering strongly on your tongue.

She pouts. “The recipe called for a ton of bourbon to counteract the sweetness!”

You pull the cup away and eye the liquid with scrutiny. “Did you put a whole bottle of Bourbon from Costco in here?”

“Yes?” she answers, a little unsure. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

Conner comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Enjoying yourselves?” 

She tilts her head to kiss him on his cheek continuously and smiles. “Always.” 

You avert your gaze. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Conner addresses you after they’ve had their fill of small pecks. Honestly, you don’t blame them for being so affectionate and in love. It wasn’t that long ago that the two finally decided to give each other another chance after a falling out that Megan still doesn’t want to talk about. And again, you don’t blame her. You don’t want to talk about the reason why you and your ex broke up either, let alone think about it. 

You hum and reluctantly move your gaze back to their interlocked embrace. You manage a smile. “Same to you. Been a while hasn’t it?” 

Before he can reply, Gar interrupts with a call of their names. He’s standing near the fireplace with Bart, leaning over something. “Come check this out!”

Megan wiggles out of Conner’s hold and instead grabs his hand to lead him towards the boys. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Conner flashes an exasperated glance at you over his shoulder, which you return, before he wraps his arms around Megan again—the two laughing and joking about who knows what as they close the distance between them and the boys.

Sighing, you take another sip of the eggnog and your face scrunches in response to the liquid coating your tongue. “Bleh.”

“Fell victim to the spiked eggnog, I see,” a voice cuts through your thoughts as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eyes snap up to meet the familiar, amused gaze of Dick. “Uh, yeah.”

He offers you a different mug and you eye it suspiciously. He chuckles. “It’s just apple cider, I promise.”

You reluctantly relent, taking the mug he offers as he takes the one you had been drinking. You take a sip, and surprisingly enough, it really is apple cider, no alcohol at all. “Oh, god, thank you.”

He flashes you a pearly smile, and takes a sip of the eggnog without grimacing. “So, how did you meet Megan and Conner?”

“Oh, um, from school. We went to the same high school.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I was a year below them, but I became friends with Megan when she joined the cheerleading team. My friendship with Conner just followed naturally after that.”

His eyes brighten, as if what you’re saying is actually interesting. “Really?”

You curl a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Uh, yeah. What about you? How did you meet them?”

“Oh, through our families,” he supplies, a little detached, as if it weren’t really important. “Most of us met like that.”

You frown, but try to hide it behind the rim of the mug. “Wow. Then you must’ve known Megan for quite some time, then?”

His eyes flicker to your lips and his turn upwards. “Actually, I’ve probably known her for about the same amount of time as you.”

Wait. If that's true…“Does that mean you went to the Halloween disaster of 2016?” You remember Megan telling you she would be inviting her friends to the dance, and you heard that she did. Maybe he was among them?

He snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?” You nod eagerly, hoping to hear his side of what happened that night.

“No.” You deflate, and he huffs a laugh. “I wasn’t able to go, had plans that night. Did you?”

You pout, the disappointment you felt at missing that night coming to mind. “Unfortunately, no. I was sick, but I heard from Marvin and the others that it was a night to remember.”

You don’t get to ask him more questions because as soon as you open your mouth, the front door opens to reveal a beautiful girl with dark, raven hair in delicate waves and bright blue eyes entering the room. Immediately, everyone (excluding you, Marvin and Wendy—wtf Karen?) recognizes her and greet her with a loud exclaim of her name, “Zatanna!”

Dick turns to you and you already know that he’s about to excuse himself. “Do you mind if—“ 

You shake your head interrupting him with, “No, no, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, he reaches for your arm and squeezes gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You blink after him and mutter, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Be right back” doesn’t happen. He stays by the pretty girl’s side, the two of them being overly familiar with one another—tight hugs, continuous small touches, long eye contact, leaning against one another. You wouldn’t be surprised if they dated at some point, to be honest; or maybe they are dating—ugh. Why does the thought of it bother you?

“You all right?” Wendy softly asks, her kind eyes full of worry and briefly moving to Karen by the entrance.

What’s that about?

You try to keep from frowning. “I think I just need some fresh air,” you assure her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just be out for a moment, besides—“ you flick your eyes to Marvin by the dessert table stuffing his face with walnut bread—“I think you’d better stay to make sure Marvin doesn’t eat all the walnut bread.”

“Oh—damn it, Marvin!” She sighs ready to chastise her boyfriend, but she pauses to look at you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You hum in agreement and watch as she saunters over to Marvin before turning on your heels and stepping out through the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

The cold winter air bites your skin, your long sleeved turtleneck not enough to combat the cold, but just thinking about going back inside makes you try to suck it up. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you lean against the railing—Happy Harbor lights glinting brightly in the dark. 

Maybe you should leave. You’ve been here a good amount of time to deem acceptable, right? You’ve met some of Megan’s friends and even talked to a few of them for a while, and you didn’t show an ounce of disgruntlement—as far as you know—so you should be good right?

An ache fills your chest, pulsing slowly as you let out a long sigh. God, what happened to you? You weren’t always like this. So closed off and unwilling to spend time with your friends. You’ve practically been unconsciously ignoring Karen and Mal, attaching yourself to Megan when she is alone, or staying with Marvin and Wendy because they act least like a couple compared to your old classmates. And the moment the one person you’ve talked to for an extended period of time at the party joins his pretty friend, you become bitter about it! 

You need help.

Something heavy lands on your shoulders and back, strong cologne filling your nostrils and making you jump.

“Woah, easy, it’s just me.”

Startling blue eyes twinkle with mischief and your shoulders drop, heat combatting the cold air. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

He just grins and settles in the space beside you, eyes sweeping over the town you grew up in. “My job kind of requires that I do.”

You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the fact that it’s not exactly your size. It’s warm anyway. “Thank you.” You lean forward, tightening the coat to fit you snuggly. “What kind of job requires you to have ninja like stealth?”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “I’m an officer at Bludhaven PD, trying to become detective.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Bludhaven? Really?”

He hums, elbow resting on the railing and cupping his cheek.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Gotham has its norierty, but so does Bludhaven. It was basically untapped, scandals and crimes hidden behind a veil created by corrupt officials, until a couple of years ago when it all came to light with Nightwing’s arrival.

“Yeah,” he drawls, mulling it over, “but what isn’t? Anything can be dangerous if you think about it.” He leans closer to you. “Where do you work?”

“Happy Harbour Times, Opinions.”

“Then you must have to deal with a lot of angry readers when you write about something they don’t agree with, right? Threats and angry phone calls and letters. Those can be dangerous, too, right?” he asks cheekily.

You laugh, ducking your head. “I guess you’re right.” There’s still no comparing writing articles to police work, no matter how light of a situation Dick is trying to make it. “Why police work, though? It’s not many people’s first choice. Especially in Bludhaven.”

He shrugs. “Always been interested, I guess.” He leans back, hands holding onto the railing and causing his blue cable knit sweater to wrap tightly around his arm muscles. “My guardian…” Now, that’s an interesting choice of words. “He was—is a fan of mysteries.” His voice is far off, stuck in his jar of memories. “When he took me in, we’d used to solve cases together, most of them taking place in Gotham, where I was raised.” He chuckles. “And I guess from there I just… I just decided I wanted to be a cop.”

“I see... And you decided not to become a cop in Gotham?”

“Gotham has good people looking out for her already.”

“She could always use more.” He cracks a smile, blue eyes twinkling with the city lights as they find yours, and you return it shyly. “But I get it. Bludhaven has become yours, in a way. Separate from your… guardian.”

“In a way,” he repeats, and you have to look away from or else your heart will stop. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Happy Harbour Times?”

“Ah.” Your breath comes out in a puff, the night air still growing colder by the hour, but you don’t mind it. Dick doesn’t seem to mind either. “Well, when I was a kid, my third grade teacher told my parents I was a really good writer. So, they got me into workshops and short story competitions,” you recall, remembering the constant competitions your parents would sign you up for without your knowledge sometimes. They did it with good intentions, hoping to help hone your skill, but it was too much sometimes. “Truth is, I hated it. Never really liked… fiction, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, give me a good fiction novel and I will read it for days, but… it… it just wasn’t me,” you confess locking your fingers in place. 

“I was about ready to give up on writing when my tenth grade English teacher assigned us a topic to write about and I guess I fell in love with the research and being able to go out and interview people.”

“Yeah? And what was it that you wrote about?”

You bite your lip and find Dick staring at you, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t laugh?” He promises he won’t. “Robin.”

He chokes on his saliva, eyes growing in disbelief. “As in Batman’s Robin?”

You tuck strands of hair behind your ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, um, the prompt was about vigilantes and I chose to write about him instead of the Flash, Batman, Wonder Woman and whoever else everyone wrote about.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying your best to mask your embarrassment with a blase attitude. “Fighting crime with Batman? That was pretty cool, you know? He was living every kid’s dream.”

“Was he?” he asks, voice soft.

“He was!” you confess, smile blooming on your face as a memory of you and your friends playing as the superhero sidekicks comes to mind. It’s some of your best memories from elementary school. “But I didn’t want to just write about the good. He was a kid seeing some fucked up shit, after all.” You pause to look at him, only to find he’s not looking at you, but at the city lights. There’s something… wistful and forlorn in those blue eyes of his, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on his time in Gotham, seeing Boy Wonder up close and personal. “Being Robin must’ve taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically. 

“And I wanted to write about that. Even had my parents drive up to Gotham for the weekend so I could do some snooping, maybe even find Boy Wonder myself.”

Finally he reacts, lips twitching as he turns to look at you. “And how’d that go?”

“I learned that the citizens of Gotham really hate being asked questions.” He chuckles and you smile. “But those who did answer... you can tell they were grateful for him and worried about him. The kid really touched people’s hearts, whether they agreed with his nightly activities with Batman or not.” You tilt your head, watching his eyes light up with your words. “It’s just a shame I didn’t get to interview Robin himself.” You grab hold of the railing and lean forward. “But I’d doubt he’d have given me the time of day if I had gotten the chance to ask him. Probably too busy saving babies and punching villains with Batman.”

“I’m sure he would have made time for you.” Your fingers slip from the metal to turn to look at him, unsure of his sincerity. “How could he not?” His cheeks have become flushed with the cold, nose bright and blue eyes stark against his skin.

You smile, but you’re sure it looks more like an awkward grimace. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not.” He frowns, sincere eyes knocking your breath away. “I know if he knew someone as sincere as you wanted to ask him some questions for their article, he would have dropped whatever he was doing to help you.”

You don’t know why you stand there, waiting for him to laugh in your face and say his punchline. You don’t know why he just stands there and stares back at you, quiet and shining with sincerity that he’s trying to penetrate into your being. It’s weird and totally unnecessary, but maybe a part of you is desperate to know if he’s really being sincere and a part of him is desperate for you to know he is.

“Hey!” Megan’s voice break through the trance you’re both in. Her head barely poking out into the cold and green eyes narrowing. “Get in here before you both catch something!”

Dick chuckles, attention moving from her to you. “Should we head in?”

You nod mutely, smiling tight lipped.

As you follow Megan inside, the only thing on your mind is that you might have already caught something.

Bludhaven

December 15, 2020

“You’re really not coming home for the Holidays this year?”

Megan is pouting on your computer screen, but you hardly pay her any attention. You have an article on Bludhaven’s growing homelessness due in the morning and you still have some revisions to do. Your little mishap earlier today took time that you were reserving for this article and now you’re running behind.

“‘Fraid not,” you tell her, your voice accompanied by the clicking of your keyboard. “I’ve been overloaded with a ridiculous amount of work this month and I need to get it done before the end of the year.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see her scavenging through boxes of decorations. “Won’t your mom be disappointed you won’t be coming home?”

“Nope,” you pop the “p” as you rewrite a fragment. “She’s coming down to see me instead.”

She stops, head lifting like a prairie dog on alert. “So it’s just going to be you two this year?”

“Maybe. Dick said he might stop by, but he’s not sure.”

“Ooh,” her teasing rings through your quiet bedroom and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, Megan.” You wished it were like that, but it’s not, and maybe it’s for the best. Dick became one of your good friends since the party last year and one of your best friends after you volunteered for a transfer to Bludhaven’s Times earlier this year. You don’t want to mess with what you have, not right now when your life feels perfectly balanced.

“Don't let the person who didn't love you keep you from the person who will,” she says, sounding serious as hell and making you snort and pause in your typing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at my words of wisdom!”

“This has nothing to do with them, Megan. When I said I was finally over them, I meant it.” The moment you were able to look at an old tagged picture of you and them on their friends’ Instagram and you felt nothing, no numbness, no anger nor sadness, just a strange vagueness as if they were a stranger, you knew you were over them. “Dick and I… we like where we are.”

“Boo.”

Conner appear on screen and shakes his head as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. I respect your decision.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing his head out of the screen. “I respect your decision too, doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Heckling does not equate respect, babe.”

You laugh at their antics, their displays of affections no longer bothering you. Now, when you see them you just feel happy, happy for them and for you. Bitterness long gone from your bones, and there’s one person you can thank for that.

Your phone on your desk dings.

Dick 🥳🤩: Chinese food 2nite?

You: only if you promise to get extra egg rolls 

Dick 🥳🤩: Got’chu, omw.

“You’re smiling! Why are you smiling? It’s Dick, isn’t it? It’s totally Dick.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral but knowing you’re doing horribly at it. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, is he coming over?” She gushes, and Conner is back on screen, trying to wrestle the phone out of her grip.

You laugh when you hear a curse from Conner. “I have an article to finish, Megan.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this—“

All right, you’ve had enough. “Bye, Megan!”

Megan🧡: 😨 You hung up on me?

Megan🧡: 😡😡

Megan🧡: Expecting deets tomorrow ❤️

You: goodnight, megan!

It doesn’t take long for Dick to arrive and for you to shove your article aside—you’re almost done with it anyway, nothing wrong with a little break.

The door jingles and as you begin to clear your coffee table—where you and Dick usually eat dinner—of your paperwork, it opens to reveal Dick still wearing his uniform. You smile up at him briefly, gathering everything and taking it over to your round, small dining table that could probably fit four people if you really tried to squeeze them in. “Hey! Let me just grab some plates and we can—“

Before you can finish your sentence, or head into the kitchen, a hand wraps around your wrist, worried crystallized blue eyes staring into you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were almost mugged?”

Ah, hell. 

The crack in his voice makes your heart drop to your stomach and your eyes fall down to his ugly black shoes that you make fun of every chance you get just to hear his laugh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Since you moved to Bludhaven, Dick has been checking up on you more often and even picking you up from work if he has the chance—“Bludhaven isn’t like Happy Harbor. It’s… tougher and harder,” he had said after offering to teach you some self defense moves. You had laughed and said you could handle yourself, but accepted it anyway if it meant spending more time with him.

Today was just bad luck, he was on the other side of the city and you had chosen to take the bus to work that day and hadn’t been paying attention. Next thing you know, you’re being threatened to give your purse up.

His warm fingers leave your wrist and instead they find your chin. Gingerly, he lifts your head to force you to meet his gaze. “When Rohrbach called me on my way here to check up on you because she was worried, I swear my heart almost stopped.” His eyes shine with worry and there’s a twisting in your gut. “What if Louie hadn’t been nearby, huh?”

“I’m okay, Dick,” you reassure him, wanting nothing more than to lean against him, maybe have his lips press a kiss on your forehead. “I handled him pretty well. Used those self defense moves you taught me.” It was why you were able to shake him off and run to the nearest officer for help. Dick inadvertently saved you.

