Jaime Lannister

It's not personal, it's strictly business [11th August][Closed: Jaime and Melisandre]

Mon, 10 Dec 2012 22:29:46 +0000

“Yes, well, they’re not lax anymore,” Melisandre returned in a clipped tone. The presumably intentional slight in Jaime’s referring to Stannis by his first name only set her teeth on edge, but she said nothing to address it. She only turned on her heel with a cool “Right this way,” and led the Lannister to her office. His compliance did not reassure her in the slightest. A lion could never be tamed, after all. He only obeyed when it suited him.

Melisandre shut her office door after him, not tight or locked, but enough to keep what was said inside. She did not sit, but lingered by her chair. She didn’t want him in her office, but better there than within reach of prying eyes and wagging tongues. It was strange—she still didn’t quite feel like No. 10 was home, but Jaime looked like it suited him. He always seemed at home at an initial glance, though, or at least comfortable. The sort of ease you could afford when you believed you had the upper hand in any situation, and with Jaime’s tall, blonde frame and characteristic smirk, Melisandre guessed he believed he did.

His eyes skimming her office reminded her of the way his sister—his twin—had glanced around her flat, detached and unimpressed. Melisandre wondered what had made them that way, if it was wealth, power, or the sort of insular worldview that came with both. Cersei had come to her to hear her speak, to size her up for the war she claimed to be starting, the war that Melisandre knew had no beginning or end. What was this, then? What did Jaime want?

Are you here on your own, or at your sister’s command? Is this the first volley in her ‘war’?

As Jaime began to speak of economic struggles, Melisandre’s brow furrowed even as one corner of her mouth curved into a wry, incredulous smile. “Your finances? Permit me, Mr. Lannister, but isn’t there a saying about Lannisters and gold? The times must be very difficult indeed if you can feel any sort of sting of poverty.” It was one of the most ridiculous notions she’d ever heard. The Lannisters had endless resources, and there was nothing to suggest otherwise. Certainly nothing in Cersei’s demeanor when they’d met not long ago and nothing in the papers.

There was apology in Jaime’s eyes, but Melisandre did not trust it. In response she let her expression shift to one of puzzlement and vague, distant concern. “I am sorry that you feel you’re in financial trouble, though I’m not certain quite what you’re seeking from us.” She tilted her head. “What did you wish to tell my prime minister?”

He returned her disbelieving look with an easy smirk. “I beg your pardon, but there’s also a saying about my father and his shit, and I’ve yet to see a drop of gold in it.” It was not exactly professional of him to say such things, but he found he couldn’t care less. People seemed to think that with the Lannister name came an endless amount of spending money, and while Jaime lived more comfortabley than most, it simply wasn’t true. They were rich, but they weren’t fools. Not so tight-fisted as the Freys, but Tywin had ensured that they knew the luxury of wealth without wasting it.

“As for the business concerning your Prime Minister,” yours, not ours, never ours, “I’m not hear to take anything from you, simply withdraw what is ours.” He clasped his hands in front of him, the smirk itching at the corners of his mouth to break free but he kept it down. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my father’s company payed much more than it’s due tax during the late Robert Baratheon’s reign, and we did not withdraw it even after my sister’s seperation from him.” He held up a single finger, as much of a defensive gesture as it was a signal for Melisandre to remain silent. “And no, we are not going back on the promise we made to the Labour party.”

His tone turned grave as he allowed himself to step further into the room, returning his hands to his sides as he met her gaze. He was not sure what he saw there, whether it was hatred, betrayal, or simple amusement as he knew she was far too smart to believe the lies he was telling her - still, it was nice to keep up courtesy. “We simply need to remove a small percentage from the fund, until the company can get back on its feet. I mean no offence to Stannis, but martial law is not appealing to foreign investors, preffering now to keep their assets closer to home. Lannister LTD’s board simply feels that we should do the same.” He bowed his head, a rueful smile on his lips as he waited for whatever backlash he might get from the woman standing in front of him. “I assure you, you are not the only ones we will be disappointing.” Jaime could not help but feel a little smug at the lie. If it were anyone other than Melisandre before him, they might just have been fooled.

It's not personal, it's strictly business [11th August][Closed: Jaime and Melisandre]

Mon, 03 Dec 2012 01:02:37 +0000

terribleandred:

Melisandre had spent her morning working on press releases and juggling phone calls, as usual. The secretaries fielded calls, but half the time she ended up talking to MPs and businesspeople and special interest groups and whoever else wanted the prime minister’s ear without approaching him directly. They’d have no better luck with her than with Stannis himself, although she’d at least reassure them sweetly before hanging up. Stannis’ administration didn’t need flatterers with ulterior motives—though of course Melisandre would use anyone she could to serve their goals. What they needed was true loyalty.

Her office door was open and she was stirred from her work by more noise than usual from outside it. Frowning, she stood to go investigate, but her phone rang so she answered with a quick, “Melisandre.”

