The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl
A/N ~ The Lannisters are such a screwed up family, god. And just as a warning; No, I will not be writing incest, no, no, nope. But I did realize something about the incest in ASOIAF, and Jaime's mentality – he's so often said that 'if he were a woman he'd be Cersei' and how Cersei is his identical twin – his only ever being with Cersei symbolizes the fact that he only ever loved himself, and him loving her was only ever about how he loved himself – and how after Brienne delivers him back to Kings Landing, there's the distance between he and Cersei, and that's all about Brienne teaching him that he's not such a great guy, and he shouldn't love himself so much – and of course the fact that by that point he is incredibly in love with her c: In other news I want to be Gwendoline Christie when I grow up, and I fangirl as I write the later chapters. Oh, I do feel like such a Sansa sometimes.
Also, I know this is possibly the weakest chapter yet but the next few chapters are freaking awesome.
Also… Since I've just started on this account (the old one was hacked and deleted and ughh), I'm yet unable to reply to reviews. Thank you to all who read and enjoyed; you've made my day!
Coming Up… Genna Lannister is really very inappropriate, Jaime bums himself out in a fit of teenage angst, Cersei slams even more doors, and Tyrion goes for a reluctant pep rally – oh, and gets a girlfriend before Jaime, but we're not talking about that. In other news, a nearing football game turns the hottest quarterback into a right batty old man. Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!
5. Families and More Zoology
Jaime Lannister was awakened from a heavy (and tormented) sleep, quite thankful to be pulled from a disturbing dream world (in which his sister bled tomato ketchup, and Brienne Tarth and Renly Baratheon were a gang; Brienne Tarth really had crept into his dreams more than he'd like to admit since he'd been condemned to her for the remainder of his scientific life), and exceedingly furious for being woken before midday – eight thirty-two am, to be precise.
Cersei was pounding repeatedly on his door, until he awoke, livid, and then she hammered the wood some more. Evidently, she'd not calmed down since her fight with Lyanna Stark. "Jaime Lannister, get out of bed this instant and tell me what you've been doing snooping around my Facebook page!" Thunderously loud and thunderously irate. What a delight to wake up to.
"For gods sake woman, leave me alone!" He yelled in answer, rolling over onto his face amid sleep-softened pillows that sprawled across his double bed, reaching out an arm to grab his digital cube of an alarm clock and hurl it brutally into his door, to answer her thumping.
"You went on my Facebook and read my private messages!" Cersei was screaming through the door. Somewhere along the hall Tyrion was laughing from his bedroom, so very vociferously that the sound carried, loud and clear into his bedroom. "What the fuck are you giggling about, Imp?! I bet you helped him invade my privacy, you little –"
"Cersei, shut up." Jaime half-groaned, half-bellowed.
At which point, all three Lannister children began to shout at one another, Tyrion and Jaime from their own individual bedrooms, and Cersei from the landing, each screaming their own tangent; so much so that none of them noticed the heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, until Tywin Lannister stood hollering at the crown of the staircase, with such authority and finality in his voice, that even Cersei had to shut up. "Will all of you please pipe down! Now somebody tell me what is going on here!" Screaming silence. "Tyrion, Jaime, out here, right now!"
Jaime groaned, and not just for entertainment purposes – dragging his sleep-laden body, leaden limbs protesting, from the enticing warmth of bed, and stumbled, bleary-eyed, golden hair askew, pyjamas and ancient band t-shirt rumpled. Beyond his now battered door, his father stood, harbourer of doom, gold-flecked green eyes glittering with firm disapproval, and, Jaime thought – a little hint of intrigue. (His father was a very hard man to read – but Jaime had been living with him for the best part of sixteen years.) Cersei was fuming, arms folded, possibly furious enough to make the list (of Jaime's Top Fifty Angry Cersei Moments), blonde hair in a thick braid, wearing that stupid lioness pendant she always wore, and for some bizarre reason, her emerald silk dressing gown matched her pyjamas. Why on earth would anyone go through the trouble of matching sleepwear? Jaime wondered, when perhaps, if he were anyone else, he'd be running frantically through a list of possible excuses as to why Cersei 's Facebook was hacked. Tyrion, standing wide awake beside their sister, looked rather too amused for Jaime's liking, in pyjamas and mismatched socks. Tywin swept his gaze across his children. "Well?"
"Your son invaded my privacy, hacked my Facebook and read my personal messages, and I expect –"
"Why are you so sure it was me?"
"Because I know it was!"
"How?"
"You were –"
"Why aren't you blaming Tyrion?"
"Don't bring me into this! I'm just an innocent by passer –"
"Shut up!"