He finally smiles. “Yeah, Rohrbach said you left him pretty bruised up.” His hand under your chin moves to smooth out your hair before cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. “I need you to be more careful, sweetheart. Need you to be safe.”

Your heart bursts in your chest at the pet-name and you wrap your arms around his waist, fisting the jacket of his uniform tightly. His cologne makes you dizzy—ginger and spices for the holiday. “Only if you promise to stay safe, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” His soft lips land on your forehead briefly before he’s pulling away and you restrain yourself from chasing after him. “Let’s eat? You must be starving.”

“A little,” you admit, and let him pull you toward the couch. “Eating out of the cartons today?”

He flashes you a grin. “Why not?”

As you both settle next to each other on the floor, back being supported by your old couch and you turn on your television as he pulls out the food he bought, you can’t help but think that even if your relationship stay like this with Dick, you wouldn’t mind it.

Bludhaven

December 31, 2020

You check your watch for the umptenth time.

He’s late.

Everyone around you is celebrating, filling the bar with laughter and talk, most of it incoherent over the loud music and the inebriated state most of them are in. You’re only a few hours away from the New Year and people are already drunk out of their minds—this doesn’t spell trouble for the night whatsoever.

Dick 🥳🤩 (7)

7 outgoing calls, all unanswered and completely unlike him. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t answer your calls when he’s busy, that’s a given, but he always sends you a message if he’s going to be late or apologizes for not being able to answer your call. This just not like Dick. 

You try calling one more time, covering one ear with your palm  to hear the ringing, but just like before, you get sent to voicemail. Worry begins to over take your annoyance. You grab your bag and quickly make your way out of the crowded bar, not caring about the warm bodies complaining.

Driving to his place takes you about thirty minutes with traffic, and you occasionally find yourself cursing at other drivers and yourself. It’s a miracle you don’t get into an accident or pulled over. With his garage key that he gave you, you open the gate and make your way to the space that has become yours over the last couple of months with how much you visit him. 

Locking your car with a simple click of the key fob, you power walk to the elevator. One last time, you try calling him, hoping he’ll answer and apologize for being late, but once again it sends you to voicemail just as the elevator doors open on his floor. 

“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking out your copy of the key, you slowly insert it and tentatively call out to him as you open the door.

No answer.

You strain your hearing as you swear you hear some shuffling and thumping, but that noise could just be coming from down the hall. He does have some noisy neighbors. 

You enter the apartment and close the door behind you. “Dick?”

There’s a crash and you jump, your heart in your throat, but the familiar string of curses eases your fear. You follow the noise and come face to face with a wide eyed Dick shirtless covered in nasty forming bruises in the middle of his bathroom.

A whimper escapes your lips and you rush forward, cupping his face in your hand. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you managed to get the night off?” You turn his head this way and that, and then push him back by grabbing his shoulder to look at his torso and back. Only letting go when he winces at a particularly hard tug. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

He grabs your wrists not allowing you to give him space. “You’re not blushing,” he says cheekily, his eyes twinkling even with the slowly forming bruise.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would I be—“ Your eyes drag down to his naked torso peppered with old wounds and spanking brand new bruises and you immediately feel a wave of heat spreading through your body. “Oh.”

He laughs softly, chuckling almost, low and a sweet timbre. 

But when your eyes fall lower, you’re doused in cold water, black, almost skin tight material—unitard?—and a black holster wrapped around his right leg greeting you. This isn’t his police uniform! What is he wearing? And why does it look like kevlar? “Why are you—“

You’re not allowed a moment to ask because Dick pulls you towards him with a tug of your wrists and you fall against his chest, barely bracing yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, large hands flat against your back.

“Dick?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs airily into your hair and you don’t know what to do, you’re pretty sure he can feel and hear your pacing heart. 

You repeat his name, trying to pull away from him to look into his eyes. He doesn’t let you. 

He inhales. “Just give me a moment and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

You sigh, warm air brushing against his bare skin, and the hands that braced yourself on the kitchen sink wrap around his torso loosely. “What happened?”

Circles are traced on your shirt, one hand climbing higher to cradle the back of your head. “Remember the guy who tried to rob you?” You nod and hum, remembering that crooked nosed, pale skin idiot who thought you’d be an easy target. “He escaped during transfer today with the help of some of his friends, and I went after them. Off record.”

You pull away from him and look up at him with wide eyes and slack jaw to find his serious gaze on you, lips pulled down into a thin line. “What do you mean off record?” Your throat closes and the back of your nose stings—he went after them ‘cause that man tried hurting you? “Dick, what if something happened—”

His eyes bore into you and his thumb find purchase on your face, tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “It's just a couple of scratches and bruises. I’m okay. I promise.”

You blink back your tears and lean into his touch. “You still shouldn’t have gone by yourself!”

“I didn’t,” he says softly. “I went with a friend.”

Your nose scrunches, your eyes still watery. “Rohrbach?”

He shakes his head. “No. Better, Robin.”

“Robin?” You try to remember if he’s ever mentioned anyone named Robin at the precinct, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t—“Wait. Robin? As in Batman’s Robin?” His gaze doesn’t change, it remains serious and your heart leaps in your chest. “You really know Robin?”

He finally cracks a smile and you’re half expecting him to say he’s joking (you don’t know which is worse, him joking about knowing Robin when he’s aware how much admiration teen you had for him or finding out that he really went after that thug and his friends on his own!), but instead he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Dick, if you’re—“

He chuckles, his thumb that had been tracing your cheekbone dragging down to your bottom lip, slowly tracing the swell. You would have melted if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. “I’m not playing with you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fall to his torso and down to his pants and the hanging arms of his unitard and they snap back up, alarmed. “Are you—does this mean you’re also a—“ you can’t even form a proper sentence, the rushing of your blood flowing through your head and ears drown out your thoughts and voice.

His hands drop from your frame and you take a step back as he adjusts the unitard, slipping into it only to have you gasping at the familiar symbol on his chest—Nightwing.

Without waiting for his permission, your fingers trace the symbol, the material under your fingers soft and somehow firm. A deep ache blooms in your chest, your nose wrinkling and Dick reacts quickly, cupping your face with his now covered hands, and you’d laugh any other time at the fact that his suit is falling forward and down his arms, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself from crying.

It all makes sense now! His double shifts and all the injuries—gods. How could you have been so blind?

He rubs the corner of your eyes and coos gently, worry swimming in his eyes and honestly, that’s not fair! You’re the only one allowed to be worried right now! “Hey, hey, why are you crying, huh? What’s wrong?”

Your head falls forward and Dick leans down to press his forehead against yours. “This isn’t going to make me worry less about you, Dick.” Your fingers wrap around his thick forearms. “You promised you were going to try staying safe and this,” you pause to sigh, refusing to meet his eyes, ”this isn’t going to keep you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between you. “I’m sorry I’m going to make you worry. I’m sorry I’m making you cry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say with a sniffle, because it doesn’t. You don’t care that he didn’t tell you he was Nightwing or that he allowed you to gush about Robin when he’s always known who that is. What matters is that now you know Dick is out every night as Nightwing risking his life and you’re not happy about that. That’s what matters.

“But I won’t break my promise.” You squeeze his arm. “I promised you I would try, and ever since that night, I’ve done my best to keep to that, and I always will.” His nose bumps against yours, trying to get you to look at you and you do, suddenly aware of the lack of space between you. “I have someone to come home to now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your heart pounds against your rib cage. You’re no longer okay being just friends with Dick, not when he says things like that and when he’s looking at you like this either—like you’re the only thing that matters and all he wants is to keep you trapped in his arms (you wouldn’t fight him if he tried).

Before you can voice anything, coherent or incoherent, your mouth is sealed shut by a paid of chapped lips. It’s a small peck, but it’s enough to send a tumble of acrobats into a frenzy. And all you want is to feel his lips against yours again, and so you meet him halfway after a shallow collection of breath.

Lips move in tandem, heads tilting this way and that and it’s all very much like the passionate romcom movie kisses you’ve seen over the years, the kind you’d dream about every time Dick would kiss different parts of your face and never your lips. It’s all fire and sweetness, like fireworks on a hot summers’ day and watermelon juice dripping down your chin.

A loud boom echoes in the quiet night and you jerk away from Dick, eyes snapping to his bedroom entrance, the windows covered with blinds allowing the bright flashes of light to filter in.

“Did we miss the countdown?” you find yourself asking dumbly, a little breathless and mind still reeling from his intense kiss.

He presses another one to your temple, chuckling. “Does it matter?”

“It’s the New Year!” 

“Could really care less,” he grumbles, voice coming from deep in his chest as his lips dragging from the corner of your eyes to your lips, pulling you away from the firework show outside. “Too busy trying to make out with my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” you tease in between kisses.

“Mhmm, have been trying to make her mine for a couple of months now, but she’s pretty clueless. ‘S supposed to be one of the best reporters in all of the tri state area, too.”

“Should’ve said something, Dick. I’m not a mind reader.”

He chuckles, pulling away from your lips for just a moment. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?” you ask, a little hazily.

“I was Robin.”

And before you can ask him to elaborate on that or you’re allowed to be embarrassed, he closes the distance between you once more and kisses you senseless.

To think you thought you’d regret going to Megan’s a little over a year ago; if only the you from then could see you now, happy and moved on.

[dreadwulf]

Terrible Love alternate ending

I ended up cutting off Terrible Love with Brienne going to sleep in her own tent and considering Jaime’s proposal of marriage. But there is a bit I snipped out, because I decided Brienne would not be ready to say Yes so soon. Let’s consider this a DVD extra.

---

She looked down at him sleeping. Even with the beard and the bits of grey, there was something boyish about him asleep. She could just picture him small, rushing around Casterly Rock, playing at swords, learning to ride. 

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jaime, wake up.” 

“Hmm?” He stirs reluctantly.

“Jaime.”

He opened one eye sleepily and smiled when he saw her. He had forgotten she would be there, and was pleased in it. She hoped he would always be so purely happy to see her. Right away she was glad she had decided to wake him.

“I want to marry you,” she said softly. “I accept your proposal.”

Immediately he was fully awake, and trying to sit up. “You do? You will?” In his haste he knocked aside the pole of her small tent and the canvas fell in over them, and he is left holding it up over her with his arms, looking down at her owlishly. 

She couldn’t help laughing at that, a girlish sort of giggle that she could not believe was coming out of her own mouth, but he looked so earnestly surprised and physically awkward holding up the tent over them she would not have recognized him but for his yellow head.

“Yes,” she told him. “Yes.”

He fell on her then, kissing her eagerly, her lips and her face and her neck, and the tent collapsed fully over them so that she could not see, and she kept on laughing, in a way so unlike her and yet so natural. In such delight, how could she do otherwise?

“We will have to await Father’s letter,” she reminded him breathlessly, under his kisses. “But if in that time you have not reconsidered, if you truly want to be my husband, then yes. I will.”

He straightened over her, suddenly serious. She could just barely see his face with the tent canvas all around it.  “Are you sure, my lady? You know my reputation, and my name. Would you marry a Kingslayer? A man without honor?”

“No,” she answered fondly, and with new certainty. “But I would marry you.”

It took him a long moment to hear past ‘no’. When he did he could not speak, only shut his eyes and released a long low breath, leaning his forehead against hers. That was when she realized he had been as agonized as she.

“My Brienne,” he said quietly and sincerely, and kissed her softly again. “I will be a good husband to you, I swear it, I swear it.”

Her heart suddenly swelled with tenderness for him. She had kept him waiting too long, she should have answered him immediately, with what she knew in her heart she truly wanted.

“Wait—“ he said suddenly, pushing up from her, and her stomach dropped with dread. Could he have changed his mind already? He wrestled with the tent canvas until he could pull it off over them, and his face appeared again dim against a backdrop of the starry night sky. Now he touched her face lightly, studying her closely. He looked reluctant to go on. “There is the matter of heirs, unfortunately. Should we survive these wars my house will want for heirs. There would need to be a child.”

Oh. Is that all? Before she could think properly, she found herself answering him. “Two. There would have to be two. One for Tarth.”

He stared at her for a moment and then nodded slowly. “One for Lannister, and one for Tarth. And perhaps a spare, in case one of them wants to be a knight or something equally foolish. Three children then. Are you willing? I would not insist…”

“I would be willing,” she whispered. This seemed all a dream to her now, a lovely, lovely dream.

“You would?” Jaime grinned hugely. “I couldn’t be sure you would want to, but... What swordsmen we would make, you and I. Our sons would terrorize the seven kingdoms.”

Brienne smiled, and for once she did not think to hide her horse teeth behind her hands. “Or daughters.”

“Daughters,” he said wonderingly. “Tall blonde daughters with sword and shields. Why stop at three, we could a have a legion.” 

She cut him off firmly. “I am not birthing a legion. Three is enough.”

He kissed her again, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter where she grasped them. He ran his arms around her waist and they seemed so natural there as to have been shaped for the task.

[evyiione]

Solace: Chapter Five

Summary: The story of Jaime Lannister and Y/N about how they escaped Cersei’s claws.

Warning: Angst, Fluff, mild smut, graphic torture scene

Pairing: Jaime x Fem!Stark!Reader

Reader's pronoun: She/Her

A/N: I hope Game of Thrones fans out there will like it!

Disclaimer: GOT belongs to G.R.R Martin and the HBO Company. I only own the story.

Beta: @detectiveperalta on Wattpad and IG

Masterlist

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CHAPTER 5: FALL OF A TYRANT

 PREVIOUSLY

 “I should’ve been there to protect you! I should’ve stayed!” he exclaimed.

“Enough, don’t start with this again. I chose this fate. Besides now that you are here, I already feel better. I know everything will be alright.” you said and kissed him.

Jaime laid down and scooted closer to you. He put his handless arm around your waist and caressed your head with his hand until you both fell asleep.

 Jaime wasn’t worried to get caught with you, he was an early bird so he would make sure you would be back in your quarters before anyone would notice.

Little did they know, a servant had heard everything and reported to Cersei immediately.

 A FEW DAYS LATER

 Jaime, although still depressed at the loss of his sword hand, soon found a way to feel useful once more. Thanks to Cersei, he now had a golden hand. Every day he would train with Bronn, and to be honest he was getting better, mentally, physically and at fighting.

 He presented you to Brienne of Tarth and you immediately liked her; she was a strong woman who didn’t give a shit about what other people thought. You admired her for that.

 Lately, Jaime and Cersei spent a lot of time together for the preparation of Joffrey’s wedding. At first, you were worried Cersei would try to get information as to why he kept rejecting her advances. You knew he wouldn’t betray you, but you were afraid of what Cersei was capable of.

And finally came King Joffrey’s wedding to Margery Tyrell…

 The wedding was grand, worthy of a King, of a great King, which Joffrey was not. And although you were glad that Sansa did not have to marry him, a small part of you wept for Margery.

 The day started on a great note but unfortunately ended on a bad one.

At the banquet, you were seated beside Lady Olenna Tyrell. You watched Joffrey as he humiliated his uncle. You watched as he choked and fell to the ground. You watched as Jaime rushed toward his son as his features contorted in worry and fear.

 As Joffrey drew his last breath, he pointed at Tyrion just as he picked up the cup. Cersei, devastated and enraged by the loss of her son, had Tyrion arrested for the King’s murder.

 Fearing that your little sister would be accused of conspiracy, you forced yourself to detach your eyes from the lifeless body sprawled on the floor to look at your sister, only to find that she had disappeared.

 A part of you was worried for Sansa, but you also hoped that wherever she was, she would be safer than in Cersei claws.

 -------

 After Joffrey’s funeral, Jaime came to you desolated in your chambers. You could see it in his eyes, he felt responsible for his son’s death. As soon as he closed the door, you enveloped him into a hug. 