“One of the guards at the door called me.” It was Matthos, curt and nervous. “Jaime Lannister is here to see Prime Minister Baratheon.”

Melisandre’s fingers clenched around the phone. “Where is he now?”

“When the guard called, they were searching him, so somewhere between there and the PM’s office.”

Melisandre put down the phone too forcefully and marched off without stopping for her phone or anything else. In comparison to his sister Cersei, or even to his father Tywin, Jaime Lannister was an enigma to her. She’d met him only briefly, seen his irreverent smile with steel beneath. All she really knew of his reputation was a lack of lasting loyalty to anyone beyond his own family. She supposed he’d been overshadowed in her reckoning by Cersei—and, after all, he’d never confronted her or Stannis directly. So why was he there now? She wanted to know, but she also did not want to make a scene. It could easily be Tywin at the MOD all over again and Melisandre was not about to let that happen.

She headed straight for No. 10’s glossy black door and she hadn’t gotten far before she saw Jaime. Blonde and tall, about as tall as Stannis, with strong features and a distinct glint in his eyes that reminded her of Cersei. That and his red tie irked her, as did his attempt to keep walking past her.

“Mr. Lannister.” Melisandre’s tone was cool, polite but with an unmistakable hint of threat to it. “You may not have forgotten your way around, but perhaps you’ve forgotten protocol, sir?” She moved in front of him, forcing him to stop or else physically push past her. “The prime minister is extremely busy with affairs of state.” This is ours now and you are not welcome here. “Anything you need to discuss with him, you may tell me, since I’m his advisor. I assure you I’ll tell him everything.” Her chin tilted up slightly. “Please, come with me to my office. It’s more comfortable than standing about in the hall.”

He had to resist the slightest twitch of his mouth that threatened to turn into a smirk as the red woman blocked his path. An annoying set-back she may have been, but none the less it was funny to see her get riled up at him treading on her property. You can have it for all I care. He thought spitefully, allowing himself his own form of defiance as he narrowed his eyes at her. Just not Stannis.

“Forgive me. Things were much more lax while I worked here.” He smiled, offering the apology as if he were doing her a favour by stepping down. If it had been someone from his world, someone who properly understood the power and respect his name commanded, despite his past transgressions, they would not have dared to stand in his way. Melisandre had wormed her way into their world, danced and drank with the elite at Sansa Stark’s birthday, but in the end she wouldn’t survive. That brought him some amount of comfort, even as disappointment set in. “I was rather hoping to see Stannis in person,” not ‘Mr. Baratheon’ or ‘the Prime Minister’, even before Joffrey he wouldn’t have offered even that simple courtesy to Stannis in this position, “but I suppose it couldn’t hurt for you to pass it along.”

Jaime stepped back slightly, gesturing his hand for Melisandre to lead on. It didn’t matter much if she thought she had the upper hand now because no matter what, the news he was about to deliver would not go down well. He was a bit put off, not able to deliver it to Stannis himself, but it brought him a certain amount of satisfaction to know that Melisandre would be just as silently outraged as he was sure Stannis would be. The woman seemed to take every slight against her employer very personal.

Once they got to her office, he didn’t bother to make himself comfortable. He didn’t expect this little meeting of theirs to last very long. Perhaps she would make some hopeless attempt to make him convince the board to change its mind but he doubted it. Proud as she was, he didn’t expect her to resort to begging. Least of all with him.

“As you may know, I’ve recently returned to work at my family’s company.” He started, letting his eyes wander about the room for a moment. Nothing too ostentatious, but still better than that of an advisor. A glorified secretary. I suppose there must be something Stannis sees in her. He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his lips then, but it didn’t last long. Stannis did not seem the type of man to judge an employee for the assets most men in power - certainly his older brother - might have. “My position isn’t the only change we’ve had to make. The economic state of our country was already causing us to struggle and now with… recent events,” he dared not dwell too long on Joffrey, on his sister, “our finances have been greatly effected.” He rose his eyes to meet Melisandre’s, appearing as apoligetic as he could. “That, unfortunately, is the reason I’m here.”

we still are made of greed // august 9th [late morning] // (closed; cersei and jaime)

Sat, 17 Nov 2012 20:56:11 +0000

cersei-lnnstr:

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek and looked away, to the window beyond him; the sight was nothing breathtaking (merely the opposite building, actually) but it was a good excuse not to look at him. She knew that if she did it then she would feel guilty, and truthfully she didn’t believe to be the one at fault. It was necessary, things had changed and they had to react accordingly. For her, it had been seeing Melisandre, telling Renly about the investigations, inviting Sansa Stark over to try and manipulate her to her own needs; and it was just the beginning. For him, it meant using what life had given him that had denied her, using his influence over Tywin, even Tyrion, and it was only fair he should do it from within the walls of the Lannister LTD headquarters.