"You helped him! But he's Robert's friend and clearly most likely to –"
"Will everybody quieten down!" Tywin thundered, glancing from child to child, as if he wasn't sure who to lay his resentment on thicker. Jaime sighed theatrically, staring down at his shuffling bare feet and granting the plush carpet his evillest death glare. "Your aunt and uncle will be here in three hours, and I will not stand for you three bickering like this! Cersei. Explain yourself."
"This morning I logged onto my Facebook to find a message I had clearly never read, because if I had I would remember it, and found it already marked read and that means that somebody was on my account and –" at her disgusted somebody, his twin glared coldly at Jaime, before stalking back into her bedroom and slamming the door shut, loudly.
Tywin stared at each of his sons in turn. "Leave her be. And you two – if I hear that this is true, and –"
"Fear not, it's very clearly an absurd lie –" Jaime put in, languidly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Do not interrupt me, Jaime." Tywin glanced him up and down, and then with revulsion at his youngest child, before turning on his heels and striding down the landing. "Now get ready. All of you."
The Lannister garden was a child's dream come true; two acres of apple trees, flower-speckled field and, bordering the end of their land, a small stream – littered with various fragments of life; a basketball hoop crooked from the time Tyrion had bet Jaime that he couldn't do three chin-ups on it; the remnants of a treehouse that Cersei had ordered and Jaime had spent a summer attempting to built – splinters of wooden boards and nails still clung to the trunk; that patch of perpetually dried grass, where the pool was. And yet Jaime Lannister sat, arms loosely wrapped around loosely drawn up legs, on the muddied bank of said stream, he thought not of the multitude of memories that came with a glance around the garden, or of the spectrum it brought – no, he was thinking, how the freaking hell am I meant to play next Sunday?
He was still staring in disbelief at the text from Rhaegar; First game moved forward to next Sunday. Will explain later. Be prepared.
Great. Because that helped him out a lot. It wasn't that he didn't have a complete and utter (and arrogant) confidence in his own skills – which he, more than anyone else he knew (except maybe his twin sister) did – but it was that this first fortnight back at school after the holidays had not been the best – getting inexplicably entangled with Brienne Tarth, having his sister focus her man eating tendencies on one of his best friends, being forced into communications with Uncle Kevan – and somehow crowning it with the truly staggering amount of football pressure was not the perfect end to it. What if things with Cersei complicated Robert's focus? What if the new subs weren't good enough? What if Brandon was too preoccupied with two other guys being infatuated with his girlfriend to put enough into the game?
(These girl creatures complicated everything.)
"What's on your mind, big brother? Dad wants you inside for lunch with Genna and Kevan. Like, now."
Jaime turned, frowning, fiddling with the grass at his feet, to see Tyrion standing by him, looking half-concerned and half-amused, as he always did. He was just feeling heavy. He hadn't had long enough to prepare himself for the extra bursts of self-assuredness that each match called for. He was fretting about enduring science classes with the Tarth from hell. He was worried for his friend, who was having his heart simultaneously trodden on by his sister (on purpose) and Lyanna Stark (inadvertently. Although Lya was hot enough for it to be just as big an issue). Living with the Bitch Queen herself didn't help matters – nor did the new onslaught of dreams (that made him worry for his sanity); he'd never had dreams before, let alone odd nightmarish sleep-visions. And now he had to deal with Cersei's Facebook-hacking tantrums and his dad's siblings.
"Just stuff. I got a text from the Prince. The big opening game's been called forth to Sunday – no, not tomorrow – next Sunday."
Tyrion sat himself down next to him, watching the twining ribbon of watercourse with intent fascination. "You know, Jaime, what might cheer you up?"
"What?"
"Aunt Genna just dropped an onion and Kevan nearly slipped up on it."
Jaime gave a half-hearted snort. There was something funny about that image, but he couldn't quite convince himself it was worth cheering up over – sometimes there was nothing like having a good, old-fashioned sulk – and teamed with a pity-party he had the perfect recipe for the perfect way to bum himself out. He dropped his gaze to the grass, and then back up ahead of him again. "You know, I just feel idiotically down. Like I'm remembering everything bad that's ever happened."
"Ah," Tyrion nodded wisely, sympathetically, placing a hand on Jaime's tensed shoulder. "I understand what you're going through." Jaime turned to him, but the really died upon his lips – of course Tyrion understood teenage moodiness. He was a smart-ass dwarf in a high school full of idiots. "It's just the cons of your meriod."
"My what?"
"Male period. That time of the month when everything seems hopeless."
Jaime found himself laughing, despite himself. "That is not a thing."