 “It is my fault” Jaime whispered, as beads of tears started to fall.

 Stepping back and grabbing his head between your hands so he would look at you straight in the eyes, you said: “No, it was not; there is nothing you could have done to prevent it”.

 “I am a Kingsguard, I a - was his father, I should have been here to protect him,” he said resting his hands upon yours.

 “Listen to me Jaime, no one could have prevented it, it wasn’t your fault as much as it wasn’t mine. I am sorry you lost a son, I can’t imagine how hard it must be, but never think that you are responsible for his death,” you said and then took his hand to lead him to your bed, where you both sat.

 “And it is certainly not Tyrion’s fault either. He and Joffrey didn’t like each other sure, but he would never have killed him. Tyrion would never purposefully harm his family,” Jaime stated.

 “I know. I believe Tyrion to be innocent. His trial is in two days and I fear he might say something harsh that might end up with him with a cord around his neck” you said, sharing your worries.

 “Tyrion has a thing for dramatics, whatever he planned won’t end well. I visited him in his cell earlier and told me he was going to ask for a trial by combat. But if his champion was to lose, I need to find a way to get him out. I already lost my son, I won’t stand idly by and let another member of my family die.” Jaime affirmed.

 “I know you wouldn’t, it is one of the things I like most about you. You would do anything for those you hold dear in your heart,” you said, smiling at him before leaning in and kissing him, a kiss he eagerly returned.

 A FEW DAYS AFTER TYRION ESCAPE

 Jaime, although still grieving, managed to move on. He didn’t want to dwell on the past, he preferred to plan his future.

 He only talked about it to Bronn, but Jaime seriously considered the idea of marrying you. You are his light and despite all the things that are keeping him from marrying you, like his status as a King's Guard, he wants to marry you more than anything else. The only thing is that he didn’t know how and when to ask you. 

 But he knew that when it was time, he would know right away. And for him, this moment happened to be when he visited you in your chambers one evening. Here you were, sitting upon a chair, reading a book, the glow of the candles shining upon your skin, creating a golden aura around you. You were perfection personified.

 As soon as he got out of his trance, he rushed to you and got down on one knee, grasping your hands.

 His actions and odd behaviour surprised you and as you were about to ask him what was going on, he cut you off.

 “Y/N, you saved me from myself: you are my own true love and I would be honoured to call you my wife if you will have me?” 

 You froze in shock, your mouth hanging open for a minute, but as he called your name for a second time, you quickly uttered your answer.

 “Yes! Yes, I will marry you!” you exclaimed, throwing yourself at him and capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

 When you broke apart for some air, Jaime got up, lifting you in his arms and started walking toward the bed where he laid you down. He took off his armour, dressed down to his breaches and joined you in bed, encircling his arms around your waist so that you would lay on him. No words were needed, as you both relished in the happiness of the moment.

 -------

 These last few days have been the happiest of your life. Both you and Jaime were happy, even though you were not married yet, you knew that nothing could break you apart.

 Unfortunately, a mission for Jaime will lead him to leave you for a while. He was tasked to retrieve Myrcella from Dorne.

 The day before his departure, Jaime asked you to join him in the undergrounds of the Red Keep. He told you to wear your best dress and to remain unseen. You did as he asked and put on your favourite dress, an elegant gown made of midnight blue and white/grey silk with a plunging neckline. 

 As you reached the undergrounds, you saw many torches were lit, forming a path. Following the said path you finally arrived at the destination when you saw Jaime and Bronn waiting for you, the both of them well dressed and another man.

 Approaching Jaime with a confused face you asked him: “What is all this, Jaime?”.

 “Our wedding.” Jaime simply answered.

 “What? But how? You are still a King’s Guard, you can’t marry me,” you said, even more confused.

 “I know that, but it is just for us. Bronn will be our witness and Maester Lurell will officiate the ceremony. He is an old friend of my family and was sworn to secrecy.” Jaime explained.

 “Jaime, I don’t know what to say…” you softly said.

 “Then just say yes, say that you will marry me. I love you more than anything and want to spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t want to spend one more second without being married to you, without being able to call you my wife.” Jaime confessed.

 At his words, your heart swelled with love and you grabbed his face and kissed him with all the love you could muster before pulling away.

 “The first time you proposed, the answer was yes. The answer hasn’t changed nor will it ever change. Of course, I will marry you! I love you so much!” you said as tears of happiness slid down your face.

 “You heard the lady, let’s get the ceremony started, shall we?” Bronn exclaimed turning towards Maester Lurell, a grin visible on his face.

 After exchanging your vows, Jaime got two strings out of his pouch and held them out to you. Looking at it, you gasped. At the end of each string were pendants: one of a lion and one of a wolf.

 “I am sorry I can’t get you a ring given our situation, but I had this made especially for you. The wolf represents you, and the lion represents me. And if you bring them together, you can see that they fit perfectly as one, just like you and I.” Jaime explained.

 “Jaime, it is beautiful thank you.” You said as tears started to fall again.

 Happy that his gift pleased you, Jaime proceeded to tie the string of the lion pendant around your neck and then you tied the wolf pendant around his.

 Turning back to you and touching your pendant Jaime said: “This way a part of me will always be with you and a part of you with me.” and then kissed you again.

--------

 Life was peaceful for a time in the Red Keep. Ever since Cersei had been arrested by the High Sparrow, life seemed easier for you. Of course, you pitied the woman, she didn’t deserve whatever they were doing to her. You just hoped Jaime would come back soon. You didn’t want to face Cersei before Jaime’s return.

 However, as soon as Cersei recovered she wasted no time attempting to get to you. And get to you she did. As soon as the sky was covered in stars, she had you abducted.

 Someone entered your chambers and knocked you unconscious. When you woke up, you were chained to a wall in an extremely dark and foul-smelling room with only one very small window. You couldn’t see anything else as the night didn’t provide much light.

 For hours, you screamed for help, but nobody came. You tried to yank at your chains to no avail. As the sun rose into the sky, you had given up. But the light provided by the rising sun allowed you to notice a chair and a small round table with a jug and goblet on it. You only got a hint of your location as you heard the bells of the Sept of Baelor ring midday.

 It was then that you heard someone unlock the door. You thought that someone had come for you yet as the door opened and revealed who was stepping in, you knew that this person was not here to save you but to hurt you.

 “Oh, you’re awake. Perfect,” said Cersei as she entered the room.

 “W-What do you want?” you asked. You tried to show no fear, but the waver in your voice betrayed you.

 Smirking, Cersei said “I want you to suffer” before she proceeded to call for someone. “You can come in, Qyburn”.

Then a small man you had only seen in passing entered with a tray full of sharp objects. Your blood ran cold. 

Cersei then sat at the table and poured what seemed to be wine into the goblet. “Qyburn here has invented a few little tools he would like to test. And you seem to be perfect for his experiments. Meanwhile, I will sit and enjoy the show.” and she took a sip of her wine.

Then, the nightmare began.

 ---------

 Over the days that passed under Qyburn’s ministrations, you realized that Cersei’s intention was not to get information out of you: she intended to see you suffer. 

All you could feel was pain. You tried not to show it but Qyburn was rather methodical when it came to torture, slicing you ever so slowly, much to the enjoyment of Cersei. They would come once or twice a day, sometimes at night, and Cersei would sit idly by as Qyburn would try one of his new “toys” as he liked to call them. Sometimes, one of Cersei's guards, Gregor Clegane, you believe, would be called in and would beat you. You experienced the worst of Qyburn’s inventions when one day a chair with straps and metal attached to it appeared. The Mountain placed you into it, strapping you in so you couldn’t move an inch of your body. Qyburn would sit next to you and get several needles and a small hammer from the tray; he would place the needles right under your nails and slowly push them in with the hammer. All you could do was scream, and scream you did.

 --------

 As the boat Jaime was stood in approached the decks of King’s Landing, all he could feel was sadness for his daughter and longing for his wife. The thought of seeing her was all that kept him going.

However, when he only saw Cersei waiting for him, he knew something was terribly wrong. He wanted to go and look after you but knew he couldn’t right away. As much as he hated Cersei, they still lost their daughter: the purest of the Lannisters.

 After comforting his sister, he went to try and find you. He first went to your chambers, but he did not find you there. He then tried the Library but again, you weren’t there. On the way to the gardens, he crossed paths with Bronn and asked for his help. Bronn, of course, agreed to help and then went the opposite way.

 After looking for you for over an hour, Jaime decided to go and confront his sister.

 Jaime stormed into Cersei’s room yelling: “What have you done to her? Where is my wife!?”

 Although shocked by the revelation of his marriage to you, Cersei managed to keep her mask intact. “You mean the Stark slut? Somewhere hidden, away from you.”

 “Tell me where she is now!” Jaime all but yelled.

 “And tell me why I should let her live when our daughter is dead! You failed to take our daughter home safe and sound. This failure of yours will only bring your slut more suffering!” said Cersei nonchalantly.

 "Don't you dare hurt her, she is my only solace in all of the Seven Kingdoms! If you dare raise a hand upon her, I will-" Jaime threatened but was cut off. 

 "You will do what? Kill me? You and I both know you are not capable of it" Cersei spat.

 "You can burn under dragon fire for all I care! You mean nothing to me!" Jaime roared at Cersei.

 "I'm your Queen; you can't frighten me! You can't harm me!" Cersei exclaimed with an unwavering voice but shock and hurt were written all over her face.

 "If you hurt the woman I love, I will make sure you die. I'm not afraid of adding Queenslayer to my list of titles." Jaime said calmly, staring at his sister with eyes so intense that they could cut her head right off.

 "I once was the woman you loved... Don't you remember?" Cersei said, as a last attempt to manipulate him.

 "Yes, I do remember. But now, when I'm looking at you, all I see is a monster," Jaime answered and then left to retrieve Bronn to keep looking for you. 

 As he walked away, he could hear Cersei screaming: “I swear to the old Gods and new that as long as I draw breath, I'll have no rest until she is dead! You belong to me, Jaime!”.

 But he ignored her threat. When he finally found Bronn, the two of them rummaged through the whole palace in hopes of finding you, fighting anyone who dared to stand in their way, threatening anyone who might be withholding valuable information. However, the search ended when they came across Cersei’s maid. Jaime didn’t even have to threaten her because the look of fury on his face was enough to make her disclose your location.

 She led them to you and as soon as they arrived, she ran away.

“Oi, where do you think you’re going?” Bronn exclaimed as he left to follow her.

 “Leave her, she is of no use to us anymore,” Jaime said and Bron nodded, knowing he was right. Then Jaime made his way to the door. He tried to open the door but it was locked. So, he decided to force his way through it. As soon as the door gave way he rushed inside, scanning every corner of the cell until his eyes found her. 

 As a man born in the Lannister House, he was prepared to see all kinds of monstrosities. His time beside the Mad King had him growing accustomed to the gore of life. But nothing could’ve prepared him to see his beloved wife in such a state. His blood ran cold at the thought of what Cersei had done to you. It was only when you called his name that he snapped out of his stupor and rushed to you, carefully cradling you in his arms.

 “Oh, Y/N... I am so sorry. I should’ve never left” Jaime whispered as tears threatened to fall. 

 Looking up at him, you brought a hand to his face, stroking his cheek before whispering words of reassurance. “It’s okay, you are here now. It looks worse than it is”.

 Smiling at your attempt to appease him, he said: “We are getting out of here; we are leaving this town, I am not ready to lose someone else today”.

 At his words, you frowned and asked: “Lose someone else? Who?” without meeting your gaze, he answered, “Myrcella… she… she died on the way back. She knew who I was, you know? She knew I was her father, and she still loved me. Yet I failed her, and I failed you…”.

 “Oh Jaime, you did not fail her, you were here for her all of her life, even if just as an uncle. The fact that she loved you only shows that you did right by her and you certainly did not fail me, you hear me? You didn’t fail anyone,” you said, grabbing his face between your hands and looking at him straight in the eyes.

 Nodding slowly, Jaime let out a shaky breath and stood up, lifting you in his arms.

 “Oi, not to interrupt the reunion but we have to move before we get caught,” Bronn whisper-yelled, still standing guard.

 “Alright, let us go, Y/N is in no shape to walk, so I will carry her while you cover our back. We have to get to the docks” Jaime instructed.

 “Why the docks?” You and Bronn asked at the same time.

 “I told you that we were getting out of King’s Landing, didn’t I? We are going to Esos, and try to find Tyrion. I am sure he will help us convince his Queen to protect us.” Jaime explained before continuing “I am sure the ship is still there, and I got the gold we need to buy the captain’s service” and with that proceeded to walk out of the cell. 

 Bronn walked in front of you both, making sure no guards were in the vicinity. When you were out of the Keep, you were stopped by a dozen guards and behind them stood Cersei, her green eyes blazing with anger.

 Without wasting any time, Jaime put you down, unsheathed his sword and attacked the enemy along with Bronn. The fight was hard, as Jaime and Bronn were severely outnumbered, but they still managed to kill everyone until only Cersei was standing.

 “Bronn, take Y/N, I will take Cersei” Jaime ordered before walking up to his twin.

 “What are you going to do? Kill me?” Cersei asked.

 “I should. I should kill you, this way I know you will never hurt the woman I love ever again… But I won’t kill you, for now. I will just use you so we can escape safely. If any of your guards are following us, or if your new dog attacks try anything, I will kill you.” Jaime said while looking at her straight in the eyes before tying her hands and putting a knife at her throat. 

 Cersei was astonished at the hate dripping out of his words. Never had she imagined that Jaime would speak to her like that or put a knife at her throat. She was speechless, but hatred toward Y/N kept growing inside of her. Nevertheless, she nodded in understanding and let herself be dragged out to the docks.

 As they arrived at the docks, the Mountain and some guards were standing in their path. The knife at her throat pressed harder as a silent command to make her order her guards to do nothing.

 “Let them pass! Don’t engage in combat!” Cersei yelled.

 Following the orders, the guards let the four of them walk up to the small boat. They all clambered aboard, Bronn taking the oars in hand to row to the ship.

 Once aboard the ship, Jaime paid the captain and turned to Cersei. “I will let you go now, but you’d better not have anyone follow us. Otherwise, I will make sure to kill you next time I see you,” Jaime threatened and then dragged her onto the edge of the deck where they could see the guards anxiously waiting at the docks.

 “I will release the Queen! You will have to come and get her!” Jaime screamed.

 As Jaime cut the ropes tying her wrists together Cersei said, “I swear to the old Gods and new, that as long as I draw breath, I'll have no rest until she is dead!” but Jaime ignored her and pushed her overboard.

 --------

 The journey to Esos was long, but it gave you time to recover. Jaime tended to your injuries every day. He barely left your side, the only times he left you alone were at night when you were asleep to either get some air or to talk with Bronn.

 Seven days after you left King’s Landing, you finally reached Pentos where they found an old friend of Tywin who helped them locate Tyrion and the Dragon Queen. When you arrived in Meereen, Jaime asked for an audience with Daenerys, and, although the Queen was not at first pleased to see the man who killed her father, she agreed, under Tyrion’s advice, to protect all of you.

 And this is how you and Jaime were finally at peace together with your friends. And, despite the war looming over your head, you knew you would all come out alive and stronger from it because you were together, and nothing could destroy the love you had for each other and your hopes for a better future.

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5

[ddagent]

Yes,please write about Jaime falling down the stairs while trying to seduce Brienne

"Your Grace, may I walk with you for a spell?”