She did not apologize, and instead walked up to him, dropping the magazine onto the desk with little grace, taking off her trench coat after that and falling back onto one of the chairs. Cersei felt weak, had felt so for day, but she couldn’t exactly be surprised: she drank too much, every night, and she ate too little, every day. Genna had defined her “skin and bones” once: she wondered what she would say seeing her now. With a deep sigh she leaned her forehead against the palm of her hand and then pinched the bridge of her nose. Pointing a hand towards the desk, and the magazine, she decided it was best to approach that subject before the rest.

“That article is obviously a bunch of lies,” she began, looking up at him. She would tell it all and tell it true this time, the memory of the last lie was too painful and still too fresh for her to consider lying again. “I never told you what happened when Rhaegar and I met, but that…that is not it.” She kept pointing at the magazine behind his back, on the desk, as if it was some weapon that was pointed against her temple. “There was no ‘ignition of the old flame’ or whatever they called it, because there is no old flame to be reignited, and you know that.” Cersei hated having to justify herself, and the more she spoke the more tired she grew of the whole situation. Still she had more important business in her mind, the real reason of her visit, and it was better to face that with a clear mind, and to do that she had to be sure her brother didn’t harbour resentment.

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It was hard not to laugh at what she told him. Laying everything out bare and ready for his scrutiny as if she had nothing to lose. Jaime knew she had never loved Rhaegar - never loved anyone but him - and yet still he felt like he had every right to hate her. She hadn’t refused him, at least not at first, and while it wasn’t to the same extent it was Jon Umber all over again, wasn’t it? Whatever her reason had been - for power, security - he couldn’t grasp why. For him, there had always been other ways, paths he understood his sister had never had access to, and it hurt to think she had to resort to such methods (but more than that, it wounded him more to have to see it and know and accept).

But he didn’t laugh. No matter how much he was sure it would be easier to make a joke of the whole thing, he kept his expression neutral and did his best not to judge. In the end, he didn’t have the heart for it, nor the energy.

He felt her hand brush against his, the lightest of touches that he could have escaped from. Instead he left his hand against the desk, let her clasp it firmly and make him feel guilty with her words and the strong grip around his fingers.It had been her idea for him to return. To go back under their father’s wing as well as his thumb. Her idea, but not her fault. The fault lay with him, and his inability to tell her ‘no’ when she had made the request.

“I’m sorry.” The apology came out grumbled and half-hearted, but he squeezed her hand back to show there was no grudge held. Not against her, at least. Himself was another matter. I’m weak. He thought bitterly, using his free hand to grab the magazine off of his desk and through it in the wastebin next to it. Its lies - and its small amount of truth - weighed too heavily for him to stand its presence. Too weak to refuse you. Too weak to protect you from yourself as much as them.

Jaime refused to voice his fears, pushing them away instead as he released her hand and moved back around his desk. He rifled through papers, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, as if she had told him something as inconsequential as the weather. He imagined he didn’t look all that convincing, but practice made perfect. He’d always hid behind a smile and a joke, and he realised he would have to use them now more than ever. If he acted like everything was in the past with the Targaryens as well as his sister, then perhaps he would play the game like he’d always been expected to. Adapt and survive, like the predator he was.

“You could have waited until I got home to say anything though.” He muttered, his suspicions still not quite disipated. He knew Cersei, and she never went out of her way to deliver an explanation, even for him. He dropped whatever it was he had been sorting - or more likely messed up - and looked back up at his sister, giving her the attention she obviously wanted from him. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

It's not personal, it's strictly business [11th August][Closed: Jaime and Melisandre]

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 23:23:15 +0000

Of all places to end up at, Jaime had not expected to find himself back at Downing Street. If it weren’t for his sister he might never have stepped a foot across the threshold of No. 10 ever again, but she’d lead him back there, just as she had twenty years ago after his abandonning of Aerys had convinced him of the same illusion. Still, he had to admit he could have been sent there under worse circumstances. Imagining the look on Stannis’ face when he announced his plans (Cersei’s plans, really, but for all intents and purposes they were his for the moment) made it seem just a little less daunting, and a lot more enjoyable.

The search had felt a little unneccesary, even with recent events overshadowing the city.If I’d wanted to blow the place up, I would have done it while I worked here.He’d thought, and felt like saying so when the security guard had given him a look as if it were impossible that the Lannister who had turned his back twice on Downing Street wouldn’t have something up his sleeve - or hidden in his jacket.

They were suspicious about all of the wrong things. He had never been one for subtlety, as had been shown with his past actions, but his sister was much more accustomed to playing the long game, and he knew - prayed - his father would approve of him finally taking a less balistic approach in trying to take out their enemies. For that was what Stannis was. It was nothing personal, really. Jaime had barely noticed the middle Baratheon brother, always overshadowed by Robert’s boisterousness and Renly’s youthful vitality, but he’d overstepped now. Reached too high and brought attention to himself, making it much harder for Jaime to simply ignore him.

Hard to ignore, too, where the whispers. At first he put it down to his own presence. A Lannister once again on Downing Street to stir up trouble for Parliament and the people alike. It wasn’t until he saw her, marching towards him as if on the warpath, that their hushed murmers were just as much for Stannis’ leading lady as they were for him.