"It is!" Tyrion insisted, grinning. "And come on, look on the bright side. You may have to deal with idiotic relatives –" He gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like Cersei. "- but you've yet to surpass the horrors of – what was it, you said? – book shelving with Walder Frey and bloody Brienne Tarth. This game is a good thing – no matter the outcome it'll merely increase your popularity and take your mind off other things, and you know it."
Jaime nodded, mulling his brothers words over in his mind. It was the Brienne Tarth comment that irritated him, that his mind kept snagging on like a foot on a root – she was an ugly, boring cow, and he despised her; but somehow now he felt like only he was allowed to despise her. (he would not say she was his to despise – and the funniest thing was, he'd only properly, horrifying interacted with her once or twice; it was more the dreading thoughts of it, and the mental-ass dreams that had ruined him.) "Right, right. You know what – let's go face the relatives."
Tyrion nodded, and they stood up, making their way back to the rather enormous (by anyone else's standards) Lannister home. Seated around the kitchen table were, Tywin, Genna, Kevan and Cersei, who was reading a magazine (probably How To Be a Heartless Bitch – Teen Edition!) and coolly ignoring everyone else. Cersei did that a lot; as if she were of a higher rank than those surrounding her and hence needn't bother herself the troubles of looking at them or addressing them as if they were of a level with her. There was some sort of poultry surrounded by roast potatoes, steaming vegetables. Jaime drew up a chair as far away from his twin sister as humanly possible and set about piling his plate as high as doable, not making any moves to start a conversation.
"Save some for the rest of us," Kevan murmured after a while, watching Jaime still shovel peas onto his stacked plate.
"Oh, leave him be, Kevan, he's a growing lad – aren't you, Jaime?" Genna put in, leaning across the table to him. He gave no answer, instead wondering about Genna and Kevan and his father and what they'd have been like as children, and whether they'd have been as unmanageable as he and his siblings. "He needs his strength! Your father's been telling me all about your football, Jaime – apparently you're very good?"
"Well yes, I was the youngest Westeros High quarterback in history, Genna." Jaime muttered plainly, shovelling (rather squashed) Yorkshire pudding into his mouth. Cersei was shooting him dirty looks every so often. He pointedly ignored them.
"Oh, yes, yes, we must come watch you at a game sometime!"
At that, Jaime quickly refrained from mentioning his upcoming match had been moved foreward.
"And I suppose, handsome lad like you, with the sports, you've attracted some of the nicer girls, eh?" Genna nudged him across the table as if she thought she were a cool aunt who he could tell stuff to. Jaime really did wonder what would happen if he took the gravy ladle and ladled the gravy over her head. (Though, really, if he were going to start thinking like that, then he really ought to be wandering what would happen should he dump the contents of the gravy pot onto Cersei's head.)
"Well, I don't know about me," Jaime said loudly, "But Cersei here does so love to use men to get her way. Say, sister, why don't you tell Aunt Genna about how you're using one of my best friends to make the boyfriend of another girl jealous? Or attempting to, since he's not even attracted to you, in the slightest – in the slightest."
And wordlessly, mouth tight, irate eyes furious, Cersei stood up sharply, chair scraping stridently against the polished tiled floor. "I don't believe I'm hungry any more." She declared. "I think I'll excuse myself." And with that she turned on her heels and stormed out of the kitchen. Once more her footsteps banged noisily, echoing around the house – not quite as impressive an echo as the echo of her violently slamming door, however.
In attempts to shatter the awkward, deafening silence that followed, Tyrion smiled, passing a bowl of Swede along to Kevan. "More Swede, anyone? No?" A wry smile quirked at the corners of his ever sardonic mouth. "And to answer your question properly, Aunt Genna, Jaime's not had a relationship with anyone but his hair since middle school – but I've recently started seeing a lovely girl named Tysha."
"You what?" Jaime was too confused to be upset, about anything.
"And what is this Tysha girl like, may I ask, my secretive Tyrion?" Their father inquired tightly, wiping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
"Oh, she'd very funny. You'd like her. She lives in the trailer park down Aelf End, with her mother and second stepfather." Tyrion continued pleasantly, and Jaime realized with increasing respect for his younger brother that this was all to detract attention from his minor disagreement with Cersei. As if Tywin Lannister would let any son of his have anything to do with a girl who lived in a trailer. Surveying the look that Tywin was giving his youngest child, Jaime awkwardly stood himself up, wished luck to Tyrion, and excused himself on account of 'match pep talks over the phone'.
He was still laughing when he got to his room.
A/N ~ Basically, the reason all my updates are so sporadic is that we're moving soon, and I have little internet usage. So, whenever I can, I'm attempting to upload a few chapters, just to keep y'all going.