Queen Brienne, first of her name, spun on her heel. Her forehead wrinkled rather unattractively as she realised who had called upon her; smoothing quickly in an attempt to appear polite to Tywin Lannister’s son. “If you must, Ser Jaime.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

He came alongside the Queen and offered his arm. It was customary, gentlemanly, despite the woman wearing breeches and a blade who had seen as much blood as his own, if not more. Jaw jutting forward, Queen Brienne took his arm with a barely concealed huff. She was rather unlike the young ladies who had been foisted upon him at Casterly Rock. Still, no matter her faults, she was to become his bride if Jaime’s father had any say in it. 

Well, he didn’t. Which was why he had sent Jaime to King’s Landing to seduce the young Queen. 

Unfortunately, the Lannister machinations were not going according to plan. “Your Grace, I wish to apologise for our first meeting. I know I didn’t paint myself in the greatest of lights—”

“—you stared. Practically laughed.”

Jaime tried to recall Tyrion’s scroll that had arrived earlier that day. He caught the Queen’s eye, as instructed. Not a bad place to look. “I did not wish to mock you, Your Grace. I was simply overwhelmed by your beauty.” 

This time it was the Queen who laughed. “Do you think me blind, Ser Jaime?” 

“No, Your Grace. If you were, your prowess in battle would be even more legendary than it is.” 

“Ugh.” The Queen wrenched her arm from him and gave him a sharp shove backwards. “Stop, Ser Jaime. Please.” 

He cleared his throat, trying desperately to right this situation. “Your Grace, if I have caused offence—”

“—you’re lying to me, Ser Jaime.” Those blue eyes of hers were suddenly ice; Jaime felt a chill despite the summer air. “Ser Jaime, you are by far the most handsome man I have ever seen. I am ugly, monstrously so, with three failed betrothals to go along with my many victories. I do not know why you are so hellsbent on forcing our acquaintance, but I beg of you to stop. Or, at the very least, be honest.”

With a flick of her cloak, Queen Brienne stormed off. Fuck. He was completely, overwhelmingly out of his depth. In his nineteen years, he had never once seduced a woman. No handmaidens, no serving wenches, no daughters of his father’s bannermen. Just his sister, but in truth, she had seduced him. He didn’t think sneaking into the Queen’s room in the middle of the night and removing his clothes was the right path to take. 

But he had to try something. He couldn’t return to Casterly Rock without being the Prince Consort. He couldn’t hold his sweet sister until he wed Queen Brienne in the Great Sept of Baelor. 

Fucking fuck. “Your Grace!”

Jaime jogged after Queen Brienne, hoping to reach her and spew some more of the sentimental drivel he had been sent by raven. He caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair ducking through a small entryway hidden by bushes. He followed, realising far too late that the entryway led to a staircase. Jaime tripped, and toppled down multiple steps. He tried his best to protect his head; the stabbing pain in his chest telling him he had suffered at least a broken rib. In seconds, he reached the ground. 

He coughed against the dirt. “Fuck.”

“Call for a Maester!” 

Jaime heard the patter of running feet, and then two gentle hands were turning him onto his back. One brushed the hair from his face. He blinked; the image in front of him settling quickly. The Queen. Brow furrowed; blue eyes soft. Oh, and her hands were so gentle. He couldn’t recall if anyone had touched him so tenderly before. 

She held a number of fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers can you see, Ser Jaime?” 

“You’re bloody ugly,” he coughed, head spinning. “But good men would go to war for your eyes.” 

And that smile, too. It was probably the head injury, but he’d fight an army to see that smile again. 

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 26 ~Hammered~

Jamie watched Quentin pour hot water and drop a teabag each into two mugs. He felt queasy from the effects of his spiked drink, and restless and at unease waiting for Claire's uncle to say something. Anything at all. Instead, the man bloody hummed. Jamie didn't really want tea. Right now, he prefered wrath, accusation and finger-pointing instead of not knowing anything or what Claire had said. Maybe anger was good because it kept him focused and stopped the spinning sensation in his head. 

After what had happened at the club, he would have happily got into a fight with anyone. Especially with someone named Forbes. Unfortunately, he couldn't deck Quentin.  Bloody hell, why does it have to be Quentin I have to face of all nights?

Jamie took deep cleansing breaths and loosened his muscles as Quentin placed a mug of milky steaming tea in front of him and ordered him to sit. Feeling like a fifteen-year-old again, he rubbed the back of his neck and did as he was told. 

He smothered the urge to gag at the offensive looking beverage. He guessed the sick feeling in his guts had more to do with the alcohol and drug that was in his bloodstream. He was about to ask for cold water when Quentin started to speak.

"I don't like the reason you are here, but it's still good to see you, Jamie," Quentin began, walking to the other side of the counter and eyeing him over his specs. 

Jamie thought he saw a small smile playing on Quentin's lips, and wondered if it was an evil smile or the drug was causing him to hallucinate. Glancing at the hammer next to the bag of walnuts, Jamie cleared his throat. "It's also good to see ye too, Quentin and I'm glad ye're well."

Quentin nodded. "Well, I'm going to cut to the chase. Here's the thing, Jamie ...Claire is not saying much, but I know she's upset over something. She normally talks to me when something is bothering her. I presume she is upset because of something you've done. So I'll need you to be the one to tell me exactly what's going on. I want to hear it in your own words, not some speech your publicist or agent or whatever you call them prepared for you."

Jamie frowned and shifted on his stool. "No one has ever prepared my speech, and I have nothing to hide ...from ye. I'll tell ye anything ye want to know," he said truthfully. 

"Very well then ..." Quentin waved a hand.

With a slight hesitation, Jamie proceeded to tell everything that had happened at the club, from what he could remember and what Joe and his brothers had told him about Forbes and Morag. The longer he talked and explained everything, the more he revealed things about himself, including what had happened at the awards and his life before meeting Claire. Maybe the drug in his drink and the alcohol from earlier was helping him loosen his tongue. Whichever the case was, Quentin listened carefully and attentively, his face devoid of judgement and his stance relaxed like as if they were just chatting over some sport's highlights they'd seen on TV.

When Jamie was done talking, he felt depleted; nevertheless, lighter but still nauseous. There was no point omitting things he didn't like about his past when he knew Quentin was a rugby fan and had probably heard or read stories about his escapades.

Jamie hoped Quentin wouldn't think he wasn't good enough for his niece after his revelation, but then, on the other hand, even if that was the case, it wouldn't have stopped him going after Claire. In fact, he would have torn the apartment apart if anyone got in his way, including Quentin.

"It is none of my business, and I don't normally interfere with Claire's decisions and choices, but since you're in the mood for sharing, what is it exactly you want from her?" Quentin asked. "You said you've never been in a relationship before. So what is this? A trial run? To see if a relationship is your thing?"

Christ!  All he wanted to do now was go into Claire's bedroom and talked to her, but Quentin had mentioned she was asleep.  Is she alright? Is she angry or sad? Disappointed?  He might as well stay put and try to get as many details as he could.

Jamie lifted his head and looked squarely into Quentin's eyes. "I'm in love with your niece."

Quentin took the hammer from his chopping block and smashed the walnuts in the ziplocked bag. "And? Has Claire said she feels the same way?"

Jamie didn't flinch nor break eye contact. "Aye," he admitted. "She told me so hersel'." He paused, thought for a minute and then continued. "And I'm hoping that is still the case."

"I don't know, Jamie. She retreated like ..."

"I'm not Frank!"

Letting go of the hammer, Quentin sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "Listen, son, I might as well tell you this. I like you. Truly I do. I can tell you've always spoken the truth ...right from the beginning. As for Frank, I've never liked the man." 

Jamie felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and the urge to pump his fist in the air was strong, but he quickly tamped down the impulse. 

"He was unhealthy for Claire, and I don't think she loved him ..." Quentin paused, his brows coming down to a perceptible frown. "Well, at least not like how a person should love someone they're supposed to marry. It was probably more like she was at awe with his brilliance as a doctor. But what I think about you and Frank is neither here nor there. What I worry about is the speed your relationship is going. I see that same awe she had for Frank whenever she talks about you. Maybe because Claire's been infatuated with you ever since she'd seen you playing rugby. I guess it's fair to say she's in a happier place with you compared to when she was with Frank. But there is a slight problem. Frank has done a lot of damage to her confidence, and somewhere along the way, she's developed some trust issues. And it certainly doesn't help when there are people out there who want a piece of you, and you're some sort of celebrity."

"What are ye trying to say?" Jamie asked, confused.

Taking a piece of cloth from his pant's pocket, Quentin took off his specs and began polishing it. "What I'm trying to say is, she'll always keep running away until she's resolved those issues. I figured, with all that's happening between the two of you, she sees similarities she had with Frank ..."

"Hang on a minute ...how could ye ..."

Quentin held up his hand, and Jamie shut his mouth. "Deeds, Jamie. Deeds! You and Frank have tried to impress her to her eyeballs with your money and what it could buy. Claire is a simple girl, and she'd led a semi-nomadic life most of her life. Expensive dinners and gifts don't do it for her. And what you're doing right now ...Frank did all that in the beginning. So in her head, she's just waiting for the same pattern to repeat itself again. Your relationship hasn't even begun yet, and she's already bracing for something to go wrong."

"Christ!" Jaime rubbed his face with both hands. "So what do I do?"

"That's for you to figure out," Quentin answered, bashing the last of the walnuts. "Besides, what do I know. I've never married."

..........

Claire was woken to careful movements of someone getting into her bed. Without opening her eyes, she knew from the scent that ensnared her senses, it was Jamie. She tensed but didn't stir and tried to even out her breathing as her heart started to beat a million miles per hour.

"Yer uncle told me I can sleep on his couch tonight, but after he'd gone off to bed I sneaked into ye room," Jamie whispered, snuggling in closer till her back met his chest. "If ye're angry with me, Sassenach, please try no' to make too much noise; otherwise, yer uncle will kick me out before I get a chance to speak to ye. And to be honest, I dinnae feel very well at all." He paused for a few heartbeats. "This is kinda weird. I feel like a schoolboy slinking into yer room behind yer uncle's back, but I couldnae help it knowing ye're probably sleeping fitfully because of what happened tonight."

She didn't move nor say anything, but he continued.

"Christ, Sassenach ..." He let out a long sigh. "I dinnae ken where to begin." He slowly pulled the duvet down and slipped his hand across her waist, his hand splaying out over her stomach. "I was so worried when Joe said Geillis wouldnae answer the phone, I thought I'd go out of my mind."

A long silence ensued, and the only sound she could make out was the steady rhythm of his breathing and the movement of his throat when he swallowed.

"I'm wondering if ye can feel my touch in yer dreams ...if that's why yer heart is beating a little faster. Is yer heart still beating for me, Sassenach?"

She squeezed her eyes tighter, and her chest constricted.

"Does your heart still belong to me,  mo chridhe ?" he asked softly, his voice low and pained. 

She rolled her lips in to suppress the sound threatening to come out of her mouth, his words seducing her heart before her mind could put a stop to it. The sadness in his voice made her doubts and follow-up questions go in a thousand and one random directions, almost cancelling each other out and confusing her even more. At that moment, all she could do was hold on and feel.

"I wonder, if I kiss ye, will ye kiss me back? Or has the pain from what happened tonight, made ye love me a little less?"

His warm lips coasted along her shoulder, sending a shiver travelling down her spine, and a small gasp to escape her throat. Jamie proceeded as if he hadn't noticed her breath hitching.

"Do ye hear the things I say to ye, while ye sleep? I cannae tell ...maybe 'cos I'm drunk. I hope my words will filter through yer dreams and soothe the doubts in yer heart." He sucked in a breath as he moved closer, resting his head on top of hers. "Maybe with words, I can paint ye a life ye deserve, one where my past cannae touch ye and yer subconscious would approve of. And perhaps I can find a way to take what is broken inside of you and make it whole again so that nae matter what forces set to break us apart, we'd remain solid because we have trust." 

A single teardrop slid down her cheek.

Sighing, his fingers absentmindedly stroke her hair away from her face, and he stiffened when he felt the wet on her cheek. "I ken that my words wouldnae mean anything to ye if I didnae have yer trust. Yer trust matters, Sassenach ...it matters whether ye still want me or no' because ye matter to me. So I want ye to know, whatever happens, ye will always have me, and only ye can have me. I will be here to wrap ye in my arms when something threatens to pull you under, every time ... that's if ye will let me. Ye dinnae have to believe me now, I'm not even asking ye to, but I will prove it every day because I love you."

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She couldn't even string words to form a sentence. Besides, what could she say? This buildup inside of her was so unusual, and it ached. She had no idea what kind of words it would produce, and she was still wondering how Morag ended up on his lap.

"From day one, ye've had me walking on a tight rope, and I wasnae sure if I'd ever make it to the other end or fall. The not knowing is quite scary. But the thing is ...I wouldnae want it any other way because every moment with ye is worth it. I guess this trust can be likened to developing a photograph. It needs light for the picture to be well-formed. But I can see it already in my head even if it's no' ready yet. I'm leaving the timing up to the wisdom of the ol' man up there. If we only get one shot at this, I want it to be the best, and though the waiting will pain me, I'll do whatever it takes to get you and me right."

He found her hand and linked it with hers, but the doctor in her thought his palm felt clammy and cold and concluded it must be the effect of alcohol poisoning.

"Whatever it is ye read tonight in the social media, it was inaccurate. But before I tell ye my side of the story, I'd truly appreciate it if ye dinnae run away from me again. If ye do, bear it in mind, I will always come after ye, and I will find ye. And that's a promise, Sassenach. I want ye to remember that. That being said, I will never give ye a reason to run away from me either."

More tears started to pool in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back before they could escape. But it was a futile attempt.

"I guess ye saw pictures of Morag sat on my lap. The thing is I cannae remember that part. Now ye might think I had a lot to drink after ye left the private room, but that wasnae the case." She felt his chest expand as he took a massive deep breath. "The last thing I remember from last night is kissing ye before ye left with Geillis and joining the lads on the sofa. Apparently, Morag came in with Forbes soon after. But I couldnae remember the part when Forbes came in."

Her eyes flew open.  Oh, sweet Jesus!  She'd forgotten all about Forbes and seeing him in the club. After she had that emergency call from Mrs Crook telling her that her uncle had been taken away by the ambulance, she had been so beside herself from worry that she couldn't think of anything else.  Oh my God, oh my God! Why didn't I warn Jamie as soon as I saw that wicked man?  She'd already known he was trouble, but Mrs Crook's phonecall had distracted her.

"The lads had nae idea what kind of man Forbes is. Do ye want to know how Joe found me?"

She flinched and braced herself, but instead of continuing with his story, he shifted them both so she was lying on her back and he was on his side holding her against him. She shut her eyes.

"Ye're shivering,  mo chridhe," he whispered, tightening his hold and scooting closer. He pulled the duvet over them and rubbed her arms.

When her shaking finally stopped, he let out another long sigh, his warm breath fanning her hair.

"I dinnae ken how I'm going to make ye believe me, Sassenach, but I hope ye will. Joe and my brothers found me passed out on the sofa with Morag on my lap. Joe immediately knew something was wrong 'cause I wasnae myself. Weel ...so he says. He figured my drink had been spiked and ..."

Spiked?  All of a sudden, she felt sick as the dots started to connect. "Your drink was spiked?" she echoed hoarsely. "Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me? Jesus, Jamie!

"Ye're awake!" Jamie grumbled, propping himself on his elbow.

"Of course, I am awake you dafty." She threw the covers off and scrambled out of her bed. "Get up this minute, Jamie! I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Ssssh, please, Sassenach. Dinnae shout. Ye're making the room spin, and yer uncle will hear us," he whispered loudly while attempting to get hold of her hand. When he grabbed air, he fell back onto the bed. "Ach, Christ! I think I'm gonnae throw up."