Red. He thought, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he fixed his own crimson tie. What is it with this woman and red? He looked her up and down as she came towards him, making a show of continuing on as if he didn’t know exactly who she was looking for, stopping in his tracks when her gaze pointedly fixed on him as soon as he was close enough. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting a welcome party.” He slowed down slightly but didn’t bother to stop. He wasn’t going to let Stannis send an insignificant PR to avoid facing him. The whole reason he’d come in person was to see the look in his face when he twisted the knife in the Prime Minister’s back. It had become somewhat of a tradition for Jaime, to betray those in the seat of Britain’s power. “If you’ve come to guide me, there’s no need. I haven’t forgotten my way around the building just yet.”

we still are made of greed // august 9th [late morning] // (closed; cersei and jaime)

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 22:11:56 +0000

cersei-lnnstr:

To think that her meeting with Rhaegar Targaryen could remain a secret had been foolish in the first place; to think that common decency would have stopped the papers from printing and publishing the story, given what had happened at the Old Baley, had been downright stupid. Appearance had always been of the utmost importance: how she dressed, how she walked, the way she talked, it all aimed at showing a certain public image that would suit her last name, and the title that carried with it. A Lady, that was what had been repeated to her ever since she was old enough to understand, and like a Lady she had behaved, always. She tried now too and, as hard as it was, she managed somehow to walk with her head high, balancing the heavy weight of mourning with all the strength she could muster.

Cersei stepped out of the elevator and into the large circular room that functioned as a reception. The walls were a light beige, wood and stone alike, while the pavement was hardwood of a darker shade. Straight ahead of her was an accent wall in blue, portraits hanging moderately high. She barely glanced at Tywin’s portrait (it seemed to be glaring at her in the distance, and she felt uncomfortable) before walking straight towards the round desk, where a young woman was talking animatedly into the receiver. Cersei sighed and waved her hand. “When you’re done informing my father of my presence, please tell him I am not here for him.” The woman’s eyes widened, and judging by the muffled voice coming from the receiver Tywin had already heard.

“He wants to talk to you,” the receptionist said with a small voice, handing her the receiver. Cersei took it and put it back down, hanging up on her father. Maybe I don’t want to talk to him.

“Where is my brother?” she asked instead, looking around as two men in a suit pushed open a glass door that gave on a long corridor. She had been in the office before, mainly whenever Tywin had summoned her during his trips to the city. Back then he’d been living at Eaton Hall still, out of her sight so that she wouldn’t have to revert to being an eighteen year old with a grumpy attitude. But that was no longer the case: Tywin lived with them now, and even though he spent most of the day in the office, his presence still felt like he was denying her the freedom she craved. Not to mention the fact that ever since Joffrey’s death, she had barely spoken a word to him. She held him responsible, like everyone else, of how the situation had degenerated into downright tragedy, and even being in the same room as her father made her stomach turn. Briefly, she wondered if that was the same reason why she barely saw Tommen these days.

It is so easy to blame a parent.

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Paperwork.He thought resentfully as he gathered up a bundle of deeds that Tywin had dropped on his desk and ordered him to look over - and he’d stubbornly avoided for the better part of the morning. Apparently, after twenty years of his absence, much had changed and he must learn the inner workings of the company when it came time for him to lead. When. It had never been ‘if’ for Tywin Lannister, always so confident his son would carry the weight of Lannister LTD on his shoulders as readily as he had.

“The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fucking paperwork.” Jaime grumbled to himself. Even in the new age of computers and electronic databases, it seemed some things insisted upon keeping up tradition, including the developers his father had hired. It mattered little though. He doubted that their existence on a screen would make the forms any more interesting to him.

The door swung open just as he attempted to read the first document, and what little concentration he’d had was broken as soon as he glanced up, glanced down, and then shot his eyes back up when he realised it was his sister standing at the entrance to his office. He wanted to smile. To welcome her in with some witty remark about her making herself at home, but he could do nothing other than stare blankly at her.

He glanced at his office phone, wondering if he’d simply missed it ringing, but it didn’t indicate a missed call and he could only guess that meant his sister was not supposed to be there. At least not according to his father.

Her comment caused him to glance around the spacious area has father had kept for the time he took it up instead of acting the rebellious fool or chasing after Cersei’s heels. He could have smiled - probably should have, if only to make her ease the grip on the magazine in her hand - but he simply pushed himself from his chair and stepped around the desk.

“I can’t possibly imagine why.” He muttered in reply to her observation, biting back the scoff that wanted to escape him at her words. No amount of bright colours and ornate portraits could make his office feel any less like a cage, and no matter how low the staff had kept their voices, Jaime had heard.

Rhaegar’s face was distorted slightly as the glossed paper crinkled around Cersei’s fingertips. He had seen the magazine’s in passing, not bothered to look, but he’d found out what the pictures meant as soon as he’d entered the office that morning. They couldn’t wait. He thought, his hands unconciously curling into fists at his side for a moment.They couldn’t wait to sink their teeth into her.He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at the press’ inability to give his sister time to heal before spewing rumours - and that was all they were, rumours, they had to be - or that for the briefest moments he’d believed them.

“I doubt you came here to congratulate me on my new position.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, from betraying that some small part of him blamed her for putting him back under their father’s thumb, as he leaned back against his desk. “So what are you here for?”

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week [24th July][Closed: Jaime and Tommen]

Wed, 07 Nov 2012 00:34:56 +0000

t-baratheons:

“Distract me?” Tommen asked. He wanted to ask, from what? But it would have been a lie. He was already keeping so much from everyone he knew; he didn’t need to add to the pile by being coy with Jaime. He had told Jojen, had told Myrcella what he knew. He had desperately wanted to tell Joffrey, but as his brother had chosen to estrange himself and their last conversation hadn’t gone very swimmingly at all, Tommen hadn’t exactly found the opportunity. He suspected Joffrey wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Joffrey had never believed a word out of Tommen’s mouth if it was anything slanderous about their father and Tommen had never bother to try very hard to convince his older brother of his blindness.

Of course, Robert wasn’t their father at all, was he? Tommen felt another curl of disgust roll through him like a riptide. He looked at Jaime and had a sudden flash of his uncle and his mother experimenting, falling in love, fucking anywhere and everywhere they could. Briefly, he wondered how he was conceived, then swallowed hard to stop the bile rising in his throat from coming out. He didn’t want to get sick all over the kitchen, didn’t want Jaime to take care of him. He didn’t want to be touched.

Tommen jumped a little when Jaime asked if he was alright, his hand rising into the air as though Jaime wanted to touch him. Tommen shifted his foot to step back, only to have his heel connect hard with the cabinet behind him. He bit the inside of his lip and shook his head. “I’m alright. Stomach’s a bit rumbly, though,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the kettle and willed it to boil faster so he could get his tea and get out. He was tempted to take it as it was, lukewarm and barely enough to soak his tea in, but he couldn’t stand to be in that room another moment. “I wish this would boil faster,” he said, trying not to grit the words through his teeth.

Jaime thumbed nervously around the handle of his coffee mug, bowing his head to keep the unexpected hurt from Tommen’s gaze. Maybe he was imagining it, but it had seemed like a slight. A small, perhaps subconcious, hint for Jaime to leave the boy to himself. He liked to hope that wasn’t the case. “Yeah that’s… annoying.” He remarked in a pointless mumble as he watched the kettle boil away lazily.

“Still, you should rest.” It wasn’t in him to be paternal. To act the caring, comforting uncle, let alone father, whenever Tommen or either of his siblings had gotten sick as children. Still, it felt like an obligation to let his son know that he’d noticed. That he saw the change in the boy’s usually vibrant palour and was empathetic enough to want him well again, after whatever it was that had caused such a turn in his mood. “Maybe don’t go out today.”

Despite his suggestion - and besides, he knew Tommen would not heed it anyway - he couldn’t help but smirk conspiratorially, as if it were some private joke that Tommen would never let him be privy to. “Or would that be a disappointment to whoever you’ve been going out with so much recently?” He chuckled to himself as he sat back down at the breakfast bar, giving Tommen his breathing space back as he looked back down at his paper with a poor facade of interest. He didn’t expect an answer, he had already deduced that it was more than likely Jojen. That, at least, could not have changed in just under two weeks since he had last properly talked with Tommen.

b&g meme; seven characters: jaime lannister

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 23:40:26 +0000

b&g meme; seven characters: jaime lannister

✉ → Text → Tyrion (28th July)

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 23:39:28 +0000

tyrionlnnstr:

msg: wow how dare you

msg: i am a responsible person

msg: whatever let’s go get drunk

msg: … it counts as work if i drink ~ foreign ~ beverages

msg: you say that as if i’m not

msg: i knew you’d make the right choice bro

msg: tequila then? ~~only good thing about mexico for me right now~~

✉ → Text → Tyrion (28th July)

Wed, 24 Oct 2012 16:23:38 +0100

tyrionlnnstr:

msg: do i need to send mi6 to look for your shampoo

msg: i can do that if you want bro

msg: traitor you got drunk without me

msg: now i want to get drunk

msg: why don’t you? ~~robert~~ other politicians do it all the time

msg: or you could ditch work and get drunk with me

msg: personally, i think that second option sounds brilliant

NOOOOOOO I SHAAAAAAN'T

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 22:22:00 +0100

w/e never liked you anyway

✉ → Text → Tyrion (28th July)

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 22:16:52 +0100

tyrionlnnstr:

msg: not my problem bro

msg: hey rapunzel, who are you calling a baby

msg: if the newspapers say tomorrow ‘lancel is the new jaime’ don’t come crying to me

msg: there are no men like me

msg: there’s only me

msg: i’m not drunk

msg: whatcha doin?