After turning the bedside lamp on, she went quickly to his side, touching his face and feeling his pulse.  Ah, damn, damn, damn it! Why didn't Joe take him to the hospital?  "Jamie! Listen to me. I need you to help me to get you to the hospital. We need to determine what drug was used to spike your drink. I have a feeling your blood pressure is very low, and I can hardly feel your pulse," she explained in her no-nonsense doctor way, pulling him up in up-right position. "And that's not very good."

"It'll ssh pass when morning comes," he muttered waving his hand. "I'll sleep it off."

This time Claire noticed the slight slurring and she knew this didn't have anything to do with alcohol anymore. "Jamie, please, my love," she begged, tugging and using all her strength to budge him out of bed. But it was beginning to prove an impossible feat with his weight.

Suddenly the door to her room opened. "You bloody git! You sneaked into my niece's room! Did you think I wouldn't notice? Get ..."

"Uncle Lamb! Please! Not now! Call the ambulance! Jamie needs medical attention!"

Quentin just stood there, confusion etching his face as his gaze went from Jamie to Claire and then back to Jamie again.

"Uncle!!" Claire shouted.

"What?! How?"

"Uncle," she said in a low warning voice. "Emergency now, questions later!"

This time, her uncle listened and quickly backed away. By the time Quentin left the room, and Claire refocused her attention to the immediate problem, Jamie was already snoring very loudly. She stroked his hair back and felt his pulse again. To her relief, this time, it was slightly stronger. 

Carefully, she turned him to his side in case he vomited and ran her hand up and down his back. "Don't worry, darling. I'll make sure Forbes pay a heavy price for this," she whispered, mentally vowing she would do just that. "And if you can hear me, rest easy, my love. I'm never leaving your side."

She sighed and got up to dress.  

Ah, bloody hell! What am I going to do with you, you sweet-talking man?

[paintingwithdarkness]

OMG I understand why you didn't understand my request 😂 I wanted to see a situation where older Bart does see the birth of Bart of the current timeline (must be awkard tho ; does Don know that there are 2 Barts at the same place ?)😂

Bart was freaking out.

“What if it causes some kind of paradox or something?! Am I going to vanish out of existence? What about the timeline? Babysitting Dad was weird enough, but witnessing my own birth, or babysitting myself? That’s a whole other level of weird. And-”

A hand dropping down onto his shoulder caused the jumble of panicked words flowing from the speedster’s mouth to die off.

“Calm down, Bart. Everything will be just fine.” The voice of his grandfather was warm and reassuring, but it actually did very little to assuage his fears.

“We don’t know that everything will be fine. I don’t belong in this time period, Grandpa!” Bart brought his hands up to his temples. “The fact that I’m calling you ‘grandpa’ when the me of this time period hasn’t even been born yet is problematic in and of itself. Dad is thirteen years younger than me. I was there for his birth! The fact that that event didn’t wipe me out of this timeline was weird enough. And now you all want me to be here for my own birth?!” Barry’s hand slipped off of his shoulder as he began pacing.

“It’s already been weird talking to Dad since he found out the truth. It was fine when he thought I was “Uncle” Bart, but now that he knows I’m his son, there’s this weird tension between us. What if he and Mom don’t want to keep me in this time period because they know how I’ll turn out? That little me will turn out just like this?” Bart gestured at himself.

“What’s wrong with how you turned out?” A pair of familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. “I happen to like this version of you a lot.” Soft, warm lips descended on his cheek in a reassuring kiss.

“I’m a product of my circumstances,” Bart argued. He tried pulling out of the arms that had him caged, but his husband held on tight.

“And that’s what makes you different from him. You came back to fix the timeline so that this version of you won’t have to suffer like you did. You made things better for him, and for me.” Jaime stepped out from around Bart, turning to face him and take the speedster’s hands into his own.

“I didn’t do it for myself.” Bart cast his eyes down to the tiled hospital ground. “I did it for the good of humanity.”

Jaime squeezed his hands, causing Bart to look up again. “That might be true, Cariño, but this timeline’s version of you is part of the humanity you saved. You’ve given him a better life. He gets to have the childhood you didn’t, and doesn’t have to go through the same pain.”

Bart shrugged. “Even if that’s true, I didn’t do it for myself.”

Jaime gave him a sad smile. “It might not have started out that way, but you did make things better for yourself by coming to this time period. You say that you don’t belong here, but I have to disagree. You’ve changed my life, Amorcito, and this timeline’s version of you will never be able to do the same things for me that you have. The only version of Bart Allen that I will ever belong to will be you, Amor.” Jaime leaned down to meet him for a kiss.

Bart melted into it. “Thanks, Babe,” he sighed when they broke away. He leaned his head against Jaime’s shoulder and took his hand, coming to stand beside him.

Barry smiled at them. “Iris and Dawn are in the delivery room with your parents. I’m assuming you and Jaime will be sitting it out?”

Bart nodded. “I don’t want to see my mother like that. It’ll be weird enough seeing baby me. I need some time to process.”

Jaime gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll pop in to see the baby once everything is cleaned up. Bart had to be an adorable baby if he’s this hot now.”

Bart smacked his husband lightly in the chest, which did nothing to stop the laughter bubbling from it. “Not funny, Babe,” he chastised, blushing.

Jaime pecked his cheek, silently asking for forgiveness.

They waved at Barry as he disappeared into the delivery room, and then the couple made their way to the waiting area. Bart sat down in one of the blue-cushioned chairs and immediately started fidgeting nervously. Despite the reassurances he’d just gotten from his grandfather and husband, fear was still wracking through his system in full force.

Jaime reached a hand out, placing it on Bart’s thigh to stop his anxiety-induced leg shaking. Unfortunately, it only encouraged his other to start bouncing at an even more rapid rate. Jaime squeezed gently before letting go and searching for Bart’s hand, lacing their fingers together once he’d found it.

“What’s wrong now, Cariño? Talk to me.” Jaime turned his dark chocolate-colored eyes on Bart, and the sincerity within caused the younger man to break.

“What if something goes wrong? What if this me ends up having a health problem, or there’s complications? There are so many things that are different now, and I still don’t know what’s going to happen with the timeline. It might not be possible for me and him to exist in the same time period simultaneously. What if-” Jaime placed a gentle, yet firm finger to his lips.

“Everything will be okay,” Jaime reassured him with a smile. “The circumstances little you is being born into today are much better than the circumstances you were born into, Amorcito. If baby you has any heath issues, we’re surrounded by doctors and nurses that know what they’re doing. Besides, he’s bound to be strong. You might be two different versions, but he’s still you, and you’re the strongest person I know, Bart. No matter what happens today, I promise I’m going to stick by your side and help you figure it out. I’m your husband. It’s my job. And I love you. We’ll get through it together.”

Bart let out a calming sigh, leaning to rest his head in the crook between Jaime’s chin and collarbone. The older man turned his head to give him a kiss before wrapping his arm around Bart’s shoulders.

After about thirty minutes, a nurse came out to inform them that the delivery had been successful and that they could go in to see the new baby now if they wanted.

Bart was understandably hesitant, but with a little encouragement from his husband, he managed to make it to the room where his parents and the younger version of himself were currently residing. Before Jaime could turn the doorknob to admit them to the room, Bart reached out a hand to stop him.

“What if...” Bart shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

It took Jaime a second to understand what Bart was asking. “You mean baby you? How could he not like you? He’s you.”

Bart continued looking down at the ground. He had no way to stop all of the insecurities flowing through his body. There was just so much he could imagine going wrong with this encounter, and almost nothing good would come to mind.

“What if Mom and Dad don’t want me there? I’m not really their son. The baby that’s in there with them now is. My real parents died back in the future that I came from. The Don Allen and Melani Thawne that raised me are not the same Don and Melani that are in there now.”

Jaime used a finger to tilt Bart’s chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. “I know, Cariño. That’s what makes both of you special. The Bart that’s in that room right now isn’t you. He hasn’t had the same experiences you’ve had, so he’ll never be you, Amor, but you are the only person who will ever know who he is. You’ll know exactly what’s best for him, even better than his parents, so you deserve to be there. Whether you want it or not, you’re going to be a big part of his life, and he’s going to try to live up to your example. It’s up to you to set a good one.”

Bart nodded resolutely and turned to face the door. Jaime was right. Little Bart would never be him, but he would be the only one to ever know who little Bart would become. It was up to him to set an example. He’d never had the chance for a childhood like the one little Bart would be getting, and he could only hope that little Bart would use it to his advantage and be better than he was.

Bart turned the knob and stepped into the room, clasping Jaime’s hand tightly. Melani was lying in the bed in the center of the room, looking exhausted, and Don was sitting in a chair by her side, stroking his fingers through locks the same color as Bart’s own. In a chair next to him sat Dawn, who was gushing to her mother about how cute the new baby was. Grandpa Barry had a bundle of blue blankets cradled in his arms. He looked up as Bart and Jaime slipped into the room and if Bart wasn’t mistaken, he thought he could see tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. There was a ridiculously proud smile plastered across his lips.

Don looked from his wife to Bart, and then to the blue bundle in Barry’s arms. The blond man then stood and walked over to Bart, throwing his arms around him in a surprisingly tight embrace. Bart stumbled back a step, letting go of his husband’s hand, taken off guard.

“I hope he grows up to be like you,” Don said, giving the older version of his son a squeeze before pulling away.

Bart continued to blink in shocked silence. Since telling Don the truth, that was the first time he had ever actually acknowledged Bart as his son, despite the odd circumstances. It was confusing to say the least. Bart was still reeling from even seeing that another version of himself could exist in the same continuity. Having Don simultaneously accept this forty year old version of him and the newborn version of him as his son was overwhelming.

“Do you want to hold him?” Don took baby Bart from Barry and held out the swaddled infant for Bart to take.

Bart cast a glance over at his mother, laying in the hospital bed behind them. Melani nodded encouragingly. Wordlessly, he held his arms out.

As soon as the younger version of himself was settled tightly against his chest, a shock ran down Bart’s spine, causing him to gasp.

A series of images flashed across his vision in quick succession, lasting barely a second each, but overwhelming his senses with sounds, tastes, smells, and emotions.

He was sitting on a colorfully patterned carpet, stacking a tower of alphabet blocks. He was enthusiastically showing off a report card full of all A’s to his smiling parents. He was waving to a crowd full of his peers and family as a record-breaking track time flashed on a scoreboard behind him. He was sitting on a couch with friends, laughing along to a cheesy comedy movie. He was running laps around the Watchtower as his mentors looked on proudly. He was carefully looking over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed as a handsome boy tugged him behind the school bleachers by the hand. He was posing for a picture, holding a diploma and graduation cap tossed in the air above his head. He was standing in front of a group of peers, giving a presentation on physics. He was standing at an alter, holding hands with a wonderful man he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was anxiously sitting in the waiting room of a maternity ward, anticipating good news.

Tears zipped down his cheeks and high-pitched wailing pieced the air. The bundle of blankets was snatched from his arms and Jaime’s concerned visage filled his vision.

“Cariño, what’s wrong?” Bart’s husband reached up to cup his face, wiping tears away with his thumbs.

On the other side of the room, Don was rocking the baby, gently shushing the newborn, as cries continued to escape the blue bundle.

A happy sob escaped Bart’s lips. “I did it. He’s going to have a better life.” A joyful laugh tumbled from his throat.

Everyone in the room turned to look at Bart in confusion and concern.

“What did you do?” Barry asked.

Bart smiled wide. “I caused a paradox.”

Omg, Anon! I just want to say that I am SO sorry this took me this long to get to. I know we had a short conversation about it awhile ago, and this has literally been saved in my drafts forever! I finally decided to add the final touches and finish this Drabble up.

It honestly was such a fun piece to write. At first I didn’t really know where I wanted this little story to go, but as I wrote, all of the pieces seemed to fall into place. I hope it’s somewhat like what you were expecting? (Also, I know you didn’t specify, but I decided to be self-indulgent and add in some bluepulse, bc they are my absolute fave. Hope you don’t mind).

But anyway, thank you so much for the ask! It was a brilliant idea.

[anniebibananie]

au where jaime is a photographer who wants brienne to model for him

tbh this got sort of wild. thank you for sending this in who KNEW this idea was sitting inside me. 

__

There are, frankly, quite a few things Brienne finds offensive about Jaime Lannister. The list has been forming the last three days as he stalls her construction site for a photo shoot she wasn’t given an ounce of say in. The list itself has grown long and comprehensive.

One of the first reasons seems to be that the photo shoot concept doesn’t even make sense as far as she’s concerned. They’re all dressed in practically Cinderella-esque ball gowns and regal suits as they… mess up her construction site. It’s truthfully infuriating.

She just wants to get the building built, as she always does, and move onto the next project. Jaime Lannister is making that difficult as his demands grow larger (No, I know the crane is for professional use only, but I only want to borrow it for a minute), his photo shoot length keeps expanding, and the final thing. The real kicker.

“Tarth!” he calls as she walks by, plans under her arm as she’s trying to tell Podrick how he’s meant to divvy up the foundation tasks for the day. “You have to let me photograph you.”

Brienne thinks maybe for someone else this whole thing would be flattering, but she knows who she is, okay? She’s good at her job, hell she’s great at her job. Pretty much she’s been on a construction site her entire life, and by the time she’d hit 13 her father figured if she was gonna be around she might as well help. She knows the ins and outs, and she takes pride in her work. 

She’s smart, funny if you appreciate a dry sort of candor that can be hard to understand, a good friend and loyal as all hell, but she isn’t pretty. She isn’t someone you ask to take a photo of for your weird, nonsensical photo shoot. 

All she wants to do is tell him to fuck off, please and move right on, but she thinks Catelyn might have a problem with that. Brienne loves the matriarch of Stark Construction, Inc. so she doesn’t exactly want to upset her. Even if it means dealing with this highly inconvenient situation. 

“No, thank you!” she calls back, a fake cheer evident in her voice. Another thing she’s not that good at? Covering up her feelings. She’s pretty much a completely open book, unfortunately. “Hurry up and get off my construction site.” 

So, maybe she hasn’t really mastered any sense of being nice in dealing with this ridiculous joke of an experiment. Brienne doesn’t care if having a famous photographer use their construction company as a backdrop will get them more press. She’s not entirely convinced it’s actually going to help them land more big name clients. 

“You will not elude me, Tarth.” He smiles at her in that wicked way that is definitely on her list of things she finds offensive about Jaime. It’s like he smiles as if he knows it wins people over, as if he thinks it’s some sort of magic spell to getting what he wants. 

Maybe it works on other people, she isn’t sure, but she knows it doesn’t work on her. 

__

When Brienne walks into her construction site the fourth day to see Jaime Lannister sitting in the chair behind her makeshift desk, she’s pretty sure she’s never been closer to murder than this moment. 

“You were supposed to be gone,” she says, dropping her bag on the desk anyways.

If his legs, which are up on her desk may she add, just so happen to get hit with her work boots than that’s not her fault.

“You were supposed to model for me,” he replies. His eyes take their time looking over her, which she doesn’t understand because she’s in muddied jeans and a flannel, hair still wet from her morning shower.

“I get the joke, Jaime, but it’s gone on a bit long, don’t you think?” she falls into the only open chair besides her own because it’s way too early in the morning to be dealing with this without a cup of coffee, and she’s tired. 

“You do know my first name.” He perks up at that, face looking genuinely happy in a way that isn’t manufactured. “I don’t get why you think there’s any joke about it. I’m a deadly serious man.”