I KNOWWWW WHERE YOUR SHAMPOOOO ISSSSSS

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 22:15:00 +0100

help me aunt genna! (words i never thought i’d say)

✉ → Text → Tyrion (28th July)

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 22:00:00 +0100

tyrionlnnstr:

msg: bro some of us have jobs

msg: i am an important person jaime

msg: i bet lancel stole it - go get him

msg: yeah well some of us don’t have jobs and are boooooooored

msg: you might be foreign secretary but you’re still my baby brother

msg: ah, wise as always, but i can’t be arsed moving

✉ → Text → Tyrion (28th July)

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 21:43:25 +0100

msg: bro i now know why you hated lannister st so much

msg: being stuck here sucks

msg: my shampoo is missing :(

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week [24th July][Closed: Jaime and Tommen]

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 20:46:35 +0100

t-baratheons:

Tommen filled the kettle as his uncle spoke, making sure to keep the water pressure low so he could hear. He didn’t want to be rude, even though his last wish was to remain in the kitchen with Jaime. He turned to look at the man as he turned off the faucet. “The city’s getting dangerous,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine how busy reporters must be trying to cover everything that’s going on. Everyone at TMC seems to be running around like mad. Margaery doesn’t talk about it with me much, but it’s clear that everything is starting to take its toll on all of us.” By us, he meant citizens of London, but it was thrilling to count himself as a media person for just a moment. Tommen bit the inside of his lip and crossed to the stove to put the kettle on.

Jaime stood to rinse out his mug and Tommen bit harder on the inside of his lip, more to tame the rising nausea than anything. He couldn’t help but notice how Jaime moved, how similar some of those movements were to his own, to Joffrey’s, even to Cersei’s. Tommen felt like he wanted to cry or vomit or both, and he hadn’t felt this sick over his discovery since he’d first reconciled what his mum had said during their fight about Shireen (about Stannis, since she couldn’t have given two fucks about his beautiful cousin). He took a deep breath and hoped that Jaime would leave the kitchen, letting Tommen boil water for tea and go to the library to hide until these feelings faded (though he didn’t suspect they ever would, not really).

“Is that any good?” Jaime asked, crushing Tommen’s hopes. He leaned against the counter as the water started to boil, realizing not for the first time just how cripplingly slow the process of preparing tea can be. He forced a small smile and pushed his hair out of his face, then wrapped one arm around his front to tug at the soft material of Jojen’s shirt, a reminder and a safety net. Tommen met Jaime’s eyes and swallowed down a load of bile before he spoke.

“It’s amusing,” he said honestly. “I didn’t expect to like it as much as I do, but it’s a nice break from the more serious literature I’ve been reading lately.” Anything to distract me from the shambles my identity has become. He frowned a little and dropped his eyes back to the book.

Jaime nodded taking in what Tommen said with as much enthusiasm as he could. He’d forgotten that Tommen had got himself involved with TMC over the summer, though now that he thought back he couldn’t even remember Tommen himself telling him so. More than likely he’d heard it in passing, from Cersei or Myrcella or one of the staff making idle chit-chat of the Lannisters’ family affairs as they often did.

He didn’t bother to push any further on it though. Just like his books, Tommen’s internship was a way for him to distract himself from the things happening on the news, in the streets outside the walls of their home. For some reason, it felt like it might be an intrusion for him to ask when he’d already inadvertently treaded on the boy’s love life. If Tommen wanted him to know more than he told him, there would be some indication and at the moment everything about him seemed to give the impression he would rather not. From the way his eyes were ducked away from Jaime to the hand picking agitatedly at a shirt that seemed just a size too big for him.

“It’s good you’ve got something to distract you.” He muttered, eyeing Tommen carefully for a moment. He didn’t look skinny, at least not to the point where it was cause for concern, but there was something that seemed a little off. Jaime may not have known much about his youngest child but he knew enough to tell that his skin wasn’t usually that pale, no matter how fair a complexion he had inherited.

“Are you alright?” He couldn’t help but asking, raising a hand to feel the boy’s forehead for any sign of a fever, before quickly deciding against it and reaching for his now filled coffee cup instead. Tommen was not a child and he didn’t need babied, least of all by him. “You look like you’re about to hurl.” He added, chuckling slightly as if it might improve Tommen’s unknown disposition.

cersei-lnnstr: blood and glory meme | seven characters[4/7]...

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 13:42:22 +0100

cersei-lnnstr:

blood and glory meme | seven characters
[4/7] jaime lannister

At first he’d been happy at his father’s attention but over the years he’d realised it was a double-edged sword. His father loved him, he knew, despite the fact he rarely showed it, but it came at a price. Both of his siblings resented him for being the only one who was forgiven for his mistakes.

Draw your swords, shoot me to the ground [2nd August][Closed: Jaime and Cersei]

Thu, 18 Oct 2012 13:41:39 +0100

cersei-lnnstr:

jaime-lannisterltd:

cersei-lnnstr:

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He felt her hand grasp him, and for just a moment it felt as if everything might be okay. He closed his eyes against the sensation of her fingers curled around him and it was so easy to forget the haunted look in his sister’s eyes that he was unable to chase away. So easy to imagine they were anywhere else and not desicrating this place of death and grief and too much spilt blood.

He did not open them again as he continued to suck along the expanse of her neck. Not once did they flicker even as she stroked him, guided him, whispered in his ear. Her words were filled with a desire he could never hope to understand, a need he did not share and he only screwed his eyes tighter as if keeping himself in the dark might stop the guilt trying to tug him away from her.

There was no gentlessness as he took her. It was how she would want it, he told himself. Cersei was falling apart and drifting like ashes through his fingers but she would not dare let him treat her as if she were weak. His sister had always been strong, brave, the fearless lioness in every way. She was not fragile and if he pushed her she would not break. It was almost comforting for Jaime to cling to that. To believe that no matter what she would not crumble. That, if nothing else, that had not changed.

He thrust into her again, groaning into the curve of her neck as he felt her adjusting to him being inside her again. He was not sure what the reprocussions would be after the trauma of losing her child - their child, before it had even been allowed to live - if he really would make her bleed as she feared - or hoped, a part of him was scared to think - but he did not stop to consider it. What good would it do to either of them, to worry over pain when there had already been so much of it? Perhaps he was just being selfish, greedy as he continued to thrust into her, but if that were true then he did not give a damn.

I need this. She needs this. It was wrong to justify his own wants by using Cersei, but it was all he could think to do. That’s all that matters, that’s all that’s ever mattered.He told himself, placing as gentle a kiss as he could to the side of her face as his arms moved around her, one grasping around her waist and pulling her tight against him while the other moved up to bury his hand in her hair. “I love you.” He whispered into her ear and it felt so freeing to pretend that she only needed to know that. That he could heal her wounds with words he’d whispered a thousand times and had probably lost all meaning to her now.

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week [24th July][Closed: Jaime and Tommen]

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 20:07:15 +0100

t-baratheons:

Tommen woke early, a nightmare he didn’t want to consider plaguing his thoughts as he lay in bed. He thought about texting Jojen, to say good morning and maybe ask to meet for breakfast, but it was still too early even for his boyfriend to be getting up for his internship. Tommen tried to fall asleep once more, tossing and turning and even pulling one of Jojen’s shirts on so that the smell would lull him into some sort of comfort, but nothing would do.

With a sigh, he slid out of bed and put on a pair of slippers, grabbing his latest read — a young adult fantasy novel about demigods, the first in a series — off of his bedside table. Tommen made his way downstairs slowly, dragging his feet, fingers pushing his hair out of his eyes when the blonde strands made it hard to see. He thought he’d get a cup of tea and retreat to the library, read until he either felt sleepy or could text his boyfriend. Jojen’s shirt hung loose and warm on Tommen’s slight frame, clearly too big for him and too worn to have come from his closet.

The sight of his uncle Jaime (his father, truth be told) made him freeze on the threshold, his grip tightening on his book until he almost felt like he might break the hardback binding between his fingers. Tommen stared at his uncle, at the man who’d been sleeping with his twin sister, Tommen’s mother, for years. Tommen stared at Jaime and tried to reconcile his face with the photos Tommen saw not two weeks ago, the ones that screamed, you’re a mirror image of them both. Nausea churned his stomach and he considered turning and leaving the kitchen without a word, but then Jaime greeted him, asked him what he needed when Tommen didn’t respond, and Tommen felt obligated to finish out his plan.

“Just some tea,” he said softly, walking further into the kitchen. He set Percy Jackson on the counter and moved with purpose, not wanting to linger longer than he absolutely had to in order to get his peppermint tea and leave. “Morning,” he added, belatedly, only blushing a little at his rudeness. “Anything interesting in the paper?”

Jaime nodded absently at his son’s simplistic answer. It did not irk him that his greeting was only returned as an afterthought, nor did it annoy him that Tommen barely looked at him as he made his way over to the counter. Tommen did not seem mad with him, or at least, Jaime hoped that was what his blank expression meant. That was something to be thankful for, even if things were not entirely back to normal. Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure if the distant relationship he’d had with Tommen was truly normal, even when he was only the boy’s uncle.

“Nothing much.” He shrugged, giving a courtious answer for an equally courtious question. “The usual about the riots. And the channel hack yesterday.” He muttered, not sure if Tommen was even listening to what he was saying. Honestly, he found saying it just as boring as it might have been to hear. For people like them who’s lives were so untouched by the chaos errupting in the middle of London, such news was no more than a mere oddity that they would sniff their noses at before continuing on with their lives. For a fifteen year old it must have seemed even more uninteresting, especially one like Tommen who seemed content to live in the fictional worlds of his books.

He finished off the last of his coffee, frowning to himself when the caffiene did nothing to help his mood. He got up and moved over to the sink to wash out the small flecks of coffee bean stuck to the bottom of his mug before moving to the machine. His eyes flickered down uninterestedly at the book lying on the counter as he turned it on again before looking back up at Tommen. “Is that any good?” He attempted to sound enthusiastic about discussing the oddly named piece of fiction lying between them but he was sure it must have sounded as insincere as it was.