“Yeah, I get that impression of you.” She rolls her eyes as her fingers twiddle in her lap. Really, she’s not sure why his presence is setting her on edge, but she can’t help but feel a little put off. “I’ve seen your models. I’m not a model.”

“Why?” he asks, and the only thing she finds tied to the word is curiosity.

“Lannister…” she trails over the word, elongating it so it’s apparent she switched back to his last name. Making clear she’s saying what’s to come next with complete factual honesty. “I’m not beautiful.”

He scoffs. “Since when has art had anything to do with being beautiful. Here’s the deal,” he says, leaning forward and capturing her eyes with his own.

Really, captured. She feels like she can’t look away. It’s intense and sort of terrifying. In this moment, she sort of does feel like art the way he’s looking at her. 

“You take a single photograph for me, and I’ll disappear off your construction site today.”

“Deal.” She reaches across, not caring that her hands are forever scattered with dirt underneath the fingernails or aren’t painted and pretty compared to his clearly manicured ones. “To get you out of my life, I’d do just about anything.”

“Oh.” He smirks. “Who said anything about out of your life, Tarth. I just said off the construction site. I never make promises I can’t keep.” 

She grits her teeth, hands clasped at her side, and keeps the frustration inside. She hates being teased, hates being treated like this by men like Jaime Lannister. He thinks he’s playing some new sort of joke she hasn’t heard before?

He’ll leave, she reminds herself. It calms her at least a little. “Let’s get this over with.”

__

He puts her in a ruffled skirt and a sleeveless flannel tucked into it, which seems not only ugly but also incredibly impractical. He allows her to stay in her work boots, which are worn and dirty and not at all classified as anything but practical.

Luckily, he agrees to let them do it somewhere her employees can’t see them (she’s pretty sure she’d never hear the end of it). Which leaves them in a back, unfinished room with minimal lighting. Jaime swears he can make it work (I can make anything work, darling). 

She feels big and awkward. Usually, on the site, she feels like she was made for it all. It’s sort of her comfortable place, really.

His eyes, even behind a camera lens, make her feel bare.

“Just… take the picture already, won’t you?” She knows she sounds sort of frantic, which isn’t exactly a look she’s comfortable with in front of him, but she hates this.

“I only get one. I’m not going to waste it,” he replies, not bothering to pull away from the camera. With a huff, he pulls it back and looks over her. “Here. Sit.”

He pulls a flipped over bin near her and taps it, watching her with a raised brow until she follows the instruction and finally sits. It’s smaller than a normal chair, and she feels as if her legs are too long for the whole space. They stretch forward, the pale skin of her calves peaking out below the skirt.

“Can I adjust you, just a little?” he asks.

She nods.

His hands are gentle as he moves her, completely in his element. He adjusts one leg to rest up on a pile of wood, a hand to hold onto the bin behind her. He’s stretching her out, in a way, giving her the space to exist in the way she’s meant to.

“How’d you end up here?” he asks as he adjusts something on the camera.

She shrugs. “My dad used to be the site manager, and with no one to look after me when he was here I was just… always here, too. Got used to it, sort of like my family.”

Living construction site to construction site had certainly never done anything good for her reputation, and maybe if she had sought out popularity she would have separated herself from it more. But on the flip side she had always had a place to go where she was known, where she was given permission to be herself.

How many people had that? A place they knew their body and personality and strengths could be accepted, and so in turn she had just been left feeling bad for everyone else. Popularity be damned.

It doesn’t mean, though, that she isn’t still susceptible to the cruelty of others. She’s known Jaime Lannisters her whole life

Click. 

She looks up, eyes wide and lips open in a small ‘o’. “You took it?”

He’s looking at the shot he captured, and his face is open and happy. There’s not a trace of humor there, and she stands up to go over and see.

There isn’t much light in the room, but the way Jaime had positioned her it seems almost as if it’s all on her. Her body is long and stretched, creating an arched line, and it’s like her body is somehow pulling the light in. Her face, caught in the moments after her admission, looks oddly peaceful.

“See,” he says, turning his stupid golden boy face toward her. “Art.”

She doesn’t know how to argue with that, so she doesn’t.

__

“Tarth!”

“I thought you were leaving,” she calls back. She’s three floors up, but there isn’t actually any wall up yet between the foundation beams so she can see him on the ground from here.

She moves toward the edge and stares him down.

“I am, see.” He points toward his car, which is shiny and new and somehow had managed to sit in this lot for three days without a single drop of dirt on it. “I want another shot.”

“I gave you one. One was the deal.”

He tilts his head to the side, and she can see his smirk form in its familiar place.

“Another shot with you. I’ve never had a muse before, it’s exhilarating.” He has a hand on his chest dramatically, somehow making his eyes sparkle, and Brienne hates him. She really truly, does. 

Except she sort of doesn’t.

“This is just embarrassing. Stop yelling across my construction site, Jaime.” She scratches at the side of her face, doing her best to ignore the fact that she can hear Podrick and Gendry gossiping behind her. “Come back tomorrow, at the end of the day, and we’ll see what happens.” 

“It’s a date,” he yells, already walking away as if he knows the chance might be fleeting.

“It is not a date!” 

“A date,” he cheers, blowing the whole site a dramatic kiss as a few of them catcall and yell in excitement.

Brienne can’t help laughing so she lets herself. Even if she knows later this is going to be hell, or Jaime Lannister really is one of the most infuriating people she’s ever met.

It just so also happens… she might sort of like him. Hopefully, the two can cancel out.

[scoundrels-in-love]

If you're still doing the ask meme, 18 (What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.) and 23 (If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?)?

I am always doing ask games, you could go through my list and send ask from ages ago and be like ‘it’s from that one, tell me’. Thank you for asking, love! Also I see you and your make Rainy be kind to yourself agenda. I see you.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene

Because I accidentally reminded myself of We draw a line in the sand,  We say don't cross this or else (Take this from me, take this lonely heart ) earlier today and upon re-read, it’s not as bland as I remembered, I am picking section I of it.

I always love putting visual scenes in words, to truly and genuinely connect to emotions within them as they become more than wisps of smoke in my hands and turn into threads I can weave together into patterns and sentences. And I am rather pleased that my idea of ‘let’s explore Brienne’s complicated relationship with love as utterly romantic yet world-worn person’ turned out as good as it did, especially combining it with what I imagine was a storm of emotions immediately after Dragonpit.

Brienne hasn’t believed love is enough in a long time.

 Like a flower, this childish belief has gradually lost its colorful petals - blown away by harsher fall winds that had blown out candles of her mothers’ and infant sisters’ lives, trashed to ground by cold rain like waves had battered Galladon’s body against the cliffs, fallen away from the first touch of frost that her decision to leave had brushed upon her relationship with her father.

 Love could not carry you over the pits in the road or take you over the mountains life raised in your path. Only you yourself could   try  to overcome these obstacles, assisted by its sometimes gentle, sometimes bruising hand.

I wanted to, for once, portray Brienne who knows love is important instead of outright dismissing it as it’s often done by her more cynical characterizations, but also doesn’t hold the idolized concept of ‘love conquers and changes everything’, even bypassing human will.

Her love could not save Renly when he bled out in her arms, so far from his own beloved.

Just as her oaths and beliefs could not save Lady Stark - or her late Lady’s love had not saved her family.

 Much like Jaime, whose golden, cracked heart could not dispel darkness over Cersei’s mind with its glow.

 And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

Further exploration of this idea - the futility of certain things, but not outright dismissal of it, because it’s not like Brienne to dismiss Effort and Intention. Love may not be all-powerful, but neither is honor and yet, she doesn’t waver from it.

And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

Yet, she had dared to hope, for a brief moment in Dragonpit, when their traded glances held the weight of gathering storm clouds upon the horizon - they could dispel yet, giving way to a sun so bright it blinds in its play or unleash a storm that would devour fleets in minutes.

She had been blind, alright. But no sun had been present, except for the resplendent Lannister twins. And what cruel desert suns they could be.

As always, she recognizes the Will of things, that she cannot Save someone who doesn’t want to be Saved, that she can’t untwist Jaime’s head and then put it on straight regarding Cersei or anything else. And yet, as sort of self proclaimed cynic, there’s still part of her that wants. Wants to be enough and wants to see him choose her, even more so - choose what’s right. She always has honored his choices, seen him for the honorable man he is at the core through them and because of what his motivations were. I give further glimpses of the still very much alive romantic side through the story, but this is the first one.

 “Fuck loyalty,” she had told him, but now it tastes like salt and ash of burned would-bes in her mouth. Brienne would feel better if she could truly, honestly say she had meant it, without a single, passing thought of ‘fuck loyalty to her, your sister, and maybe you will find a different sort loyalty in the smoking ruins of what Cersei has reduced your love to’.

 Selfish, even when she tried to do what is right, even when she tried to save him.

 And so, so godsdamn angry when she could not.

I think it’s very Brienne of her to blame herself for her longing for Jaime, to call her love and wanting to be picked and loved in return as selfish because it’s opposite of True and Pure calling of trying to convince a Commander to follow the Just Cause she thinks she should be driven by. I think it comes from also her perceiving herself as selfish in her actions to be a knight and how it has complicated her relationships with her father, as touched upon at the start of the fic.

She wants to be a Good person, but always feels lacking on some level when compared to the moral standards that cannot be fulfilled. And in part, it’s because she feels she has failed her father, and now she is failing Jaime because if she was Better, less Selfish, perhaps she’d convince him or at least it’d not hurt so much (the pain is what she’s earned with her selfishness).

And then the scene ends with her brooding being interrupted by Podrick, who says Jaime has come. I think it overall explores themes I wanted to quite well, without running on endlessly, and sets up premise of the story well!

23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?

I think I would re-do the Soulmate/Arranged Marriage verse. I do not know how exactly, but I am dissatisfied with the all-over-place way it’s being told right now. The first is in shape of fortunes, the other one shots are from different parts of timeline and the final piece would in part return to the original. Unfortunately, I also do love the Fortune style, so I don’t know how I’d re-do it without losing it’s original charm/way I even got it out of me. But I’d love some systematization to it all.

Send me BtS for fanfics question?<3

[firesign23]

32 + 50 please thank you! ❤️

Okay, I thought about setting this in the sort-of-yonder-sequel universe because I’ve gotten weirdly attached to that AU, but decided to go for a more traditional arranged marriage setup. And then proceeded to write a 2200 word fic because I forgot I was supposed to be writing summaries. I don’t even know what this is, other than a weird mish-mash of tense (deliberate), long (not deliberate), and the most twincest I’ve bothered to imply in a story. I apologise in advance.

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Pregnancy Fic & Arranged Marriage

In the years to come, Jaime would say that the marriage was entirely the fault of his wife. He’d been doing perfectly well avoiding all marital entanglements, despite his father’s plotting, until some stubborn sword-wench arrived in King’s Landing and upended everything. Brienne, for her part, would bluntly point out that she sparred at night specifically to avoid attention from half the knights in the city, and if he’d left when she’d asked him to, his father never would have found them and arranged their marriage before either of them had time to object.

“I’m grateful for my stubbornness, then,” he would reply, usually accompanied by a kiss to her cheek that inevitably made her blush.

But that was several years into the future. The day of their wedding, it was a toss-up over who was less impressed with the experience. She’d stared stonily at him the entire time they were in the sept, and spoke no words to him or anyone else during the feast. Jaime leaned towards her when Tyrion began a particularly long-winded speech.

“Follow me,” he whispered, snagging her hand beneath the table; she pulled free immediately, the hand above the table closing over her knife. Stubborn beast. “If we leave now, we can avoid the bedding. Unless you’re looking forward to it?” His eyes flicked over her appraisingly. “Mayhaps you’d enjoy it, being stripped of your clothes and manhandled. But if that’s the case–” he licked his lips here, deliberately lewd and goading, “I’m strong enough to do it myself.”

“I would kill you where you stood if you tried,” she replied levelly, glancing around the hall and weighing her options. “But very well.”

And so they had slipped from the hall and towards their chambers, where Jaime poured himself a goblet of wine and asked his new wife if she’d like one as well. She stood stiffly by the door, looking rather like a startled creature but refusing to run away.

“No, thank you, Ser Jaime.”

“Relax, wench,” he said, taking a drink and sprawling into a chair. “I won’t bed an unwilling woman. Your virtue is safe with me. I’ll prick my finger so people will presume your duty done.”

“I have no maidenhead,” she said boldly.

That was a surprise.

“Man? Woman?” he paused. “Horse?”

The woman blushed. “I meant that fighting and riding had taken care of it years ago, and if it hadn’t my fingers would have.”

It was a thing of false bravado, her chin tilted high and her face a bright red, but Jaime found himself imagining it–those long, broad fingers of hers between her legs, pumping relentlessly as she gasped and writhed, her other hand cupping her near-nonexistent breasts. He imagined she’d grunt as she did while fighting, feral and without regard for politeness.

His heart belonged to another, but his cock seemed to have no trouble with the idea of bedding the Maid of Tarth.

“Still,” he said, draining his goblet of wine, “it is best to be thorough.”

***

Cersei hated his new wife, her green eyes narrowing whenever the two crossed paths. And while he loved his dear sister and had no more than a begrudging respect for the poor woman so unfortunately wed to him, Jaime found he had little patience for her cruelty.

“Leave the poor beast be,” Jaime would softly reprimand when they were alone. “I am yours as I have always been. I do not goad Robert so.”

“Robert is the King, foolish brother,” Cersei would softly reply, nibbling at his ear. “Your wife is nothing.”

***

“Your father says I am not to spar until I have produced an heir,” she told him three moons into their marriage, clearly furious. “So I shall never wield a sword again.”

“I didn’t take you to be the type to listen to such proclamations.”

“I am not,” she said. “But every halfway decent swordsman in the keep is, it seems. No-one will fight with me.”

“I will,” he said. “If he quarrels, we’ll tell him it gets our juices flowing. He’s desperate enough for an heir he won’t forbid it.”

He saw her weighing her distrust of him against her need to fight, and come to the same conclusion any warrior would.

In the silver moonlight, her brow damp with sweat as she raises her sword once more, he thinks she is almost beautiful.

***

They had been married nearly a year when she came to him, wearing a nightgown he knew was not her usual sleepwear.

“An heir is required of us,” she said. Still blushing furiously, still brave despite it, as she had been the night they wed. “It can be yours or I can seek… You said you will not bed an unwilling woman and have stayed true to this, and I will offer you the same courtesy.“

“Come here, Brienne,” he said. Kissed her. Touched her.

“I know…I know this is duty,” she said, near-trembling in his arms. “There’s no need to play at enjoyment.”

He growled. Stubborn wife. “I have every intention that we will both enjoy this.”

Jaime, she cried when he finally found his place between her legs. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime.

***

“I hear congratulations are in order, dear brother,” Cersei said, trailing her hand across his shoulders. “You finally braved the beast and got her with child.”

He thought of Brienne, of the tiniest swell of her stomach that he’d mapped with fingers and lips only that morning. Thought of the way she’d laughed, scolding him for his nonsense. Thought of the way she still sought his bed more nights than not, for affection or simply to sleep, though she had already done her duty. His heart belonged to Cersei, of course it did; it had for so long there was no longer a choice, even as she grew crueler by the day. But more and more of his life was with his stubborn sword-wench. His wife.

“So the maester says,” Jaime said. Neutrally, lest his sister read more into it than there is. “But I’ve gotten you that way three times.”

“With any luck she’ll bear you a healthy boy and die in the process,” Cersei shrugged, lowering herself onto Jaime’s lap and moving to kiss him.

He pushed her away.

“That is my wife,” he said, standing. Strode towards the door. “I’ll thank you not to speak of such things again.”