Draw your swords, shoot me to the ground [2nd August][Closed: Jaime and Cersei]

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 20:50:12 +0100

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A small growl came from his chest when she pushed him back, forcing him to lean back in order to look at her as she rose from the chair. His twin towered over him for a moment, seemingly trying to regain some sort of composure or control over the situation. His fingertips itched to reach out to her again, to grab her and kiss her and take her to the release he had been trying to seconds before but he refained. Instead he watched her, green eyes staring back into their mirrors, as she slid her underwear the rest of the way down her legs before grabbing him by his jacket to force him to his feet.

She pressed so close to him, clamped her lips so tightly against his that he barely had room to breathe. Every sense was overpowered by Cersei, there, with him in a way she had not been for so long and yet still she insisted on pulling away once more. Her gaze went over his shoulder, to what he didn’t care to ask. It was such a brief flicker of her attention and yet he couldn’t help the way his hands curled themselves possesively over her hips as she tugged him forward with her.

Any other time he might have been cautious about what they were doing. Perhaps he would have even felt guilty as he trapped his sister against the unspoiled linen cast over the altar behind her. It might have been wrong - he knew it was wrong - but in that moment all he could think of was Cersei. Nothing else seemed to matter much next to her.

Jaime did not resist when she tugged him back to her lips, grasping and pulling at his suit jacket until it fell to the floor in a disorganised heap. He might have pulled back to make some smart-arse remark about ruining his clothes had he had the strength to stop kissing her. His hands slid up her thighs again, dragging up the hem of her dress before pulling back, dragging her lip briefly between his teeth as he did so.

He hooked his arms around her legs, a ghost of his once easy smirk coming to his lips as he lifted her slightly to sit on the altar. The cloth beneath her dragged slightly with her as he placed himself in the gap between her legs, thumb rubbing idly over her thigh so close to the area he knew she needed him most. He wanted nothing more than to worship her as he had done so many times before, and it felt fitting to place her there, the sun playing with the gold in her hair until she seemed half a goddess, in order to do it. But time was of the essence, as it always had been when it came to these moments between them.

He ground himself against her, fighting to moan as the friction eased the frustrating need he had for her. He had always put her pleasure before hers, even when she teased him mercilessly to the point where he could no longer stand it, but a month without her had stretched on so long. His lips lowered to her neck, biting at the skin he found there, unable to care if he left a mark while his hands moved to remove his belt and unzip his constricting trousers.

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week [24th July][Closed: Jaime and Tommen]

Sun, 07 Oct 2012 00:13:30 +0100

Despite sitting with his usual morning coffee in front of him, Jaime’s eyes seemed unwilling to open enough to actually pay attention to the newspaper that lay open in front of him. Not even a familiar shock of red hair belonging to none other than Jon Connington managed to pique his interest enough to wake him. As soon as the name Targaryen had entered his field of vision he’d quickly flicked onto the next page, as he did anytime he caught a whiff of the family in the news.

He took a long drink of his coffee, black and bitter compared to what he usually took, but still it felt as if he were awake hours too early. It did not make much sense to him. For years he had been used to early rises, occasionally even being out all night on business for Robert and once or twice for Aerys when the former Prime Minister had gotten over his paranoia enough to entrust him with something. Yet he was tired, even now that he’d managed to get a few decent nights’ sleep since Acapulco.

Perhaps if he actually had something to do his brain might have been more inclined to function. As much as he hated to admit it, he almost missed being a bodyguard. He’d loathed Robert, loathed working for a man who would have been working for him if he had the mind or interest for politics, but it had been better than the monotonous routine Jaime had found himself following. There was truly no point in rising early when you did not have something - or someone - to do it for. Tywin was still there, obviously waiting for the moment when his son would decide to take on the responsibilities that had been expected of him since birth, yet he was not enticed. Bored though he may have been, Lannister LTD still did not beckon to him.

Finally he thought he might have found something vaguely interesting in the columns of miniscule print before him, but he looked up when he heard someone scuffling into the kitchen. A blonde head - there was never anything but blonde heads peeking about corners in Lannister Street - came into view and he watched Tommen pause for a moment in the doorway unsurely.

“Hey.” He greeted casually, turning his attention back to the paper in front of him. Tension still stretched thin between him and his youngest son - and he still for the life of him could not see why Tommen seemed so adamant about keeping it so - and so he had decided that it was better to just leave things as they were and not push any further than he already had.

However, the skin on the back of his neck began to crawl, signalling that Tommen was still staring at him, lingering on the threshold of the kitchen. “Do you need something?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at the boy confused and trying to keep his tone being too tired and harsh. The expression on Tommen’s face was unreadable, and Jaime preffered to blame it on the sleep still clouding his thoughts than the fact he never had known the boy well enough to read him.