“Jaime, I only meant–”

Whatever she said after that was said to an empty room.

***

“He’s kicking,” Brienne said in wonder, a hand pressed to her stomach. “Come, Jaime, feel him.”

Jaime crossed the room and bent before her chair, placing his hand where directed. There was a soft thump against his palm and he smiled. That was his child, the one he could hold and teach and love openly, the one that would bear his name. A son who loved swords as his parents did, or a daughter with her mother’s eyes. Almost certain to be stubborn, and tall. And whoever they were, they were right there, beneath his hand, a gift he’d never imagined.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a choked voice, rising to press a kiss to her forehead.

***

He should have known Cersei would retaliate, but he hadn’t. And time had gone and he’d allowed himself to become complacent, taken Cersei’s cold silence as unimportant. But the moment a harried messenger had sought him out, telling him Lady Lannister had been attacked by three men and been taken to their chambers, he knew. He knew Cersei had arranged it, and knew she expected him to go to her so they could quarrel and fuck and he would forgive her once again. He knew and he did not care; his only thought was to head to their chambers to see Brienne.

The maester was leaving as Jaime arrived.

“My wife?” he asked.

“The babe is well, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime had to suppress the urge to grab the man by his robes and shove him against the wall.

“I did not ask after the babe,” he growled, “I asked after my wife.”

“A broken nose–not her first–and some bruises. I have given her something to keep her calm, but she will heal,” said the maester. “She informed me that she would have fought better if she had her own sword, instead of needing to take it from one of the men.”

That did sound like Brienne; Jaime swore to himself that she would not go unarmed again. Thanking the maester distractedly, Jaime pushed past him to enter the chambers. The curtains were drawn to make it dark, but there was enough light to see Brienne in the bed. She looked paler than usual, and whoever had cleaned her injuries had missed a smear of blood near her hairline. Jaime moved to sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in one of his, and brushing her hair from her forehead with the other.

“I will kill her,” he said, quietly but not quietly enough.

Whatever the maester had given her had made Brienne sleepy, because she looked at him with confusion. “Kill who?”

“The one who ordered this,” he said, not willing to burden her with the details.

“Your sister.”

She said it with such certainty that Jaime wondered what cruelties Cersei had inflicted when he was not around to witness them.

“My sister,” he confirmed. She had clearly forgotten that even tame lions had teeth and claws, and for the first time in years he was feeling far from tame. He would rend her limb from limb for this, would not rest until he’d tasted blood.

“Can you stay?” Brienne asked quietly, sleep inching up on her. “The maester says I will sleep for hours, and I don’t want to be alone. Without defense. I know…”

Jaime removed his boots and sword, then slipped beneath the sheets and drew his wife close as he dare. His sister would face his wrath, but it could wait.

***

Within a sennight, Jaime had taken his wife from King’s Landing. He offered to take her to Tarth, to see the island she spoke of so fondly and the waters said to rival even the blue of her eyes, but she declined.

“Not with these bruises still apparent,” she said. “My husband might have been deterred from killing a queen in retaliation, but I’m not certain my father would be. Take me to Casterly Rock; we can visit Tarth once the babe has arrived.”

The maester insisted she ride in a wheelhouse, given her condition and recent injuries, and so Jaime rode with her. The motion of the vehicle lulled her to sleep, her head resting on Jaime’s lap. Her stomach had swelled in the past days, as if the child was determined to make their survival apparent in the face of adversity. He watched her in slumber, her once-ugly features so fondly familiar to him now, and wondered when, precisely, his heart had been entrusted into her gentle care.

He kissed the crown of her head and rested his hand on the sword he’d gifted her days before, the golden lion on its pommel declaring her a Lannister.

***

The servants of Casterly Rock love her more quickly than Jaime had, but with the same fierce devotion. Brienne seemed overwhelmed by it all, especially when Maryn, who had run the whole of the castle since Jaime had been a boy, looked between the two of them and smiled.

“I never knew it was a love match,” she said happily. “Anybody who wins over our Jaime…”

“That’s very kind,” Brienne said, blushing furiously, and Jaime thought bitterly of the love he’d once wasted on his sister. “But no, not a love match.”

“Ahh,” Maryn said, nodding wisely. “When it grows in the aftermath, it is all the stronger.”

“Thank you, Maryn,” Jaime said, placing a hand on the small of his wife’s back and escorting her away.

That night in their chambers, he helps her undress.

“I do, you know,” he says, trailing his knuckles against her neck and watching the way she sips in breath when he does. “Love you, I mean.”

She does not reply, but her kisses tell him all he needs to know.

***

The babe arrived shortly after sunrise, a squalling, healthy girl that Jaime immediately declared had her mother’s eyes.

“All babes have eyes like that, Ser Jaime,” said the midwife patiently. “They’ll likely change before she’s a year.”

“I hope not,” Jaime replied, stroking the babe’s soft cheek and then looking to Brienne. She looked remarkably well for a woman who’d endured hours of pain; her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, a huge smile on her face as she looked between him and the babe. “And to think, wench, if you hadn’t been so determined to show off your skill with a sword, we would hardly be here.”

She rolled her eyes, her smile turning fond. “I trained at night so as to avoid showing off my skills, Jaime. If you had not been so determined to gawk at the freakish woman, or left one of the first seven times I asked you to, your father never would have found us that night. You have nothing to blame but your own stubbornness.”

“I’m grateful for my stubbornness, then,” he said, leaning over to kiss his wife softly once, twice. “Truly, truly grateful.”

[shipping-receiving]

Fictober 2019 JB Ficlet Project: Round-up 2/3

[Round-up 1/3: Days 1-10]

Here’s my favourite lines from my ficlets for Days 11-20. Well, I say ficlets, but the Office AU—which still has no plot beyond ‘woman punches man, they fall in love, sometimes office’—grew into a monster and the last instalment was 4,000 words.

Day 11: “It's not always like this.” (Modern AU) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

Admittedly, she might have been less agitated if Jaime’s road trip entertainment of choice hadn’t been all eight episodes of a true crime podcast. A true crime podcast about a couple who had been murdered in a very romantic lakeside cabin. Brienne is feeling quite jealous of the couple for having a cabin in the first place. May they rest in peace.

Day 12: “What if I don't see it?” (Office AU Part 1) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

Jaime Lannister is beautiful. She knows this. She was born with eyes. Unfortunately, she was also born with ears. And it felt like she was hearing about it all the time. One day, it just—happened. She said those fateful words. And she would find herself wishing, eventually, that she hadn’t been born with a mouth.

Day 13: “I never knew it could be this way.” (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse AU) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

“My body—it was always strong,” she muses to the sky. “All muscles, and brute force. That was how I had always moved. Always fought. I was strong, but I was also… dragging this huge weight around. I learned to use that weight to my advantage, but it still hung heavy on me, you know? Then, this happened.” She lifts her arms up, looks at them like she is seeing them for the very first time. “Suddenly my body has this agility, this—this lightness to it, that I’d never thought I’d feel, in a body like this.”

Day 14: “I can’t come back.” (Office AU Part 2) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

“Maybe he thinks mixing with the plebeians is good for office morale.” “Oh for fuck’s sake, Brienne,” Margaery says, but Brienne had swung her chair back to face her computer before Margaery could continue, and insistently began typing again. She could feel Margaery rolling her eyes behind her.

Day 15: “That’s what I’m talking about!” (Childhood Friends AU) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

Brienne feels slightly offended by his comment. “Of course I know that, Jaime.” Who does he think she is? Just some average eight-year-old who doesn’t spend every other weekend looking at weapons in the King’s Landing Museum?

Day 16: “Listen. No, really listen.” (Office AU Part 3) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

Brienne tries her hardest not to formulate any opinions on how the wind is having its way with Jaime’s loose white button-up shirt, although he seems to have forgotten that those first three buttons aren’t just for decoration. He’s rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, and she tries her hardest not to formulate any opinions on his forearms, either.

Day 17: “There is just something about them/her/him.” (Zombie Apocalypse AU) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

“We’ve almost died about fifty-five times each in the past six months. I do think at some point we may not just ‘figure it out’.” “I think you’ll find, B, that the tally is forty-six for me, and fifty-nine for you.” He still hasn’t even so much as turned around, but she can just imagine his self-satisfied smirk. “And about seventy-five for Podrick in the three months since we picked him up. Check the board.”

Day 18: “Secrets? I love secrets.” (Office AU Part 4) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

Brienne had learned, long ago, how not to cry in the face of cruelty. She had learned it by walling herself away—from everything, even from things and people that were not cruel. She may have even learned it by inflicting cruelty on herself first, before others could do it to her. But kindness—the kindness Margaery has shown her with just a few words, the kindness Margaery is asking her to show herself—that is another matter altogether.

Day 19: “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” (Modern AU) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

He’s working up to actually kissing her on the lips, but it took so long for them to go from ‘we go to the same gym’, to ‘we arrange to go to the same gym at the same time’, to ‘sometimes after our workouts we hang out at each other’s apartments’, to ‘we’re just very touchy-feely gym buddies okay, mind your own damn business’.

Day 20: “You could talk about it, you know?” (Office AU Part 5) read on Tumblr / read on AO3

“I heard that Brienne thought I looked average,” he mumbles. Gods, this is embarrassing. “No,” Tyrion exhales, all exaggerated dismay, and puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage. “You? Average? Say it ain’t so, Jaime.” “Oh, shut up. She doesn’t think that, anyway, I found out later. But I insulted her, and… she punched me. Gave me a black eye. She has a mean right hook, actually.” “Gods be good, I love her already,” Tyrion exclaims, as he takes his next glass from the waiting bartender. “When’s the elopement? Please let me be at the ceremony. Do it tomorrow, I’m still here tomorrow.”

[apiratecalledav]

Okay, reluctantly leaving my happily ever after AU/denial land for a minute because it’s been like two months and I still see people say bullshit like, “If Jaime was going to go back to Cersei, then Brienne should have died” and urgh. No. Just... no.

I won’t even get into how awful it is to reduce Brienne to that as a character within her own right because trivializing and misinterpreting her relationship with Jaime is bad enough. The main reason being that it completely overlooks one of the most important and poignant parts of Jaime’s character:

That even though Cersei was “the end of” Jaime, Jaime was in a lot of ways “the beginning of” Brienne.

While Cersei and Jaime were like kindling and oxygen getting devoured by fire and were destructive and toxic, Jaime and Brienne were like music and lyrics; complete individuals in their own right, but when they’re combined they created something new and amazing. Like two Valyrian steel swords reforged from one greatsword. If fate had been kinder, they would have been very happy together.

Unfortunately, growing up with Tywin (and Cersei), serving Aerys, and spending half his life being unjustly reviled, Jaime had a lot of issues with guilt and self-loathing that no one who didn’t take several advanced psychology classes would have been able to help with.

But despite Jaime’s personal demons, he tried as hard as he could to build up Brienne, not drag her down the way that Cersei did to him. Instead of using his relationship with Brienne for his benefit, he used it to benefit her: He helped Brienne to fulfill her oath to Cat and indirectly led to her being able to avenge Renly. He made it possible for her to go from being regarded as a failure and an oddity to being successful and respected. He knighted her. She fell in love with him and he loved her, too. No, it wasn’t enough to “fix” him (news flash: love isn’t a cure), but it was way, way more than what everyone around her ever expected. He loved her, not her father’s title or lands. And he loved her not in spite of her unusual, knightly demeanor but because of it.  And it wasn’t wishful thinking or all in her head or “but only as a friend.” Jaime Lannister, who was like, a five time winner of Westerosi Weekly’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” looked at Brienne of Tarth like this (so fuck you, Ronnet): 

Cersei saw Jaime as an extension of herself— her “other half” who got to have the kind of power and autonomy in society she desperately wished for herself because he was a man. Her feelings for him stemmed from narcissism and selfishness, dooming Jaime to virtually never being “good enough.”

Jaime also saw Brienne as everything he wished he could be— a true knight who was valiant and honorable, not because she was sworn to do so, but because she wanted to be. The difference here is that Jaime’s feelings for Brienne developed from admiration and respect and he is the one who didn’t feel worthy of her.

Because while Tyrion saw Jaime being with Brienne as Jaime finally allowing himself to be happy, I felt like Jaime saw it as being selfish. Telling Tyrion to “say something snide” made me think he was looking to be chastised. When Brienne tries to talk him out of dying with Cersei and tells him that he’s a good man, he nearly bursts into tears and reveals all of the worst things about himself. The most genuine and heartbreaking “it’s not you; it’s me” speech, like... ever.

If he truly believed that Brienne needed him, he would have stayed with her. We saw a long time ago that he was willing to leave the road that led back to Cersei to save Brienne from the bear pit, and risk his own life in the process. Just as he lost his right hand, his sword hand— when he believed that he “was that hand” and once said he’d rather die than be “grotesque”— to protect Brienne and keep her “whole.”

Even if it was only on a subconscious level, he obviously believed Brienne deserved to live more than he or Cersei did. But Brienne is safe after 8x03; the dead are defeated and she’s not only on the side with a damn dragon, she won’t even be expected to leave Sansa and Arya to fight. The only thing Jaime believes he’s doing for her is clouding her judgment, i.e. “tricking” her into thinking that he’s good and that he deserves her. In his mind, he did the same thing to Brienne that Cersei did to him. He thought Brienne would start making excuses for him, just as he had done so many times for Cersei. Look at his face and eyes when she says “You’re a good man.”

When Jaime told Tyrion that he “never cared” for innocents, I don’t believe he’s a Scooby-Doo villain removing his mask and saying, “Surprise! I’ve been an asshole all along.” It’s just the way he saw himself because he didn’t know how else to explain his mistakes, the (innocent) people he had hurt, or his inability to stop caring about Cersei even though she was horrible. We know that Jaime’s attachment to Cersei is unhealthy and the result of emotional abuse and other factors resulting from trauma. But Jaime saw it as proof he was a bad person.

He did for Brienne what (I can easily imagine) he wished Cersei had done for him— He tells Brienne that he’s hateful and effectively sets her “free” of him. When he perceived himself to be perpetuating the cycle of abuse, he stopped it (more “break the wheel” imagery?). Yeah, he did it in an awful, hurtful way but we have to remember that Jaime had no access to therapy, self-help books, advice columns, google, etc. He hadn’t had or even really seen a healthy relationship since his mother died when he was like seven. On top of that, his last real moment of pure love and acceptance was with Myrcella... about thirty seconds before she died in his embrace. That alone would screw up anyone. It’s tragic and devastating, but Jaime wasn’t in a place to make Brienne happy long term and he had absolutely no idea how to change that. It was easier to shut down those negative feelings when he could say, “I have a noble purpose: help stop ice demons and zombies from destroying the world.” When he couldn’t say that anymore, it got to be too much for him.

I’ve long thought that applying the “redemption arc” label to Jaime (or any asoif/got character, really) was a little too... simplistic. Like most major characters, Jaime has undoubtedly done some reprehensible things, the worst being his attempt to kill Bran. But unlike say Joffrey or Ramsay, Jaime’s thought process wasn’t, “Hey, let’s push this kid out of a window and see if his bones make a sweet crunching noise when he lands!”

He was thinking, “Oh, shit. This kid is probably too young to ‘play it cool’ for long around his parents after being threatened or bribed... And if he blabs, that’s my head cut off, Cersei’s head cut off, and if Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella aren’t immediately executed right behind us, they’ll be locked up until they’re old enough that people are less squeamish about chopping off their heads, too. And gee, I bet dear old Dad isn’t going to take that lying down...”

In a world as brutal as theirs, it’s difficult for me to condemn anyone too harshly for trying to protect themselves or their loved ones, provided they aren’t cavalier about collateral damage (for example, Cersei blowing up the sept with more than just her enemies inside and people in the surrounding area ending up getting crushed by the debris).

Early on, Jaime appeared to be arrogant, callous, and convinced that violence was an “easy solution.” As the series progressed, mostly through his growing friendship with Brienne, we discovered that a great deal of Jaime’s behavior was a defense mechanism.

After his “Kingslayer” persona slowly falls away, we eventually see “Jaime” (re)born in Brienne’s arms.

Soon, we even saw him gain a shiny, newly reforged Valyrian steel sword to go along with his new beginning . But he didn’t even have the sword very long before he turned around and gave it to Brienne— and kept the “tainted” Widow’s Wail for himself.

And when Brienne tried to return Oathkeeper,  that precious symbol of hope and honor and second chances, Jaime refused it and told her, “It’s yours. It will always be yours.” (Emphasis mine)

I know we were hoping that Brienne would “save” Jaime— and I firmly believe she was instrumental in saving his soul— but Jaime ended up ultimately saving Brienne. He saved her life, but he also saved her from an existence of loneliness and ridicule. In 4x02 (written by GRRM btw), Brienne tells Cersei, “In truth, he rescued me, Your Grace. More than once.”

Jaime was a flawed and deeply troubled person, but he tried his damnedest to give Brienne everything. No, he couldn’t literally do so— he couldn’t give her his whole, undamaged heart— but he still gave her so much: His admiration; his faith; his trust; his sword; his right hand; her protégé Podrick; helped her fulfill her vows and find good friends like Sansa, Tyrion, and Davos, and a kindred spirit in Arya; and made her dearest wish come true. What is that, if not love, of the truest and deepest kind?

Though Jaime likely thought his knighting of Brienne was merely a nice thing to do for her on their supposed last night on earth, it ended up having an unexpected and incredible impact once the North gained independence: Knights were already mainly a Southern thing and Brienne’s knighthood would have been absolutely worthless in an independent North. Sansa, being completely safe and secure and obviously knowing how much being knighted meant to Brienne, would assure her that she was released from her vow to Catelyn’s daughters. And so Ser Brienne is free to return to the Six Kingdoms, and offer her services to the new King, Cat Stark’s last surviving son. To Bran.

While Jaime once hurt Bran for Cersei’s sake and accidentally paved the way for years of war and destruction, Brienne, thanks to Jaime knighting her, will be able to dedicate herself to protecting Bran, insuring peace, and helping to rebuild.

All of the best parts of Jaime live on in Brienne and not just because she finished his entry in the Book of Brothers. She, and the doors that Jaime opened for her, are his legacy.

Brienne will be able to do the kinds of things Jaime wanted to do but couldn’t. She’ll help restore honor to the knighthood. There will be more Ser Briennes and Ser Davoses and Ser Podricks and fewer Ser Gregors, Ser Armorys, and Ser Meryns.

It truly baffles me to see people bitching about “wasted character arcs” and yet in the same breath are ready to throw Brienne and everything Jaime did for her away. Jaime’s character was frustrating and heartbreaking and maddening but it wasn’t a waste precisely because he made it possible for Brienne to have a bright future and a good life and it’s the proof that he truly was ultimately a much better person than his sister.

TL;DR:  If we must pigeonhole Jaime into the whole “redemption” thing, can’t we see that he did redeem himself through Brienne— by supporting her and validating her and making it possible for her to do the kind of great things he wished he could do himself?

PS: I’m fairly certain Jaime and Cersei’s ending was “softened” for the show, the way so many other characters and events have been. I highly doubt she’ll be pregnant and the idea that he was largely motivated to save their child certainly helped make the whole thing easier for me to swallow. As  Tyland Lannister, hand to the “broken King” Aegon III,  screams “Tyrion and Bran,” and Elissa Farman appears to be foreshadowing Arya’s similar journey/let’s us know it’s very possible she’ll survive... Aelora and Aelor Targaryen make me wonder if book Jaime will accidentally kill Cersei and then freak out and commit suicide. And if that’s the case, I’m glad the show went with something different, as rushed and clumsy as it was. I am glad that Jaime’s last moments weren’t violent or angry or otherwise cruel and didn’t have to add more to his overwhelming guilt and despair.

If he had to die, and especially if he had to die with Cersei, then it’s a good thing that he got to die as Joanna’s son— not Tywin’s— and as Tyrion’s brother— not Cersei’s. He got to die as the man who Brienne fell in love with: Someone who was brave and compassionate, fulfilling his oath, and being honorable in his way, even if it’s not in the way society (or the audience) understands or likes. Even though he was with Cersei, he remained as the man who could see— and love— the vulnerable human being beneath their “monstrous” exterior, just as he did for Brienne and Tyrion. Maybe Cersei didn’t “deserve” that, but Jaime certainly did. And in the White Book, when it’s said that Jaime died protecting his Queen, it’s not a lie. Which is the last thing Jaime would have wanted: “I'll hack the bloody book to pieces before I'll fill it with lies.”

I don’t know if Old Jaime would have intentionally hurt or murdered Cersei, but I definitely think he would have at least hurled out one last massive fuck you in a similar “why have the gods made me love a hateful woman?” way. He’d have reminded her that none of this would have happened if she wasn’t such a stubborn, vindictive wretch: If she hadn’t pushed Joffrey to ditch Sansa for Margaery, whose grandma ended up killing him; if she hadn’t tried to get Tyrion falsely executed, she wouldn’t have set off a chain of events that led to Tywin and Myrcella dying; if she hadn’t tried to screw over Margaery by giving the High Sparrow power; if she hadn’t blown up the Sept, Tommen wouldn’t have killed himself; if she had kept her promise to fight in the North; if she had just stepped down when Dany arrived, etc then maybe they wouldn’t about to damn near literally get crushed to death by all of Cersei’s bad decisions.

Old Jaime talked a lot of shit to people, presumably trying to make himself feel better. But he realized at some point, all it did was make them as miserable as he was. So in the end, when Cersei is so pitifully scared and sad, instead of getting pissed off or bitter, Jaime comforts her the best he can; an ability I don’t think he would have developed if it hadn’t been for his relationship with Brienne. We even see some rare moments of genuine selflessness from Cersei (“You’re bleeding” and “I don’t want our baby to die”). In Jaime and Cersei’s final moments, they act as close to normal siblings as they are capable, seeing as they don’t even try to kiss (thank goodness). This leaves Brienne as the last person Jaime kissed. And to me, that says it all.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled “Grey Worm and Missandei said ‘fuck you, Westeros’ after The Long Night and dropped Jaime and Brienne off at Tarth on their way to Naath” way of life. 

[evyiione]

Solace: Chapter Four

Summary: The story of Jaime Lannister and Y/N about how they escaped Cersei’s claws.

Warning: Angst, Fluff, mild smut

Pairing: Jaime x Fem!Stark!Reader

Reader's pronoun: She/Her

A/N: I hope Game of Thrones fans out there will like it!

Disclaimer: GOT belongs to G.R.R Martin and the HBO Company. I only own the story.

Masterlist

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CHAPTER 4: ALL NUANCES OF PAIN

PREVIOUSLY

“What is it?” you asked.

Suddenly, he got up, “I have to leave, if someone catches me, I might get executed…”

“Surely, they won’t if you explain what happened!” you said.

“I have to, my love. I swear I will come back when everything has quieted down.” He answered and kissed you once more. The kiss was more passionate than the last one as if he tried to convey every ounce of his feelings for you. You kissed back with a much passion, but you both knew it couldn’t last forever. His lips lingered one more minute on your lips, not wanting to part from you.

When you finally parted, he left not turning back, because he knew if he did, he would stay by your side.

A FEW DAYS LATER

Your father was getting better, though he seemed anxious, you didn’t know why, every time you asked him, he would either ignore you or tell you that not knowing was safer for you and your sisters. His worry increased when King Robert died, killed during a hunt. Well, the injury he suffered during the hunt is what killed him.

As soon as the King died, your father was arrested. You and Sansa tried to plead the new King Joffrey for mercy and for a moment you thought that he would show mercy and listen to his mother. But you soon understood that Joffrey was cruel and only wanted to destroy. The day your father was to be executed, one of the King's guards forced you to watch as the executioner’s sword descended upon your father neck and cut through it, severing his head from his body.

After the execution, everything was like a blur, the last thing you remember from that day is Joffrey forcing you and Sansa to watch the result of his barbaric act.

Subsequent to that fateful day, everything went south. You were not often allowed to be near Sansa. And so you were left to grieve alone. Not one day passed without wishing to be free, to be reunited with your family and in the arms of Jaime, whom you missed dearly.

With Jaime gone and Joffrey in power, your life has become hell. You felt as if you were walking in Limbo. However, you were soon reminded that you were still in that horrid place they call the Red Keep. Especially when you prevented the new King from beating Sansa. You pleaded to take her place, not wanting your little sister to suffer more than she already had.

Almost every day Ser Meryn Trant would beat you on Joffrey or Cersei’s orders. But you stayed strong, for Sansa and for Arya wherever she was.

You knew Arya was alive, she is a fighter, she wouldn’t go down easily and neither will you. The Starks are fierce, and a wolf would never bend the knee to a Lion.

Unfortunately, the pride you had for your house didn't lessen the pain. Your body hurt everywhere, your whole body was covered in bruises and cuts. Your mood and health were deteriorating rapidly. You barely ate and were alone most of the time, leaving you to fight your obscure thoughts.

Luckily, your mood was soon lifted when you received a letter from Jaime.

In the letter, he was telling you how much he missed you, and that he joined the Lannister army against your brother. You didn’t like this at all, you didn’t want Jaime or Robb to die.

Then the worst happened, the news of Jaime’s capture reached Kings Landing. You were afraid of what your brother would do to Jaime. You knew Robb had every right to hurt him... You were so conflicted, how can you choose between love and family? Life is sometimes unfair…

You were now alone in the darkness of your room, crying, for whom you didn’t know, Robb, Jaime or maybe you were crying for yourself and what your life had become?

“I shouldn’t have to choose…” you whispered and fell asleep crying.

The more time passed, the more worried you got. For Jaime, Robb and the North. But at least you knew Sansa was safe, you took it upon yourself to protect her no matter what. You realized that starving to death won’t help, so you started to eat again and took the beatings in silence.

What angered the King and Cersei more is that you never shed a tear. You stayed strong as if made of marble. A marble that could crack but never broke. You decided that if you had to suffer, you would not give Cersei and Joffrey the satisfaction of seeing you in pain.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Sansa was no longer to marry Joffrey. The both of you couldn’t be happier about it, she was one step closer to freedom. Margery of House Tyrell was now engaged to the King, well if you could call this half-brain a King.

Yet in some twisted plan to torture both Sansa and Tyrion, King Joffrey declared that the two of them were to marry. Although you didn’t like it, you knew that Tyrion was a good man, and would never do anything to her. Jaime never spoke ill of Tyrion once, he loved his brother, so you trusted him.

Of course, the icing on the wedding cake was the news you received a few days after the wedding. Everyone knew of the event of, as they like to call it, the “Red Wedding”. When you heard about this, your heart broke. In one day you had lost your brother, your mother, and apparently your unborn nephew.

Yet again, you had to grieve alone… You couldn’t even be there for Sansa. Cersei enjoyed seeing the two of you so miserable.

Cersei became even more ruthless when she sent Myrcella away to Dorne. Ever since her daughter was gone she didn’t hold back anymore, as if she needed a distraction from the aching that was created when she parted with her only daughter.

However, a ray of hope brightened your heart when Jaime finally came home. Or so you thought, when his arrival was announced, you were kept away from him, but from what little you could see of him, you saw that he was missing his sword hand and he seemed utterly defeated.

It had now been a few days since he came back, but every time you tried to talk to him, he ignored you and walked away. You didn’t know why... you thought he would be happy to see you after all this time apart. As you saw him with Cersei, thoughts went swarming into your head. Did he not love you anymore? Why did he seek comfort in Cersei and not you?

You tried to speak to him but he wouldn’t, so one night you sneaked up in his room.

“Jaime? Are you alone?” you called as you entered his room, and locked the door behind you.

“What are you doing here? Go away!” he exclaimed, but his voice was not too high as to not alert anyone. His statement hurt you.

“What is going on with you? Why do you ignore me? Do you not love me anymore?” you asked, but he stayed silent.

“Was it all a game to you? Was I just a distraction? Do you no longer desire me?” you asked, your voice quivering as tears streamed down your face.

Hearing how broken your voice was, he looked at you, and when he saw tears in your eyes he rushed to you, cradling you in his arm.

“No, never, I will always love you! You are not just a distraction, your every curve whet my desire. You are my life!” he said soothingly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Then why? Why are you ignoring me? Why didn’t you seek my comfort but Cersei’s?” you exclaimed.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore! I am broken! I don’t have my hand anymore!” he exclaimed, frustrated.

“Do you think so low of me that I would reject you because you lost your hand? How could you think that? You are the only man I love and will ever love! I don’t care if you have both of your hands or not, what matters is who you are inside!” you said, placing your left hand on his heart.

“I’m sorry… I thought… That you wouldn’t want a man who couldn’t protect you anymore…” he confessed.

“Even if you don’t have your sword hand anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t fight anymore. You still have your other hand, you can learn to fight with that one. Besides, I thought I made it clear that I could defend myself” you said, looking at him with twinkling eyes.

Jaime laughed at your comment. “I know you can, but I swore to protect you.-” you cut him off with a kiss, which he eagerly answered back.

The kiss was getting heated, his hand roamed your body, wanting to feel every part of you. All this time apart, he has missed the feel of you against his body.

You placed an arm around his neck and gripped his hair. Jaime placed his hand under your thighs, he swiftly picked you up and walked over to his bed. When he reached it, he gently placed you on it, so he could hover over you.

As you felt the weight of his body on yours, you let out a moan. He started to undress you, and you did the same with his shirt. He went to place kisses down your neck, his hand slid to your waist and pressed you against him. And once more you let out a moan, but not a pleasured one. 

Jaime immediately moved back and got on his knees to look at you. What he saw shocked him. Your whole body was covered in bruises, some purple, some blue and some were in a sick yellow shade, along with various cuts.

Having forgotten about the state of your body, you looked up at Jaime in confusion, but then you remembered, and hastily tried to cover yourself.

His eyes darkened and he gently gripped your wrist.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, gripping your wrist to prevent you from covering up.

“Oh, this? I just fell down the stairs, don’t worry about it” you answered not meeting his gaze. He lifted your chin up so you would look at him in the eyes.

“I thought we swore to never lie to each other? Now please, tell me who did this to you” he demanded once more.

Looking down in shame, tears started to form.“Knights…” you said, still not wanting him to know the truth.

“On whose orders?” he asked. You stayed silent.

“It was Cersei, wasn’t it?” he asked in an angry voice. You nodded, giving up.

“And Joffrey, I took Sansa’s place. But please, don’t do anything about it, I can handle it, better me than my little sister,” you answered with a small smile, but your tears betrayed you.

“I should’ve been there to protect you! I should’ve stayed!” he exclaimed.

“Enough, don’t start with this again, I chose this fate. Besides now that you are here, I already feel better. I know everything will be alright.” you said and kissed him.

Jaime laid down and scooted closer to you. He put his handless arm around your waist and caressed your head with his hand until you both fell asleep.

Jaime wasn’t worried to get caught with you, he was an early bird so he would make sure you would be back in your quarters before anyone would notice.

Little did they know, a servant had heard everything and reported to Cersei immediately.

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5